Two Four Six Eight by
Author: turps33
Video: Here We Go.
I want to thank vaudevilles and interlock for being so awesome in beta. You ladies are wonderful.
The gym is deserted when Justin lets himself in. Empty bleachers and limp flags, homemade wolf-adorned banners attached to the walls. He walks confidently forward, crossing scuffed colourful lines marking multiple courts; then sets down an armful of books and lets his bag thump to the floor. Sitting, he props his feet on the first bleacher, arranges his notebook open in his lap -- then waits.
Justin’s fought so hard for this; to showcase his gymnastic ability in conjunction with cheers. It’s the perfect match, music and performance and he knows he can create a show-stopping squad; all he needs is the chance. He hadn’t expected to run into a faculty and a sports department that believes that cheerleaders have to be female. Now, after months of protest and his mom threatening legal action on sex discrimination, Justin’s been given this chance. A one time only deal to assemble his own squad, because there’ll be no mixing of the sexes. Not in this town.
Of course, the chance means nothing if no one signs up.
An hour later and Justin’s finished his math homework, solving problems while he ignores the students pressed against the door, laughing and jeering, waiting for him to fail.
Two hours later and he knows it’s over.
He's packing his bag when the door opens with an echoing crash. Jumping, Justin drops his pen, so he's scrabbling on the floor when someone sits next to him with a cheery, “Sorry I’m late.”
Justin looks up at a beaming smile, and watches as the guy rummages in his bag, pulling out a crumpled flyer. One of a hundred that Justin and his mom had made the week before.
“I had to stay back. Detention. Not that I did anything wrong. Much.” Smile widening even further, the guy smoothes out the paper. “I’m Joey, and my drama class moved to a Monday, and I need extra gym credits, so…”
It’s hardly the enthusiasm Justin expected, and Joey seems to see that, smiling as he drops his bag to the floor. “This is where my mom would whap my head for not selling myself. So, while I’m not really into the sports thing, I can tumble just fine.” At Justin’s look Joey grins still wider. “What can I say? I was watching the gymnastic championships one year and decided it looked cool. I stayed in class long enough to pick up the basics. See.”
Suddenly, Joey tumbles across the gym, and while his lines aren’t the best, the energy is there and Justin feels like cart wheeling across the floor after him. Instead he grins wide as he pulls out forms and a notebook from his bag. “I’m Justin, but I guess you know that already. I’m also the only other person on the squad, so, if you want to back out….”
Justin desperately doesn’t want Joey to back out but he has to give the guy that chance. Even if he feels sick as Joey says nothing.
”I’ll stay,” Joey says, and he leans back, relaxed and confident, obviously not bothered that they’re a squad of two. “Anyway, JC said he was coming, so that’s three.”
Justin can’t visualise a JC, but that’s not surprising. Their school is pretty big and Justin doesn’t know everyone, despite how hard he tries.
“Is…”
The doors open and Justin stops speaking as two more people walk in. Justin recognises Jason from English period one, so the other guy has to be JC. Skinny with baggy pants and a bag that seems to be made partially of red fur.
“Hey, C.” Joey jumps from his bleacher. He lands in front of JC, greeting him with a slap of hands. Justin’s pulls out more forms, smiling hard all the while.
They’re filling in forms when the door slams open, making Justin jump again, his pen scratching across the page.
“Fuck them. Fuck them with a rusty pole.”
Justin puts down his form, standing as the newcomer hurries close.
“Can you believe they cut me because they said I’m too small? Fuck that.”
He glares as if daring anyone to disagree. Justin says nothing, just waits as the guy paces, his cheeks flushed and hands clenched. Finally the short, angry guy squeaks to a halt, and holds out his hand.
“I’m getting on that field somehow, so, sign me up.” He takes a deep breath when Justin hands over a form. “Thanks. I’m Chris by the way.”
“Hey.” Justin nods his own greeting, all the while wanting to dance around the gym. They may be mismatched, but they’re his, a squad at last.
~*~*~*~*~
The first time they practice it's a disaster. They’re on the field next to the science building and Justin has to ignore the sniggers of the watching students as Joey cartwheels into a trash can and, despite his dance training, JC manages to trip over a tuft of grass. Legs are kicked, feet are stomped on, and the pyramid is a non-starter when the football team starts playing close-by. Joey preens, JC gets distracted and Chris scowls at the players and completely misses his cues.
But at least he’s got a team, though, and Justin tries to remember that when he’s sitting on the bleachers, chugging water and watching the female cheerleaders practice.
He doesn’t stay long. It’s too depressing seeing how far they’ve got to go.
~*~*~*~*~
The insulting messages shoved into Justin’s locker are down to five a day. They're always scrawled on torn lined notepaper, and, if pressed, he’d admit that he’s impressed with some of the insults. Who knew there were so many ways to describe him as gay?
Crumpling the latest, he throws it across the hall in a perfect arch which drops into the trashcan. Fisting the air in celebration, he turns back to his open locker. He pulls out his gym bag, throwing it over his shoulder as he slams shut the door, and hurries toward the locker rooms.
They only get an hours practice a day, and they need every minute. It's valuable time for learning cheers and tumbling in sync, which are simple things that remain out of their reach. Not that he’s giving up, Justin’s worked too hard to get this far, and he knows the ability is there, hidden under a layer of klutz.
“Justin, hey!” Chris says. He’s sitting on the bench between the lockers, curled forward and tying his sneakers, his t-shirt pulled up at the back, exposing the sharp bumps of his spine. “I’ll need to cut out early today, there’s a delivery at the farm and I need to help.”
“Can’t someone else do it?” Justin drops his bag and sits, concentrating on pulling out his training kit, sniffing socks so he doesn’t have to see Chris stare up at him.
“They could, but it means no money for me. So” A last pull of his laces, and Chris stands, talking over his shoulder as he leaves the room. “I’ll be leaving at ten to.”
There’s nothing Justin can say. He’s treading on egg shells around the squad, scared that they’ll bow to the pressure and leave. Instead he bites his lip, concentrating on getting changed.
“We’ve still got time to practice the cheer.” JC’s says, He’s sitting at the edge of the bench, already in his gym clothes. He’s holding a notebook, and there’s a silver pencil tucked behind his ear, its end a chewed mess.
“I wrote something.” JC marks a page in the notebook with his finger and slides closer to Justin. “A cheer.”
Justin frowns when JC says no more. “Well, are you going to show me?”
“I guess, but it’s better out loud.” There’s a flush of colour across JC’s cheeks, and he’s looking down at his notebook, running his thumb over the page.
“I’m listening.”
JC grins and jumps to his feet. Feet apart and arms in the air, he cheers. “Go Wolves! Go Wolves! Show them what we’ve got! Go Wolves! Go Wolves! Show we win a lot!”
Justin watches as JC's pencil fall to the floor and rolls away.
It’s going to be a long year.
~*~*~*~
“You need to listen to me,” Justin says, resisting the urge to slam heads together, because, God, they’re not listening at all. If it’s not Joey flirting or Jason making cow-eyes at his girlfriend, it’s Chris clowning around until the field is full of the sound of JC’s dorky laughter.
It’s like herding cats and Justin feels sick because he wants this so badly, and he’s watching it all go wrong. He knows they can tumble, he knows they can cheer, but it seems they’re incapable of doing it together, and, for the first time ever, something Justin wants is in danger of slipping away.
He hates that feeling.
Taking a deep breath, he looks at his squad -- his disorganised, undisciplined, messy squad -- but still, they’re his. He’s not going to give in that easily.
“I want you to listen. Now!” Justin yells. Making instant decisions, he walks forward and grabs for Joey’s arm. Holding on, Justin tugs him to the other end of the line, away from the crowd of juniors watching from the bleachers. More arranging and Chris is next in line, then Jason and JC.
Surveying the line, Justin nods, satisfied that for now, they’re all looking his way. Now all he has to do is make them listen. Looking along the line, Justin forces eye contact with each one. The thud of pads against bodies, just white noise as he thinks what to say.
“You all joined the squad for different reasons, but you did join. And you know, this might be a joke to you, but it’s not for me. I believe in this squad, I know we can be great, but I can’t do that alone.” Justin’s hands are clenched hard as he lowers his voice, allowing some of the sense of defeat to slip through. “If you’re not willing to put in that effort, you should go.”
Turning, Justin kneels, needlessly looking through his file of cheers. Slowly turning the pages, he selects a cheer, reads through the familiar words twice before finally turning back.
They’re still there.
~*~*~*~
It’s been almost three weeks and they’ve got the moves down. Handsprings and star jumps, the stuff that’s restricted to the ground. The problem remains actual coordination, because no matter how talented they are as individuals, they’re just those seconds away from making the moves as a team.
Sitting cross-legged, the grass prickling against his bare legs, Justin’s file is on his lap and he nibbles at the edge of his pen, watching as Joey hauls JC over his shoulder. Legs kicking, JC laughs as Joey spins, egged on by Chris and Jason who count each turn.
It’s inevitable they’ll fall, and after staggering in an ever widening circle, Joey collapses to the ground, JC sprawled by his side. They both laugh, hands held up, as Chris throws grass. Jason scoops up his water bottle and presses it hard so water streams toward them. Joey opens his mouth wide, trying to drink as water spills down his face
The smile is infectious, and Justin feels himself beaming in return because, despite the problems, this is his team, and he knows they’re going to be great.
Quickly making a decision, he jumps to his feet and brushes at his shorts, making sure they’re clean. “Guys, listen up.” Justin bounces on the balls of his feet, waiting until they’re looking his way. “I think it’s time we mixed things up, took them to the next level.”
Jason drops his waterbottle and looks at Justin. “Meaning?”
“Meaning it’s time to do more tricks. I thought we’d start with a basic extension and go from there.” Justin’s convinced this will work. He’s been studying cheering for years and now their team is cohesive they can create a more complex routine. “Chris, you’re the flier, Joey, Jason, you’re the base. JC, you’re the spotter.”
“I’m what?” JC says, his confusion mirrored by the other three.
Justin runs his hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath. “JC, you stand behind and watch for problems, and catch Chris if he falls. Joey, Jason. You’ll hold Chris’ feet and lift him in the air.”
“Wait.” Chris holds up a hand and looks toward Joey and Jason. “They’re going to be lifting me?”
“It’s safe,” Justin says, and he opens his file to the picture of a cheerleader held in the air, her feet held by her bases. “You’ll only be a few meters high.”
“Right,” Chris says slowly. “Why don’t you get up there then?”
Justin shuts his file with a last look at the picture. “Because you’re the lightest.”
“Yeah, Chris. Stop being a pussy and come here,” Joey says, grinning as he moves next to Jason, and kneels. “Come step on me.”
For a moment Justin thinks Chris is going to refuse, then he looks at the practicing football team and his shoulders straighten, his chin held high.
“Fine, fine. I’ll do it.”
There’s a tense moment when Chris first steps onto Joey and Jason’s shoulders. He wobbles, hands whirling through the air, but Justin grabs on, holding Chris steady.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Justin says, and Chris’ palm feels dry, his fingers rough. “JC, get behind us, Joey, Jason. You can stand, slowly.”
They do, and Justin stretches up as far as possible before letting go. When the bases are finally upright, Chris looks down, and his hair flops forward before he brushes at it impatiently.
“You did it!” Justin says, and takes a step back, and Chris lifts up his hands. He sways slightly, then finds his balance as he stretches out his arms, looking triumphant.
Immediately Justin flows into back flips, needing to express his elation. The pyramid is basic, but Chris did it. The team did it.
They’re elated for all of a minute.
There’s no warning shout, just a thud then Chris is falling to the ground. He lands in a heap, his hand clamped over his mouth as a football rolls next to JC’s feet.
“Chris!” Falling to his knees, Justin tries to see Chris’ face, but he won’t move his hand, and blood drips from between his fingers.
