On a Wednesday by Whitney G.
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
Iwasn’t sure who designed the University of Pittsburgh’s campus, but I was willing to bet that part of the notes said, “Make it damn near impossible for them to get anywhere in less than ten minutes.”
A typical route from my dorm to the student union called for a ride on the campus shuttle, a transfer via city bus, and a half-block’s walk through an assortment of black, marble panther statues.
It’s as if, the school officials added, “Never let them forget what our mascot is,” at the bottom of the campus’s initial blueprint.
As a freshman, I’d reveled in the fact that our campus was more like a mini-city with local businesses, hospitals, and an array of restaurants wherever there wasn’t a dorm, campus eatery, or a lecture hall.
But after becoming a senior with an off-campus dating life and a never-ending events calendar? I’d broken five Fitbit watches from the constant rushing around.
Clutching a leather bag against my chest, I hopped off the 61D bus and trekked my way up the hill that led to the Peterson Events Center.
Since today was the day of our school’s annual Student Activities Fair, the fluffy panther mascot was dancing on the grass and performing cartwheels for tons of onlookers.
Bypassing the crowd, I made my way into the cheerleading team’s facility and took several deep breaths.
“Good morning, Miss Johnson!” The security guard tipped his hat to me. “Ready to cheer on our boys for another winning season?”
Nope. Last year was officially my limit.
“We’ll see!” I swiped my card and pushed the doors open.
A few of my teammates were stretching along the mirrored wall, getting ready for tonight’s event.
It never ceased to amaze me how I’d spent hundreds of hours with them over the years, and they never said a single word to me outside of practice.
They made it a point to hang out with each other as a group and never tell me, so I held back my typical, “Hopefully, this year we’ll hang out some?”
I was over them.
Walking right past their session, I smoothed my pants and headed right into Coach Tina’s office.
As usual, she was dancing around with her headphones on, as if no one was watching.
Dressed in a revealing pink tank top that showed off her double D breasts—along with leggings that revealed “the new butt [my] husband bought,” she kept her back turned as she rehearsed what looked like stripper choreography.
I waited for her to complete a few more twerks against the wall before gently tapping my hand against her desk.
“Huh? What?” She immediately stopped and turned around.
“Well, well, well. It’s about time that you showed up for check-in, Courtney.” She took off her headphones. “Do you need the seamstress to make any post-summer adjustments to your uniform tonight?”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “I’m not here for check-in. I came here to tell you that I won’t be cheering at all this season.” I pulled the uniforms out of my bag and placed them on her desk. “I was named editor-in-chief of The Pitt News this morning, so …”
“So, what?”
“So, since Journalism is my major and my ultimate dream in life, I think it makes more sense for me to devote my time on that instead of cheerleading this year.”
She placed a hand against her chest, looking as if I’d wounded her somehow.
Expecting that, I mentally rewound the speech I’d wanted to give since my freshman year.
“It’s been a honor learning under you, serving as a support system for the basketball, soccer, and football teams while they hit major milestones, and—” I paused before I could lie and say, “making new friends.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” I said. “It’s truly been an honor being on the team.”
“Have a seat, Courtney.”
“Actually, I need to get back to lower campus ASAP, so I can get ready for my first staff meeting. I’m treating the entire team to pizza and nachos.”
“Put your ass in that seat. Now.” She narrowed her eyes at me, and I obliged.
“You know, you’ve always struck me as a very intelligent young woman,” she said, pushing a bowl of Skittles towards me. “You’re always early for practice, willing to help with things behind the scenes, and you once saved me from ordering a banner in the final hour that said, ‘No Panthers, No!’”
“It never hurts to double-check for typos.”
“But you also strike me as quite aloof and dumb as hell,” she said.
“Um, what?”
“I’ve witnessed multiple athletes attempting to get your attention during the games—football and basketball players, and you just stand there and act as if they’re not talking to you.”
No, I act as if I don’t want to be another notch in their bedpost. “What does that have to do with anything, Coach?”
“Journalism is a dying field, Courtney,” she said. “I know it’s 2009 now, but I give it four more years and everything will be one-hundred-percent digital. People won’t care what some writer or news anchor has to say; they’ll want to figure out the truth for themselves via YouTube or podcasts or something.”
