My Life As a Drillteamer

by Tracy

 

The next week I went to Mrs. Mahan's room to sign up for tryouts. It was late in the day, and no one else was in the room. This time I didn't even need Laurie there for support. Mrs. Mahan handed me the sign-up sheet and watched me write.

"You know the rules, right? You have to wear a white t-shirt and gray or black or white shorts to clinic. They can be gym shorts or bike shorts. You have to wear your hair pulled back. White tennis shoes. For tryouts it's the same except we'll issue t-shirts to all the girls – I mean to everyone who tries out. Okay?"

"Yes ma'am."

She looked at me in a friendly way, without speaking for a moment. Then she asked, "Why are you doing this, Brian?"

"I don't know. I enjoy it. I like being on the Pep Squad. I'd like to see if I can make the drill-team, I guess."

"You know the level of grief you'll get if you show up at school dressed in a Cheerokee outfit?"

"Yeah, I guess. I'm kinda used to it already."

Again she paused for a while. "Are you doing it for Laurie?"

"Umm…no. I don't think so. But she wants me to."

"Yes, I know she does." I suddenly had the feeling that Mrs. Mahan knew a lot more about what was going on than I'd thought. "Just remember: Laurie and Ashley are very beautiful and strong-willed girls who are used to getting what they want. You don't seem like the sort of guy who'd do something just to please them. I just want to make sure you're doing this for the right reasons."

"What are the right reasons?"

"Well, like you said: because you enjoy it. Because you care about the school, and you like performing. You know, we have boy cheerleaders now. Girls can join just about any organization in the school, except maybe the football team. There's no reason I can see we shouldn't have boys on the drill team, if they're willing to do the work and wear the uniform. But if I decide you're doing this as a joke, or just to please the girls, I will kick you out of clinic and you won't get to try out. Is that a deal?"

"Sure."

"Good luck. I'm sure you'll do well."

 

That weekend, the Cheerokees had their spring fund-raising car wash, to raise money to go to drill-team camp in the summer. Laurie had asked me if I'd help out, and I said "Sure." She told me she had a surprise for me: "Just come over early on Saturday morning. Wear your hair up and your gymshorts and Keds."

So that morning I pulled my hair back and went over to her house. She was already dressed in an orange Cheerokee t-shirt (which had a cartoon of a girl in braids with a headband and feather on it), white shorts and her Keds and white socks. She had her hair up in a high ponytail with a white ribbon. She looked fabulous, with bright blue eyes and long tanned legs. I wondered once again how I'd gotten so lucky. We went back to her room and, lying on the bed, was a Cheerokee t-shirt just like hers. I realized we really were going to be twinkies that day. I put it on and she got up on the bed behind me. "You need a real ponytail if you're going to be a Cheerokee," she said. She took out my low, loose ponytail and pulled my hair up tight on the back of my head, like hers, tugging it tight. Then she said "Close your eyes." I had a feeling I knew what was coming next. I felt her tying something around my ponytail, and something silky fell down by the back of my ears. She put her hands over my eyes and walked me over to her dressing table. "Okay – open up!"

I had a high ponytail with a white ribbon tied in a bow, just like Laurie's! We could've been twins. I said "No way." But Laurie pleaded with me, saying she'd been planning this for weeks, and she really wanted me to wear it. "We wear ribbons to march in sometimes," she said, "so you might as well get used to it." By this time I had a raging hard-on, but she said "We're gonna be late!" So we dashed out to the car and drove to the gas station parking lot where the car wash was being held. It turned out that all the Cheerokees had their hair up in high ponytails with white bows. There were a few other guys there with their girlfriends, but none who were dressed like the girls. They just looked at me and rolled their eyes and said things like "What a fag." But the girls fussed over me and pretty soon we were all working hard. I couldn't believe I was out like that in public, with a ribbon in my hair, but after a while I almost forgot about it.

We worked until about 3:30 and then Laurie, Carol, and I went with a few other girls to the mall. We walked around for a while in our identical outfits and then got some French fries and cokes and sat eating them in the food court. After a while Carol said "So are you ready for clinic, Brian?"

I swallowed hard. I hadn't really told anyone I was going to try out yet. "I guess," I said.

One of the other girls said "Oh, you'll make it. You've got better legs than half the girls out there."

"Do you really think Mrs. Mahan will let a guy on the squad?" someone else asked.

"They have to," said the first girl. "It's in the rules. They'd probably get sued if they didn't."

"That's right. You'll make it cause they're scared of getting sued."

Laurie spoke up. "You'll make it cause you've been working so hard," she said, and leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

"Let's go over to Nordstrom's," one of the other girls said. "They've got some new tops in that are sooo cute."