“That’s our ball.”
Justin looks up at the unfamiliar voice, furious when he sees a player from the team. He’s holding his helmet in one hand, and doesn’t look repentant at all.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” A last pat of Chris’ shoulder, and Justin stands, blocking the player from getting his ball. “You don’t even kick this way.”
“Like you know how to play.”
Justin’s used to protecting himself, but there’s a time and place, and that’s not today. Not when the rest of the football team have arranged themselves at the edge of the field, and JC is helping Chris to his feet, alternately swearing and uttering soothing words as they walk away.
Justin stands on blood-stained grass, listening to the laughter, his hands clenched into fists as he vows revenge.
Justin takes the long way back to the changing rooms. His fingers hurt where they’re clenched around his file of cheers, and he kicks savagely at a stone, sending it skittering along the ground.
He hears the giggles when he passes the varsity cheering squad, all girls, their hair tied with red ribbons, wearing tiny pleated skirts, their pom poms rustling as they move.
Justin ignores them all. Just keeps walking as they whisper his name, scorn blatant on their pink glossy lips.
He reaches the gym block and slows, trying to scrape together the words he needs to talk to his squad. They need enthusiasm and belief, not anger, and Justin takes a moment to uncurl his fingers and just breathe.
A few minutes later he goes inside. It’s cool after the bright sun and Justin hurries along the deserted corridor, nodding a distracted greeting at Jason’s girlfriend, who’s waiting next to the changing room door. She doesn’t reply, just pretends to look at old notices on the wall.
Justin doesn’t care. If it wasn’t for Jason they’d never interact at all. As it is, she’s someone who hovers on the peripherals of Justin’s world. There but not important.
“I told you it’s fine.”
The changing room is warm with damp heat, steam curling near the ceiling and Justin can hear the showers dripping onto the tiled floor. He can also hear Chris, who sounds annoyed, something that Justin sees for himself when he walks around the end locker to find the rest of his squad.
They’re grouped around one of the middle benches. There’s a blood stained paper towel next to Chris, and JC is crouched in front of him, looking anxious, hand hovering over Chris’ knee. Joey’s already changed, his hair wet and his t-shirt sticking to his back as he stuffs his uniform into his bag. Jason's in front of his open locker, back to Justin as he rummages inside.
“Before you ask, I’m fine.” Chris’ bottom lip is swollen and he scowls when he pulls at his t-shirt, looking at the spots of blood. “I need to get this washed, though.”
“My mom can do it; she’ll use the spot stain stuff.” It’s not Justin’s responsibility to look after their practice clothes, but he is in charge, and he hopes that distinction is enough for Chris to get past his pride.
“Thanks,” Chris says simply, and flashes a pink tinged smile as he peels off the t-shirt and hands it over.
“I’ll bring it back tomorrow,” Justin says, glancing down at the small spots of blood, dark against the white material. Each one is a reminder of emotions he’s trying to hide, and Justin turns to his locker, concentrating on the combination. Turning the dial he listens to the sounds of fabric against skin and feet against the ground. When he looks around Chris and JC are heading for the showers, towels wrapped securely around their waists.
There’s distance between them but they still seem close, JC grinning as he leans in, listening to something Chris whispers in his ear.
Curious, Justin’s about to strip out of his clothes and follow, when Jason looks his way.
“Justin.”
Jason sounds nervous, and Justin keeps unpacking his bag. Towel, shower gel, the shampoo that makes his curls gleam. He sets them on the bench, his stomach knotted, because he knows this can’t good.
“I’m leaving the squad.” Jason shuts his locker with a clang. He’s looking at Justin, as if willing him to understand, but all Justin understands is he’s lost more ground.
“I thought... I guess I didn’t think it would be so hard.” Jason looks away then, talking to the ground. “No one wants a male cheering team. Manda says. Well she says we’re a laughing stock.” He makes an aborted attempt to touch Justin’s arm. “I’m sorry.”
Jason leaves and Justin doesn’t say a word. There’s nothing he can say.
“I never liked him anyway.” Joey steps away from his own locker and drapes his arm around Justin’s shoulders, pulling him in for a brief hug. He smells like soap and feels warm, a solid strength that Justin draws on as he regroups and makes plans to start again.
~*~*~*~
The search for a replacement takes weeks, and Justin’s walking a line between optimism and knowing his dream is going to fail. They’ve plastered the corridor walls with flyers but Justin finds them crumpled in the trashcans, and when he opens his locker an avalanche of defaced fliers land at his feet. Picking one up he sees Homo losers scrawled in black pen, an insult so common now he hardly registers it as he gathers up the fliers and throws them away.
When he’s done his hands are marked with ink, and he tries to open his gym bag with the tips of his fingers.
“Here.”
Justin turns and sees JC holding out his gym towel. Taking it he rubs at his hands, concentrating on the ink instead of JC, who’s standing too close and seeing too much.
“We’ll find someone,” JC says, and he sounds convinced, like the perfect fifth is out there.
“I know,” Justin agrees, because they will, he reminds himself, as he finishes scrubbing at his hands before handing back the towel to JC.
~*~*~*~
In the end it’s Justin's mom that finds their fifth.
Justin’s concentrating on dipping his cookie for the perfect amount of time in his milk when she comes hurrying into the kitchen. She’s smiling as she places a piece of paper on the counter, a number neatly printed across the pale pink surface.
“Did you notice the old Anderson house is occupied?” She pushes the paper closer until it’s nestled against Justin’s glass of milk. “I went to introduce myself and Diane told me about her son. He’s starting at your school tomorrow.”
She waits, expectant, and Justin takes a bite of cookie, squishing the cookie and milk mixture against his teeth.
“So?”
“So, he’ll need a gym elective. You should ask him to join your team.”
“What, before everyone tells him what a bunch of fags we are.”
“Don’t let me ever hear you say that again.” Lynn’s voice is tight and Justin doesn’t have to look to see her anger, he can feel it. Prickles of shame add to his doubts that he can keep building this team at all.
“I know you, you can do this.”
Justin looks up, and he knows without a doubt that she believes he can turn this around. She’s always been his biggest supporter, and Justin uses that confidence as he pushes his milk aside and reaches for the phone.
~*~*~*~
“Jesus, Justin. Did you find him at Dorks R Us?” Chris takes a bite of the candy bar that JC shoves into his hand, and watches as Lance walks into the gym. “He’s wearing plaid.”
“He can wear a pink tutu and stockings as long as he can cheer,” Justin says, jabbing Chris in the side with his elbow.
“I once wore…”
“Don’t.” Justin looks past Chris to JC. “I don’t care how visually effective it would be. I don’t want to know.”
“Chicken.”
Chris grins, his teeth coated with chocolate, and right now Justin hates them both. Contenting himself with a scornful look, Justin stands, ready to meet the new member of his team.
He has to admit, Lance isn’t what he expected. He’s skinny and kind of awkward looking, but when Justin jumps down onto the court Lance immediately walks forward.
“Justin.”
“Lance.” There’s an uncomfortable moment when Lance holds out his hand and Justin goes for the manly hug back pat greeting, but eventually they’re smiling at one another and Justin can sincerely say, “I’m glad you’re interested.”
“It sounds fun.” Lance smiles, a wide toothy smile suggesting humour and a knowledge that he knows exactly what’s going on. Justin knows this is right. He can feel it, and be breathes a silent sigh of relief as Lance waves a greeting at the others who’ve remained sprawled on the stands.
Reminded of his manners, Justin introduces them with a wave of his hand. “Joey, JC, Chris. They’re all freaks.”
“Guess I’ve come to the right place then.” Lance suddenly cartwheels forward then launches into a flick flack, landing with arms outstretched and a wide smile. “When do we begin?”
~*~*~*~
Within a week things are looking up. Sure, Lance isn’t that good at the rhythm stuff, but he’s got the solo steps down and he's prepared to work, spending hours going over the same steps. Most nights they practice in Justin’s back garden, it’s easier without the constant catcalling, and having his mom on hand with drinks and hints is a decided plus.
“I’ve been thinking.” JC’s lying on the grass, his arms outstretched; his feet nestled in Chris’ lap. He looks sleepy and relaxed but he’s beating out a tune with his fingers.
“Well,” Chris prompts, and he prods JC in the side, before soothing his hand across the same spot.
“I was thinking about songs, you know, for our routine.” JC rolls on his side, his head propped on one fist. “We should use Duran Duran’s Wild Boys, it’s got a good beat.”
“Yeah right, because we’re really wild. We’re as wild as a bag of puppies. Puppies with fluffy hair and bows round their necks” Chris says, rolling his eyes. He’s still resting his hand on JC’s side, and pats an immediate apology.
“Speak for yourself.” Thrusting out his chest, Joey crushes his soda can between his fingers then throws it to the ground. “I’m wild, and I think that song would be great.”
Justin nods his agreement, already picturing the routine he can base on that song. He imagines layouts and pyramids, short sharp movements based on strength and skill. “I think. Wait.” Suddenly scrambling to his feet, Justin runs indoors, his sneakers thudding against the floor as he skids around corners and takes the stairs two at a time. Pushing open his bedroom door, he kneels next to his CD collection, running his fingers over the alphabetically ordered discs until he finds the one he needs.
CD clutched in one hand, he hurries back downstairs, blinking a little as he steps from the cool interior of his house into bright sunshine. “I knew I had this.” Justin holds up the album, wiggling his hips in triumph and as he takes Thriller out of the small portable CD player they’ve got set up on top of the BBQ. He can’t help bouncing on the balls of his feet, because Wild Boys is perfect, he can feel it.
“We could do flips at the end beat of the drums, double flips.” Pressing play, Justin steps onto the grass and bends, looking at the others from between his spread legs. “Lance, Joey. You’d do this, and grab Chris and JC’s hands. Then, flip.” Legs bent, Justin pushes up and attempts to demonstrate with his own flip, he lands on his back, blinking up at a clear blue sky.
“Very impressive.”
Justin turns his head and looks along the length of the lawn, at patchy grass and the soles of sneakers, then up, at Lance who’s staring down at him. His expression is serious, but Justin’s spent hours with Lance these last few weeks, and he can see laughter hidden in the slight crinkle of his eyes, the way he’s studiously looking only at Justin.
“So what do you call that move? The Timberlake tumble?”
There’s a moment of stillness, a minute fraction of time where they all seem frozen, then reaction hits. Five counts of laughter and Justin’s flat on his back, grass tickling against his legs, sunshine and friends and knowing that finally, thing are going to be fine.
~*~*~*~
“What do you mean we can’t join?” Justin clutches his bag, fingers tightening around the strap as he watches Mr Goodwin glance down the corridor, his attention already moving to other things.
“You’re not an official school team, Justin. You can’t cheer for the school if you’re not official.”
“So what are we?” Justin asks, holding onto his control. He knows the school never wanted a male cheering team, and Mr Goodman is a huge part of that problem. He reigns over his prize winning teams, and the PE department where you play football or basketball, or you resign yourself to no special attention at all.
“An embarrassment.”
Justin freezes at the reply. The halls are jammed full of chattering students, lockers banging, multiple footsteps against the scuffed floor. All he can hear is, an embarrassment.
He’d known that people were laughing. It’s impossible not to. But hearing it from a teacher reaches a new level of hurt -- and determination. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Justin manages a curt goodbye, then weaves his way through the crowd, making his way outside. He smiles greetings as he goes, always maintaining the façade of ease. It’s only when he’s in the bleachers, sitting up high, sun warm wood against his legs that he lets down his pretence. Allowing his shoulders to drop and the smile to fade he digs out his cell, quickly typing in a mass text that simply says, "meet me at the usual place, we need to talk".
