Bring It On

TRANSCRIPT:
Cortney:   4-2-96
Nicole Kenning,
Hey, what's up?  Not much here in Texas History.  I do think he is in a bad mood.  If you know who I'm talking about.  So I guess I will see you after school.  Yes, I'm trying out for cheerleader.  I don't think I'll make it.  Who do you think will make it?  I don't know.
*Anyways*
What are you doing right now?  Who do you like?  I won't say anything.  I promise.  Does Natalie like me?  Just wondering.  Gotta go.
Love always,
Cortney
W/B
FFE



Holy shit, cheerleading tryouts?!  WORST.  DAY.  EVER.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  We had to perform 2 cheers and 3 jumps.  The first cheer was a group routine to "Explode-Ignite-the Pony team is DY-NO-MITE!" and then make up a routine to our assigned cheer.  Mine was the classic "There's never been a better time to come and see - the mighty pony team - so strong - AND MEAN!"  My sister taught me an awesome routine (which I totally still remember) and I thought I was set.  There were just a few problems...  The first was that I couldn't do the splits for shit, so my jumps were limited to the kind of thing you see a 5 year old kid in gymnastics class do.  The second was that I was poor as shit.  All the other girls had their awesome red soffes and saucony cheer shoes, and their perfectly fitted white tees. I had to wear my Payless-brand sneakers and borrow my sister's over-sized white T-shirt and red shorts with a cigarette burn hole.  But the biggest problem of all was that they paired me up with Jennifer and Tara, who were the cheertastically cheerilicious queens of our grade.  Their toe touches were the kind you read about in a book of things that don't exist, right after the chapter on unicorns and 4-leaf clovers.  It was like trying to race Michael Phelps in a swimming pool.  In a burlap sack.  With a broken leg.  SO embarrassing.  And the icing on that shit cake was when they posted the results.  We were all waiting outside GHS, looking through the giant glass windows, trying to see the names they were writing on the big-ass sheets of paper.  I saw "KEN" and almost shit my pants.  I was so excited.  I could feel the wave of popularity and acceptance rush over me like a mink snuggie.  This is it. I'm gonna get so many boys wearing that awesome cheerleading uniform around... Oh, shit.  The paper gets posted and the "KEN" I saw was for "KENNEDY", not "KENNING".  I didn't cry.  Until I got into my mom's Ford Tempo.  Then it was off to Boo-hoo King for some french cries and a tear shake.  Oh well, I'm pretty sure our boxer/teeshirt/loafer outfits were just as enticing to the boys as a cheerleader skirt...