 

Two weeks later clinic started. I had to get up at 6:00 every morning, put my hair up in a high ponytail, put on my gym clothes and rush to practice. Clinic was hard; there were about 50 girls (and one guy) trying out for 20 or so spots. The junior and senior Cheerokees, who were automatically on the squad, were teaching clinic. We worked on marching in step, doing crossovers (where 2 lines cross each other in a V, alternating), and doing the hand motions. Swinging my hips like a girl made me laugh, at first, and when I got more used to it it made me feel sexy. Laurie and the other Cheerokees were very patient and precise: I even had to learn a new way of clapping my hands! After the first week they gave us all pompoms, and we started learning the routines we'd have to do in tryouts.

After practice I changed into my school clothes. I changed in the locker room. I usually managed to change before the other guys came in, but it had already gotten around that a guy was going to try out. It felt weird, after being with the girls all morning, to switch back to my guy clothes again. After being on the Pep Squad since the fall, and now going to clinic every morning, I was starting to feel more comfortable in my Keds and shorts, with my hair up, than in my old guy clothes. I took my pompoms home every day and stashed them in my closet; I didn't want my Mom to know I was trying out. I still didn't think I'd go through with being on the squad, even if I made it.

Finally the day before tryouts came. I went over to Laurie's house the night before, just to brush up on the routines one more time. She said "I want you to look really cute for tryouts." I asked her what that meant and she went to her dressing table and pulled out the white ribbon I'd worn to the carwash. "If you wear your hair up, with a bow, the judges'll know you're serious and not just fooling around."

"Hmm," I said, "I don't know…"

But Laurie was not finished. "And I want you to have a curly ponytail. You'll have to sleep in curlers tonight."

"All night? What do you think my mother will say?"

"She won't care. Anyway I'll cover them up with a doo-rag. She'll just think you've got your hair up in a ponytail. You can sneak back to your room tonight, and tomorrow she'll be gone before you get up. I'll put you up in foam curlers now and you can drive home in them. Oh, please, Brian?"

"I don't know, Laurie. They'll think I'm too queer, and won't want me on the squad…"

Laurie sat down on the bed and grabbed my hands. "Look Brian. I don't think you really realize what the deal is here. The more you can look like a girl, the more they're just going to pay attention to how you march and do the routines. If you go in there looking just like a guy, you won't blend in. They'll say no way."

I sighed. I'd never thought things would get this far. But now that I'd done all the work I wanted to make the squad. If I didn't make it because I couldn't swing my hips, or remember the routines, it was one thing. But not to make it just cause I was a guy, or because I didn't do my hair right, would really bother me. Besides …

"And anyway," Laurie said, as if reading my mind, "you might not make it. This might be your last chance to dress up like a Cheerokee."

I sighed again, and gave in. "Okay. Let's do it."

"Great. Let's go get your hair wet."

Rolling my hair on small sponge rollers was a much elaborate process than the hot rollers, or the big velcro ones. After she wet my hair, Laurie added a bunch of setting gel, then put it up in a high ponytail. She put a few bobby pins in to secure the ponytail. Then she started putting curlers in my ponytail carefully, using as many as possible. "My record's only about 50," she said, "but some of the cheerleaders use 70." Finally I had a big clump of foam curlers on the back of my head. She sprayed it with hair spray, then wrapped the whole thing in a small bandana, tying it below. She was right; if you didn't know, you couldn't tell I was in curlers. Then, she said "Oh yeah – there's one more thing."

"Jeez. What now?"

"You need to shave your legs."

 

Tryout day. I woke up with both my head and my legs itching. My head itched because I'd slept in Laurie's foam curlers, and as my hair dried during the night the curlers had tightened. My legs – well, lying in bed I reached down & was surprised to feel them hairless, with just a bit of stubble growing in. Laurie had warned me I would need to re-shave in the morning.

Just then my Mom knocked on my bedroom door.

"Still in bed Mom," I said, terrified she'd see me with my hair up in curlers.

"Good luck today, dear," she said, and walked down the hall. I was stunned – good luck at what? Did she know I was trying out? How did she find out? I didn't have time to find out: Laurie was picking me up in 20 minutes. I took a quick shower, using the shower cap Laurie had given me to cover my curlers. I shaved my legs again, being careful not to cut myself. I had packed school-clothes in my backpack the night before, so I got dressed in my tryout clothes: gray gym-shorts, white T-shirt {handed out by the school; all the girls trying out had to look the same}, white socks and Keds. As I finished dressing Laurie pulled into the drive. Since she wasn't trying out, she was dressed for school, in jeans and a pullover. Her hair was down.