Justin’s skimming through his regulation book when the others arrive. Using his finger as a bookmark, he watches Lance and Joey walk across the running track. Joey’s holding his girlfriend's hand, and Kelly smiles, waving at Justin before Joey bends to kiss her. Lance steps to one side and Justin can imagine Lance rolling his eyes, and he laughs when Joey bends one arm behind his back, flipping Lance off while mid-kiss.
“Go, Joey!”
Chris, always loud and always obvious. Justin can’t see him yet, but Lance has turned, ignoring the kissing going on behind him. He holds out his hands, trying to ward off Chris when Chris appears, darting forward to jump on Lance in a slap-to-back-squeeze-thump movement that’s Chris’ idea of a school safe hug. It’s no surprise when JC appears too, furry red bag on his back and smiling wide as he waves at Justin.
“Justin!”
Sitting back, so he’s leaning against the side barrier and safe from Chris’ greeting, Justin gathers up the collection of books and papers lain out by his side. Some of the papers are highlighted, and Justin rubs green stained fingers against his thighs.
“Hope you don’t mind talking while we eat, Mrs C made meatloaf sandwiches.” Sitting on the bench under Justin’s, Chris drops his bag to the ground and grins as JC sits next to him, so close their shoulders touch as he takes off his bag, red fluff floating from under his fingers as he pulls open the zip. Rummaging inside, he takes out a Magnum PI lunch box, opening it to reveal a stack of foil wrapped sandwiches, far too many for one person.
Humming happily, JC peels back the foil, passing one to Chris before looking inquiringly at Justin. “You want one? We’ve plenty.”
“I’m good.” Justin can’t imagine eating right now. He wants to be doing something; making plans and sharing his outrage and fear. He contends himself with sipping at his soda, listening to JC and Chris discuss math class and homework as Joey finally says goodbye to Kelly, and starts to climb toward them, Lance at his side.
“So, what’s up?” Joey sprawls down, knees bent, his feet on the bench in front.
“Yeah, I had to sit and watch Joey inhale a whole plateful of mac and cheese, so it better be good,” Lance says, easily ignoring the swipe of Joey’s hand.
“We’ve hit a setback,” Justin says slowly. “We haven’t competed anywhere and don’t cheer for any of the squads, so Mr Goodwin says we’re technically not a team.”
“Meaning?” Chris asks, his eyes narrowing as he lets his sandwich drop back onto the pile.
“Meaning we can’t enter the cheering competition. The one we need to win to get to state.”
“That’s bullshit!”
Justin understands Joey’s anger. They’ve been practicing for weeks, working toward that first toe hold on the climb to state, and the recognition that they so desperately need. It’s part of a carefully crafted plan, and now it’s been threatened by a faculty that are too scared to see past the norm, and are blocking their way in any means possible.
“There has to be a way around it. We just have to find it.” JC snaps shut his lunch box and drops it onto his bag, red fluff floating away in a cloud. “Pass me the book.”
~*~*~*~
“I think I have something,” Joey says with a hesitant excitement. A quick run to the school library means they’re surrounded by books, and Joey points to a paragraph in the school curriculum. “It says the school is committed to providing sports activity at any level, and as such strives to support any groups of students who wish to form and maintain their own team in a given activity.”
“But they say we’re not a team, that’s the problem,” Chris points out, tossing his head as his hair falls in his eyes.
“For cheering we’re not, but there’s that basketball tournament on Saturday, the one raising money for the football team. Anyone can enter; you just need five people.”
“A team that’s given colours to wear, and is recognised by the school,” Justin says slowly. It’s a loophole, but right now he’s prepared to try anything. Closing the book he’s been studying, he’s already planning as he jumps up and slaps Joey hard on the back. “You’re a genius.”
“You know it.” Chest swelled and grinning wide, Joey thumps at the air. “I hold you guys up, I rescue you from danger, I solve your problems! Superman to the rescue!”
Which is the truth, at least most of it, and Justin doesn’t care that people look as they jump onto the benches, cheering for Joey, who joins in with gusto. Joey deserves the cheers, because they needed this, and maybe some of them can’t play ball, okay, three fifths of them can’t, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is they’ll be a team. An official team.
~*~*~*~*~
The tournament uniforms they’ve been assigned feel weird, baggy after so long wearing tight shorts and t-shirts. The silky material slides against Justin’s legs as he walks into the gym. It’s crowded, the air warm, and the scent of old sweat mixes with deoderant and the popcorn that the pompom squad are selling near the door.
The stands are full of spectators, and the girl cheerleaders are warming up at courtside, waving their pompoms that match their uniforms and the ribbons tied in their hair. They’re being watched, respected, and Justin can’t help the pang of jealousy as he heads for his squad who’re standing close to one of the hoops.
“We’re going to get slaughtered,” Joey remarks, but he doesn’t look disheartened, far from it as he winks at a group of freshmen who are watching from their place in the stands.
“Probably,” Justin agrees, grabbing a basketball from Chris so he can spin it on his finger.
“Hey!” Jumping forward, Chris grabs the ball mid spin. “I was teaching JC to shoot.”
“Is that what that was?” Lance smoothes down the top he’s wearing, brushing away invisible lint. “I thought you were abusing your teaching powers to manipulate his body into obscene positions.”
“Well, yeah.” Chris grins and stands behind JC, kicking at his ankles to widen his stance, and cups his hands behind JC’s elbows so he can push up his arms. “But he needs to be able to shoot too.”
Which is something Justin agrees with. He just doesn’t think Chris’ method of teaching will actually work, especially with Chris being shorter, and unable to see the hoop over JC’s shoulders.
“We’ve been practicing. Watch.” Stepping to the side, Chris hands JC the ball. “Show them what you’ve learned.”
Immediately, JC shifts his position, cradling the ball in his hands as he narrows his eyes, looking directly at the hoop. He almost looks like he knows what he’s doing, and when Joey moves into a cheering stance, Justin can’t help joining in.
“Take it to the limit, take it to the top! He’s the mighty JC and he can’t be stopped!"
Four voices rise as one, and they grin at one another as they work the small space, jumping in sync and punching at the air.
Adjusting his hold, JC brings back his hands; and shoots -- directly at the team mascot, the ball thudding against its grey wolf nose.
“Sorry!” Shouting an apology, JC’s hands are over his mouth, but it does little to hide his smile, which curls from behind his fingers, or his barely muffled laughter as the wolf flips him off and stalks away.
A last jump, and Justin is laughing too, surrounded by his friends as they move to the stands, waiting for their turn to take to the court.
~*~*~*~
They don’t get beaten that badly. Justin makes a lot of shots, and Chris is good at snatching the ball, pounding up the court while slipping under grasping arms. Justin’s even enjoying himself at one point. When the crowd gasps as he jumps high, arm straight, knowing he’s going to make the basket. The ball never touches the rim, just goes straight through as Justin lands on one knee, grinning at the resulting applause. It feels good, his heart thundering, the adrenalin flowing. Despite this not being what he wants to do, he loves the feeling of being centre of attention.
Of course, they never actually get in the lead. The other team is too good for that, and Justin hears a few Cheer faggots catcalls when Lance takes an elbow to the side, and Joey shoots, missing the hoop by feet.
Mostly though, it’s good. Especially when Mr Goodwin sees them after the game, his lips a thin line as he hands over the registration form for the cheering contest, leaving without saying a word.
~*~*~*~
JC waits, the yells, “One, two, three. Go!”
Justin immediately bends forward and braces himself, hands against his thighs. He straightens when he feels Chris’ foot against his back, locking his knees, solidly in place next to Joey, and hoping that this time Chris manages the jump from back to shoulders. He doesn’t, Justin feels a shoe slip past his ear, and Chris swears as he pitches forward onto the grass.
“Fuck!” Slamming his hand against the ground, Chris scrambles to his feet. He’s red faced, his hair pushed back by a sweat soaked bandanna, evidence of the multiple times they’ve tried this trick. In theory it’s possible, something flashy for their small squad. In practice, Chris is finding it difficult, and most times he ends up falling, their small pyramid collapsing to the ground.
“Let’s go again.”
Rubbing at his aching shoulder, Justin nods his agreement, then hesitates when he sees his mom walk outside. She’s holding a box and smiles as she rests it on one of the lawn chairs.
“I was talking to your moms, and we’re all so proud of you, and well. We clubbed together and bought these.” Reaching into the box, Lynn pulls out a t-shirt in the school colours of blue and purple. A pair of matching shorts is next, and Justin can’t stop smiling as he takes them both, running his hand over the material as his mom pulls out a megaphone. She hands it to Joey, who immediately puts it to his mouth, yelling, “Thanks, Mrs H,” in Lance’s ear.
Wincing, Lance grabs the megaphone from Joey’s hand and put it to his own mouth, the end close to Joey’s head. “That hurt!”
“Thanks, Mrs H.” Holding onto his own uniform, Chris wraps his arms around Lynn, hugging her tightly, a move that’s copied by them all. They hold on, arms against backs, squad members, but more importantly; friends.
~*~*~*~
The cheer contest is held on a Sunday afternoon, and Justin feels dry-eyed and strung tight as he climbs out of his mom’s car. Leaning against the hot metal of the door, he rubs his palm against his thigh, easing the ache of hours clutching his bag. It’s over his shoulder now, a reassuring weight consisting of his cheer folder and the uniform he’s fought so hard for.
“There’s Karen,” Lynn says, pointing as she opens the trunk of the car. She picks up a rolled up banner and tucks it under her arm, then the bag that seems to contain anything any good cheerleader might need. Justin’s convinced if asked she could pull anything from in there. Band aids, water, maybe even a spare squad member if needed, which would be good, because Justin’s about a minute from puking all over his pristine white sneakers.
“Justin.” Letting the bag thump to the floor, Lynn props up the banner, and rests her hands on Justin’s shoulders. “You’re going to be fantastic.”
“But, what….”
“But nothing,” Lynn interrupts, and she leans in close, brushing a kiss against his forehead. “Go and get your team.”
Just that touch overwhelmed, Justin pulls his mom into a quick hug, reassured, as always, by her love and utter confidence that he’ll do his best.
“Give them hell, baby.”
With a last squeeze, Lynn steps back, and Justin smiles as he heads for his team. They’re gathered near the entrance to the auditorium. The Fatones and Kelly, Karen, Diane and Chris standing in the shade, watching JC chase one of Chris’ sisters. The reflective strip down the side of his pants are glowing in the sun as he chases her around a flag pole, making her giggle with his outreached arms and monster growl. The only one missing is Lance, and Justin soon sees him pushing his way through the crowd. He’s wearing his uniform, and a pair of dark sunglasses, looking cool despite the heat.
“Justin.” Lance jumps down the last three steps, and greets Justin with a quick hug. “We’re changing in a room at the back, it’s supposed to be a dressing room but looks more like a cupboard with a mirror and a few chairs to me.” He shrugs then smiles slightly. “It’s next to the bathroom too, which is good.”
“Honey, I’ve something that’ll settle your stomach.” Diane starts to open her purse, as Lance immediately holds out his hand.
“Joey gets the runs too; I’ve some ginger ale if that’ll help.”
Lance opens his mouth, looking horrified as Joey’s mom starts to rummage through the canvas bag propped against her legs.
Normally Justin would wait, enjoying the sight of Lance being smothered with mom affection, but not today. They need to get inside, and he runs up the stairs, grabbing Lance’s arm as he does so.
“Come on, we need to get ready.” He doesn’t look back to see if the others have followed, he doesn’t need to. He can hear their feet behind him, their footsteps as familiar as his own.
They walk in together, into a crowd consisting of brightly coloured groups of cheerleaders, the huge majority of them girls. Justin feels underdressed against the blocks of colour, against brightly coloured skirts and bouncing pigtails tied with ribbon. The few male cheerleaders he sees are surrounded by more girls, dressed in matching uniforms, and Justin’s all too aware that, as an all-male team, they’re the oddities here. Interlopers in an established world.
