I recall it being a dreary, spring day, cloudy and dark without the rain. This should’ve been my first sign. I continued through my day, hands trembling, while the thought of being a “nobody” another year was glued to my mind. Freshman year was coming to an end and the time was now. As I walked into the practice gym for the last time before it really meant something, I was overcome by fear.
The music began and I could see each girl freeze, a smile on their face, but we all know what was going through each others’ minds. One mess up. That’s all it takes. We drilled the dance several times before moving on to jumps. Having absolutely no experience with cheerleading, I knew this would not end well. I gathered myself and took a deep breath before going up into a toe-touch, which ended up looking like a pike. That disaster was soon over, as we moved on to cheers. You could hear my voice shaking, unsure of the next word. Each movement, meant to be stiff and exact, was sloppy and off beat. I just need to calm down, I thought to myself. It can’t get any worse.
Wrong. The moment I walked through the front door of my house that night, I completely forget the choreography of the dance that was to be performed the next day at final tryouts. I’ll never make the team. I can’t quit now. Four days of hard work all for nothing? I was far too determined to allow pity upon myself and made a few phone calls in regards to the dance. After piecing together each part, there was no stopping me. I practiced the dance until I could do it in my sleep. Why had I been so worried? With fear a part of the past, I was ready to face those judges.
I found myself walking out of tryouts with the fakest smile imaginable, looking up and blinking fast. Don’t do it. I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest. With absolutely no memory of anything that just happened, all I could do was wait. I slowly wandered over to a lonesome looking corner. After staring at the ground for what seemed like an eternity, a very peppy looking older woman whom I assumed the coach, came to greet us, “I want to thank everyone for being here! You ladies were amazing and…” I struggled to focus on her words, but instead could only think of how horribly I must have done. Each of us received a piece of paper with our results. As I slowly looked down, mine read,  “Sorry! Try again next year!”
Unable to drive myself home, my father came to pick me up. As silent tears rolled down my cheeks, he didn’t bother to say a word. I’ll never be good enough. How could they have the courage to write something so vulgar? “Try again next year,” I mimicked in a snobby voice to myself.
My bedroom was the lightest shade of blue, my bedspread vibrant with zebra print, my pillowcase glowing hot pink in the darkness, yet somehow, on that night, I had never seen such a depressing room. It was as if nothing else in the world seemed to exist.
For the last month of school, I kept to myself. I wasn’t worth anyone’s time, and they weren’t worth mine. Summer slowly crept by, I was too young to do anything independently. Netflix became my very best friend, as I laid in bed watching every movie and every season of every series. I ached for a sense of self worth. Anything to give me something to do. My sophomore year in high school soon began.
Afraid of repeating my summer, I flooded myself with extracurriculars. Volleyball manager. SADD officer. StuCo member. AFG member. FFA member. I had even kept up my grades enough to become an NHS member. Still, I didn’t feel like I belonged. My best friend had joined the Lady Emerald’s dance team the year before and, to say the least, I envied her.
Sophomore year had flown by and though I thought I was busy, I could have never imagined the upcoming year. That following spring, a couple friends tried to persuade me to join the dance team. Never. The same emotion from the previous year overcame my whole being. Don’t. Anyways, I can’t fail if I don’t put myself in the position to. Yet, somehow, there I was.
I found myself frozen outside the enormous double doors, unprepared to face my fears once more. My heart was pounding. Not this again. The gym was not a place with happy memories, or any memories at all quite frankly. I deeply feared rejection. There’s nothing to fear. Giving myself a quick pep talk, I broke through the doors. Nothing can hold me back.
I grasped a whole new outlook that week. The captain from the previous year taught us the dance. The music seemed to be travelling through me. Once I began, the dance flowed with every move, transforming myself into a beautiful masterpiece. Each day, I became more confident. My passion for dance already growing, once again; I had hopes higher than the Eiffel Tower itself. Except something was different this time.
Bracing myself, I walked into the gym for one last time. With a glaring set of judges, I performed better than I ever have. This time was different. While waiting for results, everyone sat together, telling stories and making jokes. Not one person was left out, and it felt amazing. Amazing to be a part of something so great, even if an hour later, we would all be torn apart or brought together.
The door began to creak open, as 18 ponytails whip instantaneously. Time seemed to have come to a stop; the room was desperately aching for sound. Once again, it was the coach that brought us all back to the reality of anticipation. She first handed each participant a folded sheet of paper. We each held the sheet tightly behind our backs. The coach continued on, praising how well we had done. She rambled on, as I could feel a bead of sweat developing on my brow. Finally, we could view our results. “1. 2. 3!” Everyone opened their papers, most jumping and screeching, but few began to cry.
Seeing several teary-eyed girls, my motherly instincts kicked in, consoling each with encouraging words, similar to the speech I gave myself the year previous. I soon found myself asking the same question over and over, “Did you make it?” although each time, it was obvious by their expression. I also found myself receiving the same. With the paper tucked half-way into the back of my pants, I didn’t need the confirmation.
That hour of bonding really had an impact on me. Nothing else seemed to matter. I had made lifelong friends thanks to a split decision.Without the constant encouragement of several close friends, I would have never discovered this lifestyle. Research shows peer pressure isn’t acceptable, but I disagree.