Tryouts started in half an hour so we didn't have much time. She quickly took my curlers out. I couldn't believe how tight and stiff the curls were. Expertly, Laurie took out my ponytail then brushed up my hair again into a high ponytail without brushing out the curls. Then she re-fastened it with the bobby pins. Finally she tied the white ribbon around it in a bow. It was weird; I looked much more feminine than she did. I'd never dressed as a girl without Laurie. Again, she read my mind: "You look great," she said, kissing me on the forehead. "Do you have your pompoms?"

When we got to school we went straight to the gym. All the girls trying out were milling around outside the door. We had to go in in groups of three. My group was one of the middle ones; I still had a while to wait. Some of the girls still had rollers in their hair; everyone else had high ponytails; some had bows, like mine, in either white or orange. Everyone was very nervous. Laurie pulled me aside.

"Look, I've got to go do my psych homework. You look great. You're going to do just fine."

"I wish you could watch."

"Me too. I'll be thinking about you. Just remember the stuff we practiced. What are the three most important things?"

"Knees high. Big hand motions. Smile."

"Right. Just concentrate on the routines, not the judges or the other girls. And – have fun!"

"I'll try."

I watched her go, feeling my heart sink. What was I doing here with a bunch of girls, making a fool of myself? I seriously considered not trying out at all, just dropping my pompoms and walking off. No one would blame me, not even Laurie. I'd gone further with this than anyone thought I would. I'd almost made up my mind to leave. I was looking around for a place to stash my pompoms when …

"Your hair looks great."

It was Marian Bird, a sophomore girl I hardly knew. She was new to the school that year, very pretty, but something of a loner. "Thanks," I said, not sure if she was making fun of my curls, or my ribbon.

"Did you sleep in curlers?"

"Yes," I said. "Laurie rolled it last night."

"I thought about it but I just didn't have the energy last night. I hate waiting like this."

She heaved a sigh, looking around at the other girls. Suddenly I realized: she wasn't talking to me like a guy, or a girl for that matter. She was just talking to someone else who was trying out, and who was nervous like she was.

"I know," I said. "Let's just get it over with."

"Have you heard who the fourth judge is?" There were always four judges at tryouts: Mrs. Mahan, the sponsor; the outgoing co-captains of last year's squad; and an outside judge, usually a dance or cheerleading instructor. I didn't know who it was. They called group 12; Marian's group. I reached over and squeezed her hand, genuinely grateful to her. I knew I was going to go through with it, now.

"Good luck," I said. She squeezed my hand back.

"You too."

Finally it was my turn. I looked at the girls next to me; they looked as anxious as I was. We went skipping into the gym with our pompoms, yelling "Go Warriors" and bouncing up and down. Then we got into place, pompoms on our hips. The drummers from the band were there to set the rhythm for us. "Okay, then," said Mrs. Mahan. "Routine 1, please." The bass drum started pounding away. We each looked toward the girl in the center to coordinate, and on the downbeat we started marching, bouncing up and down on our toes, swinging our hips and our pompoms.

I don't remember much about the rest of tryouts, other than it seemed like it was over in about 30 seconds (later I learned that each group had 5-6 minutes). I concentrated on smiling, and not hurrying, and after a minute or so I really wasn't thinking about much of anything except the next step, the next pompom move. The part I really dreaded was the climax, when we had to grab each other's shoulders and do high kicks: one knee up, then high kick in one direction, then one knee up, and high kick in the other direction. By that time, though, I was sweating and I felt loose and had a to-hell-with-it attitude: Laurie was right, the important thing was to enjoy myself.

The drums stopped abruptly, the judges thanked us, we ran off yelling and shaking our pompoms. We got outside the gym and all hugged each other with relief. I felt exhausted with all the nervous energy I'd burned off, and at the same time I felt really proud of what I'd just done. I'd actually gone through with it! It was hard to believe that six months ago I'd first dressed up in my girlfriend's drill-team outfit, just for a laugh. Now I'd really tried out. No matter what else happened, that was something.

My next problem was getting dressed for school. I couldn't go change in the locker room because the whole gym was closed for tryouts. I said goodbye and good luck to the girls I'd marched with and went across to the parking lot. By this time it was well into first period and, luckily, there were few people on the sidewalks. There was one guy I knew hurrying late to class and he saw me and, predictably, whistled, and called out "Hey Stevens, where's your dress?" But I made it to Laurie's car, and took the ribbon and bobby pins and ponytail-holder out of my hair. I shook it out and it was still very curly, almost in ringlets. I brushed it out a few times but that didn't do much to take out the curl, so I tied it in a low ponytail and left it. I put on my school clothes – I had to admit, it was a relief to wear jeans and a pullover for the rest of the day – and hurried off to class.