“Oh, fuck,” Chris says, standing close to JC, his arms crossed across his chest as he watches a squad of girls squeal in unison before running toward the dressing rooms.
“I like it, there’s a good positive energy. It makes my skin buzz.” JC takes Chris’ hand, and presses their palms together. “See?”
“If you say so.” Chris looks dubious, but he still links their fingers together momentarily before breaking the hold. “Okay, so where do we sign up?”
“Over there.” Lance points toward a trestle table where two women are sitting. They’re both straight shouldered, their hair pulled back into elaborate buns, frowning as they ask for names, checking them off a list.
“Okay then. Let’s do this.” Determined now, Justin pushes past a furry suited Badger mascot, avoiding its oversized feet as he makes his way to the table. Once there, he waits, his friends to his side, until at last, one of the women look up. “Justin Timberlake, signing in on behalf of Boone High School.”
“Ah, yes. You’re the other squad from that school.”
The scorn in her voice is obvious, but Justin’s faced so much worse. This is nothing, and he waits patiently, until finally she looks down at her list, and ticks the box next to his name.
“You’ve been assigned dressing room number fifteen. You’ve got thirty minutes before you’re scheduled to cheer. I suggest you hurry and change.”
“Thank you.” Forcing a smile, Justin looks at the others before hurrying toward the corridor. He hadn’t expected a good cheering spot, but had at least expected time to prepare, not a slot when people were still getting settled in the stands. Thirty minutes to get changed and warmed up is ridiculous.
“You know, this is a good thing. The less time we have, the less nerves right?” JC says, as if convincing himself of that fact. Still, JC has a point, and Justin reminds himself of that when Lance points at a piece of paper taped to a door, their names scrawled across the page.
The room is tiny inside. There’s three chairs, and a narrow mirror propped against the wall. They bump into each other while they get changed, and a lack of hooks mean their clothes end up in piles on the floor. None of that matters. Within ten minutes they’re dressed in their uniforms, sneakers securely tied, shorts and tops crease free. They look good. They look great. Justin couldn’t be more proud.
~*~*~*~
They reach the performance areas just as the announcer is calling their names. Plastering on a smile, Justin steps into view, his heart thundering as they take start up positions. The stands are less than half full, and people are moving around, drinking coffee and chattering in hushed voices. Then ten rows back is his mom, she’s waving a banner, scarlet material and gold letters saying, Go Boone Boys! Karen and Phyllis are next to her. Joe and Kelly, Chris’ sister jumping in the aisle, shaking home made pompoms made of crepe paper and string.
Their own small section of support cheer over the polite applause as Justin and his squad flick flack and jump, cartwheel in circles, and flip to the beat of the song.
They get through to the next round; just.
~*~*~*~
“We need to change the routine, take it to the next level.” Justin sits in the stands, a warm bottle of water held loosely in his hands, watching as yet another squad takes to the floor. They’re good, tumbling in sequence and end their routine with a five person pyramid, the highest cheerleader’s arms stretched high as she beams at the judges.
“We should try the back jump extend trick. It looks great.”
“Yeah, and half the time I end up flat on my face,” Chris says, frowning at JC. “I mean, I’ll give it a go, as long as you know there’s a good chance of me eating mat.”
“That’s fine; you’ve got a big mouth.”
Chris turns, head tilted to one side as he looks at JC. “Does that actually make any sense in your world?”
“Well, yes.” JC smiles, seemingly content to leave it at that.
“Okay, then,” Chris says, words drawn out with occupying frantic finger circles near his ear. “So we’re doing the back jump extend trick, and if I knock all my teeth out, JC’s paying the bill.”
“Good.” Reaching out, Joey grabs the bottle from Justin’s hands and takes a long drink. “We need something flashy if we’re going to win.”
“Which we will.” Lance is lounging, using his own chair and half of Justin’s, and he sounds sure as he holds up his own bottle of water. “To showing them male cheer squads kick ass.”
~*~*~*~
“Please welcome Boone High’s all male squad.”
The stands are much fuller now, each seat taken by people who politely applaud. Swallowing hard, Justin looks at his squad. This is it. They have to give the performance of their lives.
“I’m so... I mean, you’ve all been great and I’m …”
“Not to interrupt this meaningful moment,” Chris says, doing just that. “We need to get out there; you can tell us how wonderful we are later.”
“Who says…”
Strong arms suddenly wrap around Justin’s waist, and Chris is squeezing him tight, holding on as he looks up at Justin. “Come on, J. You’ve been working up to this moment. It’s time.”
Swallowing against the sick feeling in his stomach, Justin sees sympathy and understanding as he looks at his friends. They’re all waiting for him, lined up and ready. Nodding he plasters on his best smile, the one he practices at night in his room. “Let’s go.”
Stepping into the performance area seems so much worse the second time. Now they’re against the squads that have actual talent, all the no hopers are gone, leaving behind the contenders. As he takes his place, Justin can hear the whispers, but he can also see sections of supporters, people who’re smiling, eager to see them perform.
“Damn it.”
Justin turns when he hears JC swear, narrowing his eyes against the glare of lights to see where he’s looking. He soon sees the football team from his school. They’re sitting close to the female cheer squad, laughing and flashing a home made sign. Black letters against white paper, home losers in block print.
“Ignore them,” Lance says, bumping Justin with his hip.
Which is exactly what Justin does, turning away, his smile fixed as the first notes of Wild Boys hit the air.
Immediately they all summersault forward, landing in unison, their feet thumping against the floor. Justin knows it’s visually effective, and the ripple of applause supports that, but he’s got no time to celebrate. Already he’s moving forward into a hand stand that turns into a tumble, crisscrossing Joey who’s going the other way.
JC, Chris and Lance are doing floor work at the same time, dancing together, cheering loud, their movements controlled energy. When Justin stops somersaulting forward, he runs back to the middle, crouched down, side to side with Joey, ready for the first pyramid of the routine. It’s a simple trick, Chris jumping onto their back, then somersaulting to the floor, but Chris puts his all into leaping up high, knees bent, powering upwards.
He lands solidly on their backs, perfectly in time, and the audience is applauding again, some whistling as Chris’ foot digs into Justin’s back, signalling he’s about to dismount.
Which is when it happens. Justin hears a thud then Chris is pitching forward, landing in a sprawl of arms and legs, a baseball spinning across the floor.
There’s silence at first, a shocked reaction, and Justin drops to his knees, reaching out as Chris slowly pushes himself up, one hand held against his side.
“Are you okay?” JC kneels next to Justin, his hand on Chris’ shoulder.
“I’m fine.” Chris pokes at his side, wincing a little, anger obvious in the way he glares toward the football team, and the players who’re openly laughing while holding aloft the sign.
Wild Boys ends then, and the sudden silence is overwhelming. Hushed voices and crushing disappointment instead of the triumphant finale that Justin’s planned for so long.
“Please welcome, Sandhill High.”
Justin runs his hand across his face, stares down at the scuffed floor. Then looks up when he hears the first boos.
“Let them cheer again!”
“That’s not fair!”
“Play the song again!”
Multiple shouts from multiple places in the auditorium, and he stands, someone’s hand against his back, listening as the shouts increase in volume.
“Let them cheer! Let them cheer! Let them cheer!”
The chant is taken up, swelling in volume, and despair changes to elation as the speakers squeal.
“Due to circumstances, Boone High will cheer again. Sandhill High. Please wait in the stands.”
Pushing back the urge to kick and cartwheel across the floor, Justin turns to his team, ignoring the eruption of boos from the stand where the football team is sitting. He doesn’t say anything; he can see the determination, their utter belief that this time they’ll success. A last smile, small and private, and he moves away, ready to cheer once more.
Wild Boys begins, and they all summersault forward. This time the move is greeted with cheers, and Justin jumps that little bit harder, gaining more air as he moves into the crossed tumbles. He can see Joey doing the same, and JC, Chris and Lance’s floor show is perfect, all three moving as one.
There’s no hesitation when they approach the first trick. Chris launches himself into the air, somersaulting in a tight line, landing solidly to loud cheers. Following choreography that feels second nature, Justin prepares for the basket toss, crouching, he clasps his hand to his wrist, then joins hands with Joey, creating a platform for Chris to spring from. Listening to JC counting, Justin and Joey brace themselves, and when Chris jumps, his feet landing on their joined hands, they push him upwards, allowing him to hurtle into the air. He jumps high, twisting into a tuck, snapping back his legs and arching his back before falling back to be caught by Lance and JC.
Releasing Joey’s hand, Justin moves into a line with Chris, Lance and JC, standing behind Joey who snatches up his megaphone.
“Hey Hey it's time to fight!
Everybody yell that the boys are alright!
We don’t wear skirts, we don’t wear ribbons!
That we give it everything, is an all time given!
Hey hey let's do it again
Everybody yell Go boys, win!
Go, boys, Win!
Go, boys, Win!”
Joey stalks along the edge of the performance area, yelling as the others back tumble then go through right punches and Ts. Diagonal crosses and daggers, moving their arms in short sharp bursts.
It’s a new cheer, but the crowd respond, stomping their feet and clapping, and Justin feels like he could cheer forever as he moves into place for the last trick. The back to shoulder jump that’s caused them so much grief. Today though, he knows it’s going to work, he can feel it.
Bending, Joey close by his side, Lance behind and to the side, ready to steady Chris’ jump, JC counting down, time seems to slow, each moment vivid as Chris runs forward. His foot hits Justin’s back, then the pressure’s gone, and Justin’s got split seconds to stand. He does so, his hand close to his shoulder ready to grab Chris’ foot as soon as he jumps once more. He does so, and Justin grabs hold of Chris’ foot, trusting Joey is doing the same, as they straighten their arms.
Immediately there’s a roar of applause, and Justin’s arms are quivering as he helps hold Chris in the air, a closely timed pose before he’s dropping to the floor, landing safely in JC and Lance’s arms. Then there’s only the final pose. Justin in front, arm forward and up, the others around him, their arms outstretched too, panting for breath but grinning as the crowd surge to their feet.
~*~*~*~*~
“I should have added something else to the cheer,” JC says, looking pale as he waits. “Another line about the human spirit, people always like that.”
“It was fine, and leaving it out means we can keep the, 'it’s about the human spirit, man, about love and sex and latex in a can' for the x rated games.”
“They have them?” Looking interested, JC slumps a little when Lance shakes his head no.
“How long does it take to add up some numbers?”
Chris had moved from patiently waiting to impatient pacing almost twenty minutes ago, and Justin’s ready to strangle him. Biting his lip, he looks out at the stands, finding his mom, who waves when she sees him looking.
They’re all waiting, their families, their support through these last months.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have the results of the tenth annual Sun and Spirit Competition. The winners of which will be eligible to compete for state.”
“I need the bathroom.”
Justin doesn’t look, just reaches out and grabs Lance’s hand, entwining their fingers. Within seconds Chris does the same so he’s hand in hand with Justin and JC, while Joey takes Lance’s free hand. They all hold on; waiting.
“In third place we have Secley Bridge High”
There’s a scream, and a stream of girls run past, yellow pom poms rustling as they accept a trophy.
“In second place we have Madison Girls School.”
The squad runs onto the floor, the girls jumping in delight as they’re handed their trophy.
“In first place.”
The announcer pauses, and Justin’s fingers ache as he wills him to continue.
“We have Boone High Boys!”
“We’ve won! We’ve won!”
There’s shouting, applause, a thousand emotions fighting to explode as Justin stands still, his squad circling him. Holding on, then finally pulling him toward the floor. Cameras flash, and the audience are on the feet, yelling their names as Justin is handed the huge trophy.
He takes it, grinning wildly, and even the sight of the football team and the female cheer squad -- the majority of which are scowling, sitting down and deliberately not applauding at all -- can bring down Justin’s mood. Not when he can lift up the trophy, holding it toward his mom.
