My mother finishes turning the chicken. “Nora, call Aaron for supper and come wash your face.” She takes away the mashed potatoes. “Set the table,” she directs.

“Did you hear what she just said?” Scot says. “About cheerleading?”

My mother looks at me and shakes her head. “She’s not serious. She has nothing but contempt for cheerleaders.”

“No, I’m not kidding,” I insist. “There’s an all-day clinic this Saturday in the gym. It costs twenty bucks.”

“Twenty dollars just to try out? Well, I’d say that eliminates you.”

“Ten for me and ten for Grimshaw.”

“Why does it cost money just to try out? I’ll have to check into that.”

“Ten bucks apiece?” Then Scot smiles at me, too. This is getting weird. “That doesn’t seem so bad,” he says. “I’d cover it.”

six

OUR ROAD TO CHEERLEADING NORMALNESS is supposed to be a carefully scripted event. Rack and Angel put out a fatwa on anyone who dares show up for the special tryout. Despite that, a few girls who don’t know what’s good for them come to the Saturday clinic, in addition to me and Grimshaw. Nanci Lee comes in wearing a warm-up suit with a Scottie terrier appliquéd all over it. She has a blond pageboy and a row of diamond studs in one ear and a deep artificial tan. She looks around the sparsely populated gym, knows something is up, narrows her eyes at Rack and Angel, who maintain their innocence.

“We told everybody,” they insist to Nanci Lee, which I suppose technically is true. So there is Nanci Lee, with her assistants and her clipboard and all the power in the world, about to be wasted on the two of us. There is a look on her face of pure determination, that we will never be cheerleaders, not if she has anything to do with it. Which is fine with me, I don’t even want to be a cheerleader. Grimshaw on the other hand, has clearly put the time in and knows every single cheer down cold. Which, if I know Nanci Lee, will make her even more determined to keep us off the squad.

The herd of hopefuls is separated into batches, and we are taught a cheer.

Strawberry shortcake

Huckleberry pie

V - I - C - T - O - R - Y

Are we in it?

No we’re not!

We’re not in it,

’Cause we’re on top!

Baudelaire it ain’t. But this is what Grimshaw wants, so I snap my gum and smile until my face hurts, and the more cheerleading spirit I evince, the more suspicious Nanci Lee gets.