I saw Laurie after first period, at my locker. "How did it go?" she asked, breathlessly.

"Oh, okay," I said, trying to be nonchalant.

"Oh come on!" she cried, poking and pushing at me. "Who'd you march with? Did anybody screw up? How were the judges? Did you smile?"

I had to laugh; now that it was over, she was the one who was more anxious than me. I tried to answer her questions. Then I suddenly grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her, hard, on the lips.

"Whoa," she said, stepping back. "Good thing we're not in uniform."

"I just wanted to say thanks. I'd never have gone through with it if not for you."

She looked at me quizzically for a moment, and then she kissed me back, lightly, on the cheek. "You're very welcome. Like I said, Brian: you should do what makes you happy."

 

Tryout day had been a Wednesday; the results weren't posted till Friday. Oddly, I didn't feel nervous at all; it was like the big thing had been to go through clinic and tryouts – whatever happened after that was okay with me. And anyway, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to join the squad even if I made it. Trying out had been a kick, and I was proud I had the nerve to go through with it. But actually putting on the Cheerokee uniform and marching in front of thousands of people at a football game? Forget about it.

Laurie felt this serenity in me and for those two days we were kind of distant, not in a bad way but as if she knew I wanted some time and space to digest what I'd gone through, and decide if I wanted to go on to the next phase (if I made the squad).

I didn't feel nervous, that is, until Friday morning. I woke up suddenly at about 4:30 in the morning, and lay awake in bed wondering if I'd made it – if I was a Cheerokee. I never got back to sleep.

I didn't even see Laurie at school until after lunch. The tryout results were due to be posted outside the gym at 2:00. Still trying to be casual, I stopped by her locker before 5^th period.

"Hi stranger," she said.

"Hey."

"So – aren't you even curious?"

I leaned over and whispered in her ear: "I couldn't sleep at all last night."

Without saying another word she grabbed my hand and we walked quickly, almost jogging, over to the gym. There was a crowd of girls (and a couple of the guys who'd tried out for cheerleader) standing in front of the big bulletin board. We waited until the crowd thinned enough for us to squeeze close and read the list. The names were in alphabetical order, so my name would be down near the bottom … and it was. I'd made the squad.

"Omigod!" shouted Laurie. She grabbed me, I grabbed her, and the next thing I knew we were jumping around like a couple of 13-year-old girls. We were laughing and whooping and kissing each other, and other girls were coming up to say congratulations, and we were congratulating them. Then after we calmed down Laurie grabbed my arm and leaned over to whisper in my ear: "I am so proud of you."

That Sunday night was the "feathering." That was a dinner at school where the outgoing seniors presented their feathers to the new girls on the cheerleading and Cheerokee squads. It was a big tradition and the girls all got dressed up. I had to wear a suit. It felt weird to get dressed in a suit and tie to go to a dinner where I was essentially joining an all-girls squad, but I wasn't going to wear a dress or anything, and I wanted to look nice. That night, as I was getting dressed, my mother came to the door of my bedroom.

"Going out tonight?" she asked.

"Uh…yeah. It's Laurie and I's anniversary. She wanted to go out to a nice restaurant."

"Where are you going?"

"Ahh…Jacques and Suzanne's."

"Mmm. Expensive. Why don't you let me do something with your hair?"

"Umm – okay."

She took me back to her bedroom, where I saw, sitting on the counter, her set of Clairol hot rollers. I'd seen them in her hair many times, and often wanted to ask if I could use them, but never had the nerve. I noticed they were already plugged in.

"Have a seat."

I thought about protesting – "I'm not going to wear those!" – but it just felt stupid and a lie. I said nothing and let her starting winding the rollers in my hair. While she set my hair she started talking.

"So how's school going? You've been so busy I've hardly seen you these last few weeks."

"Okay. Everybody's ready to get out for summer."

"Didn't they just have tryouts for cheerleaders and Cheerokees?"

My stomach dropped again. I couldn't imagine telling my mother I'd tried out, and actually made the squad.

"Yeah, I guess. Laurie's been real busy with clinic – um, the practices and everything."

There was a long silence. I could tell she was waiting for me to say more.