They’ve done it.
Video: Here We Go.
I want to thank vaudevilles and interlock for being so awesome in beta. You ladies are wonderful.
The gym is deserted when Justin lets himself in. Empty bleachers and limp flags, homemade wolf-adorned banners attached to the walls. He walks confidently forward, crossing scuffed colourful lines marking multiple courts; then sets down an armful of books and lets his bag thump to the floor. Sitting, he props his feet on the first bleacher, arranges his notebook open in his lap -- then waits.
Justin’s fought so hard for this; to showcase his gymnastic ability in conjunction with cheers. It’s the perfect match, music and performance and he knows he can create a show-stopping squad; all he needs is the chance. He hadn’t expected to run into a faculty and a sports department that believes that cheerleaders have to be female. Now, after months of protest and his mom threatening legal action on sex discrimination, Justin’s been given this chance. A one time only deal to assemble his own squad, because there’ll be no mixing of the sexes. Not in this town.
Of course, the chance means nothing if no one signs up.
An hour later and Justin’s finished his math homework, solving problems while he ignores the students pressed against the door, laughing and jeering, waiting for him to fail.
Two hours later and he knows it’s over.
He's packing his bag when the door opens with an echoing crash. Jumping, Justin drops his pen, so he's scrabbling on the floor when someone sits next to him with a cheery, “Sorry I’m late.”
Justin looks up at a beaming smile, and watches as the guy rummages in his bag, pulling out a crumpled flyer. One of a hundred that Justin and his mom had made the week before.
“I had to stay back. Detention. Not that I did anything wrong. Much.” Smile widening even further, the guy smoothes out the paper. “I’m Joey, and my drama class moved to a Monday, and I need extra gym credits, so…”
It’s hardly the enthusiasm Justin expected, and Joey seems to see that, smiling as he drops his bag to the floor. “This is where my mom would whap my head for not selling myself. So, while I’m not really into the sports thing, I can tumble just fine.” At Justin’s look Joey grins still wider. “What can I say? I was watching the gymnastic championships one year and decided it looked cool. I stayed in class long enough to pick up the basics. See.”
Suddenly, Joey tumbles across the gym, and while his lines aren’t the best, the energy is there and Justin feels like cart wheeling across the floor after him. Instead he grins wide as he pulls out forms and a notebook from his bag. “I’m Justin, but I guess you know that already. I’m also the only other person on the squad, so, if you want to back out….”
Justin desperately doesn’t want Joey to back out but he has to give the guy that chance. Even if he feels sick as Joey says nothing.
”I’ll stay,” Joey says, and he leans back, relaxed and confident, obviously not bothered that they’re a squad of two. “Anyway, JC said he was coming, so that’s three.”
Justin can’t visualise a JC, but that’s not surprising. Their school is pretty big and Justin doesn’t know everyone, despite how hard he tries.
“Is…”
The doors open and Justin stops speaking as two more people walk in. Justin recognises Jason from English period one, so the other guy has to be JC. Skinny with baggy pants and a bag that seems to be made partially of red fur.
“Hey, C.” Joey jumps from his bleacher. He lands in front of JC, greeting him with a slap of hands. Justin’s pulls out more forms, smiling hard all the while.
They’re filling in forms when the door slams open, making Justin jump again, his pen scratching across the page.
“Fuck them. Fuck them with a rusty pole.”
Justin puts down his form, standing as the newcomer hurries close.
“Can you believe they cut me because they said I’m too small? Fuck that.”
He glares as if daring anyone to disagree. Justin says nothing, just waits as the guy paces, his cheeks flushed and hands clenched. Finally the short, angry guy squeaks to a halt, and holds out his hand.
“I’m getting on that field somehow, so, sign me up.” He takes a deep breath when Justin hands over a form. “Thanks. I’m Chris by the way.”
“Hey.” Justin nods his own greeting, all the while wanting to dance around the gym. They may be mismatched, but they’re his, a squad at last.
~*~*~*~*~
The first time they practice it's a disaster. They’re on the field next to the science building and Justin has to ignore the sniggers of the watching students as Joey cartwheels into a trash can and, despite his dance training, JC manages to trip over a tuft of grass. Legs are kicked, feet are stomped on, and the pyramid is a non-starter when the football team starts playing close-by. Joey preens, JC gets distracted and Chris scowls at the players and completely misses his cues.
But at least he’s got a team, though, and Justin tries to remember that when he’s sitting on the bleachers, chugging water and watching the female cheerleaders practice.
He doesn’t stay long. It’s too depressing seeing how far they’ve got to go.
~*~*~*~*~
The insulting messages shoved into Justin’s locker are down to five a day. They're always scrawled on torn lined notepaper, and, if pressed, he’d admit that he’s impressed with some of the insults. Who knew there were so many ways to describe him as gay?
Crumpling the latest, he throws it across the hall in a perfect arch which drops into the trashcan. Fisting the air in celebration, he turns back to his open locker. He pulls out his gym bag, throwing it over his shoulder as he slams shut the door, and hurries toward the locker rooms.
They only get an hours practice a day, and they need every minute. It's valuable time for learning cheers and tumbling in sync, which are simple things that remain out of their reach. Not that he’s giving up, Justin’s worked too hard to get this far, and he knows the ability is there, hidden under a layer of klutz.
“Justin, hey!” Chris says. He’s sitting on the bench between the lockers, curled forward and tying his sneakers, his t-shirt pulled up at the back, exposing the sharp bumps of his spine. “I’ll need to cut out early today, there’s a delivery at the farm and I need to help.”
“Can’t someone else do it?” Justin drops his bag and sits, concentrating on pulling out his training kit, sniffing socks so he doesn’t have to see Chris stare up at him.
“They could, but it means no money for me. So” A last pull of his laces, and Chris stands, talking over his shoulder as he leaves the room. “I’ll be leaving at ten to.”
There’s nothing Justin can say. He’s treading on egg shells around the squad, scared that they’ll bow to the pressure and leave. Instead he bites his lip, concentrating on getting changed.
“We’ve still got time to practice the cheer.” JC’s says, He’s sitting at the edge of the bench, already in his gym clothes. He’s holding a notebook, and there’s a silver pencil tucked behind his ear, its end a chewed mess.
“I wrote something.” JC marks a page in the notebook with his finger and slides closer to Justin. “A cheer.”
Justin frowns when JC says no more. “Well, are you going to show me?”
“I guess, but it’s better out loud.” There’s a flush of colour across JC’s cheeks, and he’s looking down at his notebook, running his thumb over the page.
“I’m listening.”
JC grins and jumps to his feet. Feet apart and arms in the air, he cheers. “Go Wolves! Go Wolves! Show them what we’ve got! Go Wolves! Go Wolves! Show we win a lot!”
Justin watches as JC's pencil fall to the floor and rolls away.
It’s going to be a long year.
~*~*~*~
“You need to listen to me,” Justin says, resisting the urge to slam heads together, because, God, they’re not listening at all. If it’s not Joey flirting or Jason making cow-eyes at his girlfriend, it’s Chris clowning around until the field is full of the sound of JC’s dorky laughter.
It’s like herding cats and Justin feels sick because he wants this so badly, and he’s watching it all go wrong. He knows they can tumble, he knows they can cheer, but it seems they’re incapable of doing it together, and, for the first time ever, something Justin wants is in danger of slipping away.
He hates that feeling.
Taking a deep breath, he looks at his squad -- his disorganised, undisciplined, messy squad -- but still, they’re his. He’s not going to give in that easily.
“I want you to listen. Now!” Justin yells. Making instant decisions, he walks forward and grabs for Joey’s arm. Holding on, Justin tugs him to the other end of the line, away from the crowd of juniors watching from the bleachers. More arranging and Chris is next in line, then Jason and JC.
Surveying the line, Justin nods, satisfied that for now, they’re all looking his way. Now all he has to do is make them listen. Looking along the line, Justin forces eye contact with each one. The thud of pads against bodies, just white noise as he thinks what to say.
“You all joined the squad for different reasons, but you did join. And you know, this might be a joke to you, but it’s not for me. I believe in this squad, I know we can be great, but I can’t do that alone.” Justin’s hands are clenched hard as he lowers his voice, allowing some of the sense of defeat to slip through. “If you’re not willing to put in that effort, you should go.”
Turning, Justin kneels, needlessly looking through his file of cheers. Slowly turning the pages, he selects a cheer, reads through the familiar words twice before finally turning back.
They’re still there.
~*~*~*~
It’s been almost three weeks and they’ve got the moves down. Handsprings and star jumps, the stuff that’s restricted to the ground. The problem remains actual coordination, because no matter how talented they are as individuals, they’re just those seconds away from making the moves as a team.
Sitting cross-legged, the grass prickling against his bare legs, Justin’s file is on his lap and he nibbles at the edge of his pen, watching as Joey hauls JC over his shoulder. Legs kicking, JC laughs as Joey spins, egged on by Chris and Jason who count each turn.
It’s inevitable they’ll fall, and after staggering in an ever widening circle, Joey collapses to the ground, JC sprawled by his side. They both laugh, hands held up, as Chris throws grass. Jason scoops up his water bottle and presses it hard so water streams toward them. Joey opens his mouth wide, trying to drink as water spills down his face
The smile is infectious, and Justin feels himself beaming in return because, despite the problems, this is his team, and he knows they’re going to be great.
Quickly making a decision, he jumps to his feet and brushes at his shorts, making sure they’re clean. “Guys, listen up.” Justin bounces on the balls of his feet, waiting until they’re looking his way. “I think it’s time we mixed things up, took them to the next level.”
Jason drops his waterbottle and looks at Justin. “Meaning?”
“Meaning it’s time to do more tricks. I thought we’d start with a basic extension and go from there.” Justin’s convinced this will work. He’s been studying cheering for years and now their team is cohesive they can create a more complex routine. “Chris, you’re the flier, Joey, Jason, you’re the base. JC, you’re the spotter.”
“I’m what?” JC says, his confusion mirrored by the other three.
Justin runs his hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath. “JC, you stand behind and watch for problems, and catch Chris if he falls. Joey, Jason. You’ll hold Chris’ feet and lift him in the air.”
“Wait.” Chris holds up a hand and looks toward Joey and Jason. “They’re going to be lifting me?”
“It’s safe,” Justin says, and he opens his file to the picture of a cheerleader held in the air, her feet held by her bases. “You’ll only be a few meters high.”
“Right,” Chris says slowly. “Why don’t you get up there then?”
Justin shuts his file with a last look at the picture. “Because you’re the lightest.”
“Yeah, Chris. Stop being a pussy and come here,” Joey says, grinning as he moves next to Jason, and kneels. “Come step on me.”
For a moment Justin thinks Chris is going to refuse, then he looks at the practicing football team and his shoulders straighten, his chin held high.
“Fine, fine. I’ll do it.”
There’s a tense moment when Chris first steps onto Joey and Jason’s shoulders. He wobbles, hands whirling through the air, but Justin grabs on, holding Chris steady.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Justin says, and Chris’ palm feels dry, his fingers rough. “JC, get behind us, Joey, Jason. You can stand, slowly.”
They do, and Justin stretches up as far as possible before letting go. When the bases are finally upright, Chris looks down, and his hair flops forward before he brushes at it impatiently.
“You did it!” Justin says, and takes a step back, and Chris lifts up his hands. He sways slightly, then finds his balance as he stretches out his arms, looking triumphant.
Immediately Justin flows into back flips, needing to express his elation. The pyramid is basic, but Chris did it. The team did it.
They’re elated for all of a minute.
There’s no warning shout, just a thud then Chris is falling to the ground. He lands in a heap, his hand clamped over his mouth as a football rolls next to JC’s feet.
“Chris!” Falling to his knees, Justin tries to see Chris’ face, but he won’t move his hand, and blood drips from between his fingers.
“That’s our ball.”
Justin looks up at the unfamiliar voice, furious when he sees a player from the team. He’s holding his helmet in one hand, and doesn’t look repentant at all.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” A last pat of Chris’ shoulder, and Justin stands, blocking the player from getting his ball. “You don’t even kick this way.”
“Like you know how to play.”
Justin’s used to protecting himself, but there’s a time and place, and that’s not today. Not when the rest of the football team have arranged themselves at the edge of the field, and JC is helping Chris to his feet, alternately swearing and uttering soothing words as they walk away.
Justin stands on blood-stained grass, listening to the laughter, his hands clenched into fists as he vows revenge.
Justin takes the long way back to the changing rooms. His fingers hurt where they’re clenched around his file of cheers, and he kicks savagely at a stone, sending it skittering along the ground.
He hears the giggles when he passes the varsity cheering squad, all girls, their hair tied with red ribbons, wearing tiny pleated skirts, their pom poms rustling as they move.
Justin ignores them all. Just keeps walking as they whisper his name, scorn blatant on their pink glossy lips.
He reaches the gym block and slows, trying to scrape together the words he needs to talk to his squad. They need enthusiasm and belief, not anger, and Justin takes a moment to uncurl his fingers and just breathe.
A few minutes later he goes inside. It’s cool after the bright sun and Justin hurries along the deserted corridor, nodding a distracted greeting at Jason’s girlfriend, who’s waiting next to the changing room door. She doesn’t reply, just pretends to look at old notices on the wall.
Justin doesn’t care. If it wasn’t for Jason they’d never interact at all. As it is, she’s someone who hovers on the peripherals of Justin’s world. There but not important.
“I told you it’s fine.”
The changing room is warm with damp heat, steam curling near the ceiling and Justin can hear the showers dripping onto the tiled floor. He can also hear Chris, who sounds annoyed, something that Justin sees for himself when he walks around the end locker to find the rest of his squad.
They’re grouped around one of the middle benches. There’s a blood stained paper towel next to Chris, and JC is crouched in front of him, looking anxious, hand hovering over Chris’ knee. Joey’s already changed, his hair wet and his t-shirt sticking to his back as he stuffs his uniform into his bag. Jason's in front of his open locker, back to Justin as he rummages inside.
“Before you ask, I’m fine.” Chris’ bottom lip is swollen and he scowls when he pulls at his t-shirt, looking at the spots of blood. “I need to get this washed, though.”
“My mom can do it; she’ll use the spot stain stuff.” It’s not Justin’s responsibility to look after their practice clothes, but he is in charge, and he hopes that distinction is enough for Chris to get past his pride.
“Thanks,” Chris says simply, and flashes a pink tinged smile as he peels off the t-shirt and hands it over.
“I’ll bring it back tomorrow,” Justin says, glancing down at the small spots of blood, dark against the white material. Each one is a reminder of emotions he’s trying to hide, and Justin turns to his locker, concentrating on the combination. Turning the dial he listens to the sounds of fabric against skin and feet against the ground. When he looks around Chris and JC are heading for the showers, towels wrapped securely around their waists.
There’s distance between them but they still seem close, JC grinning as he leans in, listening to something Chris whispers in his ear.
Curious, Justin’s about to strip out of his clothes and follow, when Jason looks his way.
“Justin.”
Jason sounds nervous, and Justin keeps unpacking his bag. Towel, shower gel, the shampoo that makes his curls gleam. He sets them on the bench, his stomach knotted, because he knows this can’t good.
“I’m leaving the squad.” Jason shuts his locker with a clang. He’s looking at Justin, as if willing him to understand, but all Justin understands is he’s lost more ground.
“I thought... I guess I didn’t think it would be so hard.” Jason looks away then, talking to the ground. “No one wants a male cheering team. Manda says. Well she says we’re a laughing stock.” He makes an aborted attempt to touch Justin’s arm. “I’m sorry.”
Jason leaves and Justin doesn’t say a word. There’s nothing he can say.
“I never liked him anyway.” Joey steps away from his own locker and drapes his arm around Justin’s shoulders, pulling him in for a brief hug. He smells like soap and feels warm, a solid strength that Justin draws on as he regroups and makes plans to start again.
~*~*~*~
The search for a replacement takes weeks, and Justin’s walking a line between optimism and knowing his dream is going to fail. They’ve plastered the corridor walls with flyers but Justin finds them crumpled in the trashcans, and when he opens his locker an avalanche of defaced fliers land at his feet. Picking one up he sees Homo losers scrawled in black pen, an insult so common now he hardly registers it as he gathers up the fliers and throws them away.
When he’s done his hands are marked with ink, and he tries to open his gym bag with the tips of his fingers.
“Here.”
Justin turns and sees JC holding out his gym towel. Taking it he rubs at his hands, concentrating on the ink instead of JC, who’s standing too close and seeing too much.
“We’ll find someone,” JC says, and he sounds convinced, like the perfect fifth is out there.
“I know,” Justin agrees, because they will, he reminds himself, as he finishes scrubbing at his hands before handing back the towel to JC.
~*~*~*~
In the end it’s Justin's mom that finds their fifth.
Justin’s concentrating on dipping his cookie for the perfect amount of time in his milk when she comes hurrying into the kitchen. She’s smiling as she places a piece of paper on the counter, a number neatly printed across the pale pink surface.
“Did you notice the old Anderson house is occupied?” She pushes the paper closer until it’s nestled against Justin’s glass of milk. “I went to introduce myself and Diane told me about her son. He’s starting at your school tomorrow.”
She waits, expectant, and Justin takes a bite of cookie, squishing the cookie and milk mixture against his teeth.
“So?”
“So, he’ll need a gym elective. You should ask him to join your team.”
“What, before everyone tells him what a bunch of fags we are.”
“Don’t let me ever hear you say that again.” Lynn’s voice is tight and Justin doesn’t have to look to see her anger, he can feel it. Prickles of shame add to his doubts that he can keep building this team at all.
“I know you, you can do this.”
Justin looks up, and he knows without a doubt that she believes he can turn this around. She’s always been his biggest supporter, and Justin uses that confidence as he pushes his milk aside and reaches for the phone.
~*~*~*~
“Jesus, Justin. Did you find him at Dorks R Us?” Chris takes a bite of the candy bar that JC shoves into his hand, and watches as Lance walks into the gym. “He’s wearing plaid.”
“He can wear a pink tutu and stockings as long as he can cheer,” Justin says, jabbing Chris in the side with his elbow.
“I once wore…”
“Don’t.” Justin looks past Chris to JC. “I don’t care how visually effective it would be. I don’t want to know.”
“Chicken.”
Chris grins, his teeth coated with chocolate, and right now Justin hates them both. Contenting himself with a scornful look, Justin stands, ready to meet the new member of his team.
He has to admit, Lance isn’t what he expected. He’s skinny and kind of awkward looking, but when Justin jumps down onto the court Lance immediately walks forward.
“Justin.”
“Lance.” There’s an uncomfortable moment when Lance holds out his hand and Justin goes for the manly hug back pat greeting, but eventually they’re smiling at one another and Justin can sincerely say, “I’m glad you’re interested.”
“It sounds fun.” Lance smiles, a wide toothy smile suggesting humour and a knowledge that he knows exactly what’s going on. Justin knows this is right. He can feel it, and be breathes a silent sigh of relief as Lance waves a greeting at the others who’ve remained sprawled on the stands.
Reminded of his manners, Justin introduces them with a wave of his hand. “Joey, JC, Chris. They’re all freaks.”
“Guess I’ve come to the right place then.” Lance suddenly cartwheels forward then launches into a flick flack, landing with arms outstretched and a wide smile. “When do we begin?”
~*~*~*~
Within a week things are looking up. Sure, Lance isn’t that good at the rhythm stuff, but he’s got the solo steps down and he's prepared to work, spending hours going over the same steps. Most nights they practice in Justin’s back garden, it’s easier without the constant catcalling, and having his mom on hand with drinks and hints is a decided plus.
“I’ve been thinking.” JC’s lying on the grass, his arms outstretched; his feet nestled in Chris’ lap. He looks sleepy and relaxed but he’s beating out a tune with his fingers.
“Well,” Chris prompts, and he prods JC in the side, before soothing his hand across the same spot.
“I was thinking about songs, you know, for our routine.” JC rolls on his side, his head propped on one fist. “We should use Duran Duran’s Wild Boys, it’s got a good beat.”
“Yeah right, because we’re really wild. We’re as wild as a bag of puppies. Puppies with fluffy hair and bows round their necks” Chris says, rolling his eyes. He’s still resting his hand on JC’s side, and pats an immediate apology.
“Speak for yourself.” Thrusting out his chest, Joey crushes his soda can between his fingers then throws it to the ground. “I’m wild, and I think that song would be great.”
Justin nods his agreement, already picturing the routine he can base on that song. He imagines layouts and pyramids, short sharp movements based on strength and skill. “I think. Wait.” Suddenly scrambling to his feet, Justin runs indoors, his sneakers thudding against the floor as he skids around corners and takes the stairs two at a time. Pushing open his bedroom door, he kneels next to his CD collection, running his fingers over the alphabetically ordered discs until he finds the one he needs.
CD clutched in one hand, he hurries back downstairs, blinking a little as he steps from the cool interior of his house into bright sunshine. “I knew I had this.” Justin holds up the album, wiggling his hips in triumph and as he takes Thriller out of the small portable CD player they’ve got set up on top of the BBQ. He can’t help bouncing on the balls of his feet, because Wild Boys is perfect, he can feel it.
“We could do flips at the end beat of the drums, double flips.” Pressing play, Justin steps onto the grass and bends, looking at the others from between his spread legs. “Lance, Joey. You’d do this, and grab Chris and JC’s hands. Then, flip.” Legs bent, Justin pushes up and attempts to demonstrate with his own flip, he lands on his back, blinking up at a clear blue sky.
“Very impressive.”
Justin turns his head and looks along the length of the lawn, at patchy grass and the soles of sneakers, then up, at Lance who’s staring down at him. His expression is serious, but Justin’s spent hours with Lance these last few weeks, and he can see laughter hidden in the slight crinkle of his eyes, the way he’s studiously looking only at Justin.
“So what do you call that move? The Timberlake tumble?”
There’s a moment of stillness, a minute fraction of time where they all seem frozen, then reaction hits. Five counts of laughter and Justin’s flat on his back, grass tickling against his legs, sunshine and friends and knowing that finally, thing are going to be fine.
~*~*~*~
“What do you mean we can’t join?” Justin clutches his bag, fingers tightening around the strap as he watches Mr Goodwin glance down the corridor, his attention already moving to other things.
“You’re not an official school team, Justin. You can’t cheer for the school if you’re not official.”
“So what are we?” Justin asks, holding onto his control. He knows the school never wanted a male cheering team, and Mr Goodman is a huge part of that problem. He reigns over his prize winning teams, and the PE department where you play football or basketball, or you resign yourself to no special attention at all.
“An embarrassment.”
Justin freezes at the reply. The halls are jammed full of chattering students, lockers banging, multiple footsteps against the scuffed floor. All he can hear is, an embarrassment.
He’d known that people were laughing. It’s impossible not to. But hearing it from a teacher reaches a new level of hurt -- and determination. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Justin manages a curt goodbye, then weaves his way through the crowd, making his way outside. He smiles greetings as he goes, always maintaining the façade of ease. It’s only when he’s in the bleachers, sitting up high, sun warm wood against his legs that he lets down his pretence. Allowing his shoulders to drop and the smile to fade he digs out his cell, quickly typing in a mass text that simply says, "meet me at the usual place, we need to talk".