"You know Brian," she said finally, finishing pinning the last roller and turning me to face her, "if there's anything you want to talk to me about you should feel free. We've always been able to talk. I don't want that to change just because you're in high school and you've got a girlfriend and …"

She trailed off. I was sitting in front of her mirror with my hair up in hot rollers, in front of my mother, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I tried to get up the courage to tell her the truth, and failed. "Okay mom," I said lamely.

She looked in my eyes for a moment, then squeezed my shoulder. I thought I detected a sigh. "Okay, run finish getting dressed and I'll take the rollers out in 10 minutes."

When she took the hot rollers out I had soft waves that curled right at my shoulder. She took a small tortoise-shell barrette and pinned one side back.

When Laurie arrived to pick me up she said "Hey Mrs. Stevens!" She and my mother were already close; it was obvious that my mom liked me going out with someone as squeaky-clean and wholesome as Laurie. "Hello dear," my mother said. "I took the liberty of doing his hair tonight."

"It looks awesome!" Laurie cried. I wondered for the first time if maybe Laurie had let on more to my mother than I knew.

The feathering was a taste of what was to come. There were exactly 4 guys there: the three male cheerleaders, and me. It was a much bigger deal, with a lot of laughter and hugs and tears. I started to realize how important cheer and drillteam was to these girls, and what I'd gotten into. Each of the new girls (plus me) on the squad had to come up and have our new headband and feather placed on our head by an outgoing senior. For this and other special occasions they – I mean we -- wore lovely beaded headbands, much fancier than the ones worn to school and to games. Each of the new drillteamers and cheerleaders got a round of applause and a hug from the senior who "feathered" them. (The male cheerleaders didn't wear headbands and feathers; they were handed megaphones by the senior guys.) When my name was called there were some louder whoops and shouts of "Way to go Brian!" I walked up and Libby, one of the senior co-captains, fitted the headband over my hair and then turned me around and put the feather in under the leather string at the back. Then she gave me a big hug. I blushed deeply and gave a small wave as I went back to our table. Laurie gave me a quick kiss on the lips when I got back, then spent the rest of the evening stroking my hair and the beaded headband.

At the end of the dinner Mrs. Mahan stopped by our table to congratulate me. It was the first time I'd talked to her since tryouts.

"So, you're really going through with it," she said.

I looked away, not wanting to tell her – or Laurie for that matter – that the truth was I didn't think I would be on the squad when fall came. "I guess," I said, looking down at my hands.

She watched me for a while. Then she said "You know Brian, I was against voting you on to the squad, at first. I thought it would be a distraction. But Libby and Sarah [last year's co-captains] said that wasn't fair. They said you'd worked as hard as anyone and deserved a shot like the girls."

I looked up at her, not knowing what to say.

"I think it's very brave, what you're doing. I've seen plenty of boys say they're going to try out, as a joke, then quit when they discover how hard the work is. Not many guys would have the courage to go through clinic, much less try out."

By this time I was feeling touched. "Thanks," I said.

"You've got the talent and the desire," she said, putting her hand on top of mine. "I think you're going to make a great Cheerokee."

The next day we had to wear our new headbands and feathers to school. It was always a big deal for the new cheerleaders and Cheerokees to show up with the headbands; it was like they'd arrived, they were now part of the most exclusive club at school. Since I was still thinking I wasn't going to actually join the squad, I thought about not wearing mine; but Laurie wouldn't hear of it. "You should be proud!" she said, almost angrily. "There's 25 girls who tried out and didn't make it." As usual, I couldn't stand to argue with her. I went inside and got my headband (luckily my Mom had already left for work) and put it on.

That day was the worst yet in terms of being embarrassing, even worse than wearing the Pep Squad uniform for the first time. This time I was the only guy in school wearing the headband & feather. It was completely obvious what it meant: I was now a member of the Cheerokees. In every class at least one person mentioned it: "Why are you wearing that feather?" "What are you doing -- becoming a cheerleader?" "Are you really going to wear a skirt and march?" etc. etc. I got really tired of it and by the end of the day I really didn't believe I could ever go through with it. The excitement of tryouts seemed like it had been a year ago. As I walked out to the parking lot after 6^th period I tore the headband off my head with relief. As usual, Laurie seemed to read my mind.

"Hey – tired of it already?" she said when we met at her car.

"I don't know, Laurie. I don't think this is going to work out…"

"Hey," she said, putting a finger to my lips. "One day at a time, remember? Come on – let's get out of here."

We ended up buying a six-pack and going down to the river. We tossed the Frisbee for a while, splashed in the water, laid in the sand and watched the sun go down. It was just what I needed. For lack of a better term, I felt like a guy again. Without saying a word, Laurie and I agreed not to discuss anything drillteam-related for a while.

  

  

  

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