Justin’s skimming through his regulation book when the others arrive. Using his finger as a bookmark, he watches Lance and Joey walk across the running track. Joey’s holding his girlfriend's hand, and Kelly smiles, waving at Justin before Joey bends to kiss her. Lance steps to one side and Justin can imagine Lance rolling his eyes, and he laughs when Joey bends one arm behind his back, flipping Lance off while mid-kiss.
“Go, Joey!”
Chris, always loud and always obvious. Justin can’t see him yet, but Lance has turned, ignoring the kissing going on behind him. He holds out his hands, trying to ward off Chris when Chris appears, darting forward to jump on Lance in a slap-to-back-squeeze-thump movement that’s Chris’ idea of a school safe hug. It’s no surprise when JC appears too, furry red bag on his back and smiling wide as he waves at Justin.
“Justin!”
Sitting back, so he’s leaning against the side barrier and safe from Chris’ greeting, Justin gathers up the collection of books and papers lain out by his side. Some of the papers are highlighted, and Justin rubs green stained fingers against his thighs.
“Hope you don’t mind talking while we eat, Mrs C made meatloaf sandwiches.” Sitting on the bench under Justin’s, Chris drops his bag to the ground and grins as JC sits next to him, so close their shoulders touch as he takes off his bag, red fluff floating from under his fingers as he pulls open the zip. Rummaging inside, he takes out a Magnum PI lunch box, opening it to reveal a stack of foil wrapped sandwiches, far too many for one person.
Humming happily, JC peels back the foil, passing one to Chris before looking inquiringly at Justin. “You want one? We’ve plenty.”
“I’m good.” Justin can’t imagine eating right now. He wants to be doing something; making plans and sharing his outrage and fear. He contends himself with sipping at his soda, listening to JC and Chris discuss math class and homework as Joey finally says goodbye to Kelly, and starts to climb toward them, Lance at his side.
“So, what’s up?” Joey sprawls down, knees bent, his feet on the bench in front.
“Yeah, I had to sit and watch Joey inhale a whole plateful of mac and cheese, so it better be good,” Lance says, easily ignoring the swipe of Joey’s hand.
“We’ve hit a setback,” Justin says slowly. “We haven’t competed anywhere and don’t cheer for any of the squads, so Mr Goodwin says we’re technically not a team.”
“Meaning?” Chris asks, his eyes narrowing as he lets his sandwich drop back onto the pile.
“Meaning we can’t enter the cheering competition. The one we need to win to get to state.”
“That’s bullshit!”
Justin understands Joey’s anger. They’ve been practicing for weeks, working toward that first toe hold on the climb to state, and the recognition that they so desperately need. It’s part of a carefully crafted plan, and now it’s been threatened by a faculty that are too scared to see past the norm, and are blocking their way in any means possible.
“There has to be a way around it. We just have to find it.” JC snaps shut his lunch box and drops it onto his bag, red fluff floating away in a cloud. “Pass me the book.”
~*~*~*~
“I think I have something,” Joey says with a hesitant excitement. A quick run to the school library means they’re surrounded by books, and Joey points to a paragraph in the school curriculum. “It says the school is committed to providing sports activity at any level, and as such strives to support any groups of students who wish to form and maintain their own team in a given activity.”
“But they say we’re not a team, that’s the problem,” Chris points out, tossing his head as his hair falls in his eyes.
“For cheering we’re not, but there’s that basketball tournament on Saturday, the one raising money for the football team. Anyone can enter; you just need five people.”
“A team that’s given colours to wear, and is recognised by the school,” Justin says slowly. It’s a loophole, but right now he’s prepared to try anything. Closing the book he’s been studying, he’s already planning as he jumps up and slaps Joey hard on the back. “You’re a genius.”
“You know it.” Chest swelled and grinning wide, Joey thumps at the air. “I hold you guys up, I rescue you from danger, I solve your problems! Superman to the rescue!”
Which is the truth, at least most of it, and Justin doesn’t care that people look as they jump onto the benches, cheering for Joey, who joins in with gusto. Joey deserves the cheers, because they needed this, and maybe some of them can’t play ball, okay, three fifths of them can’t, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is they’ll be a team. An official team.
~*~*~*~*~
The tournament uniforms they’ve been assigned feel weird, baggy after so long wearing tight shorts and t-shirts. The silky material slides against Justin’s legs as he walks into the gym. It’s crowded, the air warm, and the scent of old sweat mixes with deoderant and the popcorn that the pompom squad are selling near the door.
The stands are full of spectators, and the girl cheerleaders are warming up at courtside, waving their pompoms that match their uniforms and the ribbons tied in their hair. They’re being watched, respected, and Justin can’t help the pang of jealousy as he heads for his squad who’re standing close to one of the hoops.
“We’re going to get slaughtered,” Joey remarks, but he doesn’t look disheartened, far from it as he winks at a group of freshmen who are watching from their place in the stands.
“Probably,” Justin agrees, grabbing a basketball from Chris so he can spin it on his finger.
“Hey!” Jumping forward, Chris grabs the ball mid spin. “I was teaching JC to shoot.”
“Is that what that was?” Lance smoothes down the top he’s wearing, brushing away invisible lint. “I thought you were abusing your teaching powers to manipulate his body into obscene positions.”
“Well, yeah.” Chris grins and stands behind JC, kicking at his ankles to widen his stance, and cups his hands behind JC’s elbows so he can push up his arms. “But he needs to be able to shoot too.”
Which is something Justin agrees with. He just doesn’t think Chris’ method of teaching will actually work, especially with Chris being shorter, and unable to see the hoop over JC’s shoulders.
“We’ve been practicing. Watch.” Stepping to the side, Chris hands JC the ball. “Show them what you’ve learned.”
Immediately, JC shifts his position, cradling the ball in his hands as he narrows his eyes, looking directly at the hoop. He almost looks like he knows what he’s doing, and when Joey moves into a cheering stance, Justin can’t help joining in.
“Take it to the limit, take it to the top! He’s the mighty JC and he can’t be stopped!"
Four voices rise as one, and they grin at one another as they work the small space, jumping in sync and punching at the air.
Adjusting his hold, JC brings back his hands; and shoots -- directly at the team mascot, the ball thudding against its grey wolf nose.
“Sorry!” Shouting an apology, JC’s hands are over his mouth, but it does little to hide his smile, which curls from behind his fingers, or his barely muffled laughter as the wolf flips him off and stalks away.
A last jump, and Justin is laughing too, surrounded by his friends as they move to the stands, waiting for their turn to take to the court.
~*~*~*~
They don’t get beaten that badly. Justin makes a lot of shots, and Chris is good at snatching the ball, pounding up the court while slipping under grasping arms. Justin’s even enjoying himself at one point. When the crowd gasps as he jumps high, arm straight, knowing he’s going to make the basket. The ball never touches the rim, just goes straight through as Justin lands on one knee, grinning at the resulting applause. It feels good, his heart thundering, the adrenalin flowing. Despite this not being what he wants to do, he loves the feeling of being centre of attention.
Of course, they never actually get in the lead. The other team is too good for that, and Justin hears a few Cheer faggots catcalls when Lance takes an elbow to the side, and Joey shoots, missing the hoop by feet.
Mostly though, it’s good. Especially when Mr Goodwin sees them after the game, his lips a thin line as he hands over the registration form for the cheering contest, leaving without saying a word.
~*~*~*~
JC waits, the yells, “One, two, three. Go!”
Justin immediately bends forward and braces himself, hands against his thighs. He straightens when he feels Chris’ foot against his back, locking his knees, solidly in place next to Joey, and hoping that this time Chris manages the jump from back to shoulders. He doesn’t, Justin feels a shoe slip past his ear, and Chris swears as he pitches forward onto the grass.
“Fuck!” Slamming his hand against the ground, Chris scrambles to his feet. He’s red faced, his hair pushed back by a sweat soaked bandanna, evidence of the multiple times they’ve tried this trick. In theory it’s possible, something flashy for their small squad. In practice, Chris is finding it difficult, and most times he ends up falling, their small pyramid collapsing to the ground.
“Let’s go again.”
Rubbing at his aching shoulder, Justin nods his agreement, then hesitates when he sees his mom walk outside. She’s holding a box and smiles as she rests it on one of the lawn chairs.
“I was talking to your moms, and we’re all so proud of you, and well. We clubbed together and bought these.” Reaching into the box, Lynn pulls out a t-shirt in the school colours of blue and purple. A pair of matching shorts is next, and Justin can’t stop smiling as he takes them both, running his hand over the material as his mom pulls out a megaphone. She hands it to Joey, who immediately puts it to his mouth, yelling, “Thanks, Mrs H,” in Lance’s ear.
Wincing, Lance grabs the megaphone from Joey’s hand and put it to his own mouth, the end close to Joey’s head. “That hurt!”
“Thanks, Mrs H.” Holding onto his own uniform, Chris wraps his arms around Lynn, hugging her tightly, a move that’s copied by them all. They hold on, arms against backs, squad members, but more importantly; friends.
~*~*~*~
The cheer contest is held on a Sunday afternoon, and Justin feels dry-eyed and strung tight as he climbs out of his mom’s car. Leaning against the hot metal of the door, he rubs his palm against his thigh, easing the ache of hours clutching his bag. It’s over his shoulder now, a reassuring weight consisting of his cheer folder and the uniform he’s fought so hard for.
“There’s Karen,” Lynn says, pointing as she opens the trunk of the car. She picks up a rolled up banner and tucks it under her arm, then the bag that seems to contain anything any good cheerleader might need. Justin’s convinced if asked she could pull anything from in there. Band aids, water, maybe even a spare squad member if needed, which would be good, because Justin’s about a minute from puking all over his pristine white sneakers.
“Justin.” Letting the bag thump to the floor, Lynn props up the banner, and rests her hands on Justin’s shoulders. “You’re going to be fantastic.”
“But, what….”
“But nothing,” Lynn interrupts, and she leans in close, brushing a kiss against his forehead. “Go and get your team.”
Just that touch overwhelmed, Justin pulls his mom into a quick hug, reassured, as always, by her love and utter confidence that he’ll do his best.
“Give them hell, baby.”
With a last squeeze, Lynn steps back, and Justin smiles as he heads for his team. They’re gathered near the entrance to the auditorium. The Fatones and Kelly, Karen, Diane and Chris standing in the shade, watching JC chase one of Chris’ sisters. The reflective strip down the side of his pants are glowing in the sun as he chases her around a flag pole, making her giggle with his outreached arms and monster growl. The only one missing is Lance, and Justin soon sees him pushing his way through the crowd. He’s wearing his uniform, and a pair of dark sunglasses, looking cool despite the heat.
“Justin.” Lance jumps down the last three steps, and greets Justin with a quick hug. “We’re changing in a room at the back, it’s supposed to be a dressing room but looks more like a cupboard with a mirror and a few chairs to me.” He shrugs then smiles slightly. “It’s next to the bathroom too, which is good.”
“Honey, I’ve something that’ll settle your stomach.” Diane starts to open her purse, as Lance immediately holds out his hand.
“Joey gets the runs too; I’ve some ginger ale if that’ll help.”
Lance opens his mouth, looking horrified as Joey’s mom starts to rummage through the canvas bag propped against her legs.
Normally Justin would wait, enjoying the sight of Lance being smothered with mom affection, but not today. They need to get inside, and he runs up the stairs, grabbing Lance’s arm as he does so.
“Come on, we need to get ready.” He doesn’t look back to see if the others have followed, he doesn’t need to. He can hear their feet behind him, their footsteps as familiar as his own.
They walk in together, into a crowd consisting of brightly coloured groups of cheerleaders, the huge majority of them girls. Justin feels underdressed against the blocks of colour, against brightly coloured skirts and bouncing pigtails tied with ribbon. The few male cheerleaders he sees are surrounded by more girls, dressed in matching uniforms, and Justin’s all too aware that, as an all-male team, they’re the oddities here. Interlopers in an established world.
“Oh, fuck,” Chris says, standing close to JC, his arms crossed across his chest as he watches a squad of girls squeal in unison before running toward the dressing rooms.
“I like it, there’s a good positive energy. It makes my skin buzz.” JC takes Chris’ hand, and presses their palms together. “See?”
“If you say so.” Chris looks dubious, but he still links their fingers together momentarily before breaking the hold. “Okay, so where do we sign up?”
“Over there.” Lance points toward a trestle table where two women are sitting. They’re both straight shouldered, their hair pulled back into elaborate buns, frowning as they ask for names, checking them off a list.
“Okay then. Let’s do this.” Determined now, Justin pushes past a furry suited Badger mascot, avoiding its oversized feet as he makes his way to the table. Once there, he waits, his friends to his side, until at last, one of the women look up. “Justin Timberlake, signing in on behalf of Boone High School.”
“Ah, yes. You’re the other squad from that school.”
The scorn in her voice is obvious, but Justin’s faced so much worse. This is nothing, and he waits patiently, until finally she looks down at her list, and ticks the box next to his name.
“You’ve been assigned dressing room number fifteen. You’ve got thirty minutes before you’re scheduled to cheer. I suggest you hurry and change.”
“Thank you.” Forcing a smile, Justin looks at the others before hurrying toward the corridor. He hadn’t expected a good cheering spot, but had at least expected time to prepare, not a slot when people were still getting settled in the stands. Thirty minutes to get changed and warmed up is ridiculous.
“You know, this is a good thing. The less time we have, the less nerves right?” JC says, as if convincing himself of that fact. Still, JC has a point, and Justin reminds himself of that when Lance points at a piece of paper taped to a door, their names scrawled across the page.
The room is tiny inside. There’s three chairs, and a narrow mirror propped against the wall. They bump into each other while they get changed, and a lack of hooks mean their clothes end up in piles on the floor. None of that matters. Within ten minutes they’re dressed in their uniforms, sneakers securely tied, shorts and tops crease free. They look good. They look great. Justin couldn’t be more proud.
~*~*~*~
They reach the performance areas just as the announcer is calling their names. Plastering on a smile, Justin steps into view, his heart thundering as they take start up positions. The stands are less than half full, and people are moving around, drinking coffee and chattering in hushed voices. Then ten rows back is his mom, she’s waving a banner, scarlet material and gold letters saying, Go Boone Boys! Karen and Phyllis are next to her. Joe and Kelly, Chris’ sister jumping in the aisle, shaking home made pompoms made of crepe paper and string.
Their own small section of support cheer over the polite applause as Justin and his squad flick flack and jump, cartwheel in circles, and flip to the beat of the song.
They get through to the next round; just.
~*~*~*~
“We need to change the routine, take it to the next level.” Justin sits in the stands, a warm bottle of water held loosely in his hands, watching as yet another squad takes to the floor. They’re good, tumbling in sequence and end their routine with a five person pyramid, the highest cheerleader’s arms stretched high as she beams at the judges.
“We should try the back jump extend trick. It looks great.”
“Yeah, and half the time I end up flat on my face,” Chris says, frowning at JC. “I mean, I’ll give it a go, as long as you know there’s a good chance of me eating mat.”
“That’s fine; you’ve got a big mouth.”
Chris turns, head tilted to one side as he looks at JC. “Does that actually make any sense in your world?”
“Well, yes.” JC smiles, seemingly content to leave it at that.
“Okay, then,” Chris says, words drawn out with occupying frantic finger circles near his ear. “So we’re doing the back jump extend trick, and if I knock all my teeth out, JC’s paying the bill.”
“Good.” Reaching out, Joey grabs the bottle from Justin’s hands and takes a long drink. “We need something flashy if we’re going to win.”
“Which we will.” Lance is lounging, using his own chair and half of Justin’s, and he sounds sure as he holds up his own bottle of water. “To showing them male cheer squads kick ass.”
~*~*~*~
“Please welcome Boone High’s all male squad.”
The stands are much fuller now, each seat taken by people who politely applaud. Swallowing hard, Justin looks at his squad. This is it. They have to give the performance of their lives.
“I’m so... I mean, you’ve all been great and I’m …”
“Not to interrupt this meaningful moment,” Chris says, doing just that. “We need to get out there; you can tell us how wonderful we are later.”
“Who says…”
Strong arms suddenly wrap around Justin’s waist, and Chris is squeezing him tight, holding on as he looks up at Justin. “Come on, J. You’ve been working up to this moment. It’s time.”
Swallowing against the sick feeling in his stomach, Justin sees sympathy and understanding as he looks at his friends. They’re all waiting for him, lined up and ready. Nodding he plasters on his best smile, the one he practices at night in his room. “Let’s go.”
Stepping into the performance area seems so much worse the second time. Now they’re against the squads that have actual talent, all the no hopers are gone, leaving behind the contenders. As he takes his place, Justin can hear the whispers, but he can also see sections of supporters, people who’re smiling, eager to see them perform.
“Damn it.”
Justin turns when he hears JC swear, narrowing his eyes against the glare of lights to see where he’s looking. He soon sees the football team from his school. They’re sitting close to the female cheer squad, laughing and flashing a home made sign. Black letters against white paper, home losers in block print.
“Ignore them,” Lance says, bumping Justin with his hip.
Which is exactly what Justin does, turning away, his smile fixed as the first notes of Wild Boys hit the air.
Immediately they all summersault forward, landing in unison, their feet thumping against the floor. Justin knows it’s visually effective, and the ripple of applause supports that, but he’s got no time to celebrate. Already he’s moving forward into a hand stand that turns into a tumble, crisscrossing Joey who’s going the other way.
JC, Chris and Lance are doing floor work at the same time, dancing together, cheering loud, their movements controlled energy. When Justin stops somersaulting forward, he runs back to the middle, crouched down, side to side with Joey, ready for the first pyramid of the routine. It’s a simple trick, Chris jumping onto their back, then somersaulting to the floor, but Chris puts his all into leaping up high, knees bent, powering upwards.
He lands solidly on their backs, perfectly in time, and the audience is applauding again, some whistling as Chris’ foot digs into Justin’s back, signalling he’s about to dismount.
Which is when it happens. Justin hears a thud then Chris is pitching forward, landing in a sprawl of arms and legs, a baseball spinning across the floor.
There’s silence at first, a shocked reaction, and Justin drops to his knees, reaching out as Chris slowly pushes himself up, one hand held against his side.
“Are you okay?” JC kneels next to Justin, his hand on Chris’ shoulder.
“I’m fine.” Chris pokes at his side, wincing a little, anger obvious in the way he glares toward the football team, and the players who’re openly laughing while holding aloft the sign.
Wild Boys ends then, and the sudden silence is overwhelming. Hushed voices and crushing disappointment instead of the triumphant finale that Justin’s planned for so long.
“Please welcome, Sandhill High.”
Justin runs his hand across his face, stares down at the scuffed floor. Then looks up when he hears the first boos.
“Let them cheer again!”
“That’s not fair!”
“Play the song again!”
Multiple shouts from multiple places in the auditorium, and he stands, someone’s hand against his back, listening as the shouts increase in volume.
“Let them cheer! Let them cheer! Let them cheer!”
The chant is taken up, swelling in volume, and despair changes to elation as the speakers squeal.
“Due to circumstances, Boone High will cheer again. Sandhill High. Please wait in the stands.”
Pushing back the urge to kick and cartwheel across the floor, Justin turns to his team, ignoring the eruption of boos from the stand where the football team is sitting. He doesn’t say anything; he can see the determination, their utter belief that this time they’ll success. A last smile, small and private, and he moves away, ready to cheer once more.
Wild Boys begins, and they all summersault forward. This time the move is greeted with cheers, and Justin jumps that little bit harder, gaining more air as he moves into the crossed tumbles. He can see Joey doing the same, and JC, Chris and Lance’s floor show is perfect, all three moving as one.
There’s no hesitation when they approach the first trick. Chris launches himself into the air, somersaulting in a tight line, landing solidly to loud cheers. Following choreography that feels second nature, Justin prepares for the basket toss, crouching, he clasps his hand to his wrist, then joins hands with Joey, creating a platform for Chris to spring from. Listening to JC counting, Justin and Joey brace themselves, and when Chris jumps, his feet landing on their joined hands, they push him upwards, allowing him to hurtle into the air. He jumps high, twisting into a tuck, snapping back his legs and arching his back before falling back to be caught by Lance and JC.
Releasing Joey’s hand, Justin moves into a line with Chris, Lance and JC, standing behind Joey who snatches up his megaphone.
“Hey Hey it's time to fight!
Everybody yell that the boys are alright!
We don’t wear skirts, we don’t wear ribbons!
That we give it everything, is an all time given!
Hey hey let's do it again
Everybody yell Go boys, win!
Go, boys, Win!
Go, boys, Win!”
Joey stalks along the edge of the performance area, yelling as the others back tumble then go through right punches and Ts. Diagonal crosses and daggers, moving their arms in short sharp bursts.
It’s a new cheer, but the crowd respond, stomping their feet and clapping, and Justin feels like he could cheer forever as he moves into place for the last trick. The back to shoulder jump that’s caused them so much grief. Today though, he knows it’s going to work, he can feel it.
Bending, Joey close by his side, Lance behind and to the side, ready to steady Chris’ jump, JC counting down, time seems to slow, each moment vivid as Chris runs forward. His foot hits Justin’s back, then the pressure’s gone, and Justin’s got split seconds to stand. He does so, his hand close to his shoulder ready to grab Chris’ foot as soon as he jumps once more. He does so, and Justin grabs hold of Chris’ foot, trusting Joey is doing the same, as they straighten their arms.
Immediately there’s a roar of applause, and Justin’s arms are quivering as he helps hold Chris in the air, a closely timed pose before he’s dropping to the floor, landing safely in JC and Lance’s arms. Then there’s only the final pose. Justin in front, arm forward and up, the others around him, their arms outstretched too, panting for breath but grinning as the crowd surge to their feet.
~*~*~*~*~
“I should have added something else to the cheer,” JC says, looking pale as he waits. “Another line about the human spirit, people always like that.”
“It was fine, and leaving it out means we can keep the, 'it’s about the human spirit, man, about love and sex and latex in a can' for the x rated games.”
“They have them?” Looking interested, JC slumps a little when Lance shakes his head no.
“How long does it take to add up some numbers?”
Chris had moved from patiently waiting to impatient pacing almost twenty minutes ago, and Justin’s ready to strangle him. Biting his lip, he looks out at the stands, finding his mom, who waves when she sees him looking.
They’re all waiting, their families, their support through these last months.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have the results of the tenth annual Sun and Spirit Competition. The winners of which will be eligible to compete for state.”
“I need the bathroom.”
Justin doesn’t look, just reaches out and grabs Lance’s hand, entwining their fingers. Within seconds Chris does the same so he’s hand in hand with Justin and JC, while Joey takes Lance’s free hand. They all hold on; waiting.
“In third place we have Secley Bridge High”
There’s a scream, and a stream of girls run past, yellow pom poms rustling as they accept a trophy.
“In second place we have Madison Girls School.”
The squad runs onto the floor, the girls jumping in delight as they’re handed their trophy.
“In first place.”
The announcer pauses, and Justin’s fingers ache as he wills him to continue.
“We have Boone High Boys!”
“We’ve won! We’ve won!”
There’s shouting, applause, a thousand emotions fighting to explode as Justin stands still, his squad circling him. Holding on, then finally pulling him toward the floor. Cameras flash, and the audience are on the feet, yelling their names as Justin is handed the huge trophy.
He takes it, grinning wildly, and even the sight of the football team and the female cheer squad -- the majority of which are scowling, sitting down and deliberately not applauding at all -- can bring down Justin’s mood. Not when he can lift up the trophy, holding it toward his mom.
They’ve done it.