“I’m going into sports journalism.”
“Ha! That’s even worse.” She shook her head. “The last thing my husband and his friends care about when they’re watching the game is what some pretty blond with overdone makeup has to say about it. Those women are mere ornaments for the sideline, and no one likes them.”
I blinked, unsure if she was serious or not.
“Cheerleading opens real doors in life,” she said, leaning forward. Then she lowered her voice. “I met my husband, Coach Whitten of our beloved football team, during my senior year at a Delta Psi party. Everyone else had to pay six dollars to get in, but not this girl. Do you want to know why?”
I shook my head. “I mean, yes. Yes, I’d like to know why.”
“It was because I was a cheerleader,” she said. “He used to flirt with me all the time from the sidelines during his games. So, when he saw me on that front porch of his house—decked out in beautiful makeup and shorts so short that they were practically panties, he grabbed me by the hands and pulled me right inside.”
I leaned back in my seat, wondering how the hell a ‘Happily Ever After’ could be spun from this.
“He took me right up to his bedroom, and I gave him the best blowjob that he’d ever gotten in his life,” she said. “It was so good, because I swallowed and everything, that six weeks later, he asked me to marry him, while I was in the middle of giving him my fifth encore.”
“Um, Coach …”
“Just think about it.” She interrupted me. “If I’d never been a cheerleader, I would’ve paid the six dollar entry fee with the rest of the losers, and I wouldn’t have this cushy job at my husband’s school that I love and adore. Cheerleading opened that door for me, Courtney. Don’t you think cheerleading can open a similar door for you?”
I remained silent.
I had no idea how to respond to that.
“Anyway, glad that we have that out of the way.” She pulled a binder from a drawer and slammed it onto the desk. “Regardless of what your major is, you’re here on a cheerleading scholarship. That’s what pays your tuition, and you’re not allowed to quit the team unless you have a medical emergency or get cleared by me. As you’ll recall, Stephanie Beamer broke her legs, and I still made her wave those pom poms from the sidelines last year.”
“Coach, please.” I looked into her eyes. “My heart honestly isn’t in this sport anymore, and I fell out of love with it two years ago.”
“A passion for cheerleading comes and goes. You’ll feel it again, just ask one of your teammates.”
“No one on this team even talks to me.” My voice cracked. “No one.”
“Come again?”
“I’ve given my all because of the scholarship, but I’ve been miserable for a very long time. It’s not like there aren’t tons of girls vying for a spot to tryout, and it’s not like any of my teammates will miss me when I’m gone.”
She held up her hand, silencing me.
For several seconds, she stared at me, not saying a word.
“You’ll cheer tonight at the official bonfire,” she said. “Then you’ll cheer again at the first game of the season. Those events have always been non-negotiable, and your scholarship says so. After that, you can have a break until the homecoming game and then again until senior night, since I’ve already bought the ‘Most Valuable Cheer’ trophy for you.”
“Thank you, Coach.” I let out a breath. “Thank you so damn much.”
I stood up to hug her, but she waved her hands.
“Get out of my office before I change my mind. And if anyone on the team ever asks about this, you better tell them that you’re dying.”
“Will do.” I stuffed my uniforms into my bag and headed toward the door.
“Oh, and Courtney?” She called after me, and I turned around.
“Yes?”
“Don’t let this get to your head, but you’re far more gorgeous than any ‘pretty blond with overdone makeup’ that I’ve ever seen on my television screen,” she said. “You’re also the smartest woman I’ve ever met … I’m sure any sports fanatic would love getting the news from you.”
“Thank you, Coach.” I left her office and rushed out of the practice space.
For the first time in my entire college career, I felt free and entirely in control. Like I was finally getting the chance to do what I wanted to do.
Even if it was only for the final two semesters.
Later that night, I stood in front of a mirror in the student union building, ensuring that every part of my uniform was in place for the official bonfire.
Blue hair ribbon double wrapped with gold? Check.
Belly button ring out and scar hidden? Check.
Bright red lipstick for the mandatory team spirit photo? Check.
I adjusted my panther-eared headband one last time before grabbing my pom-poms and heading toward the lawn.
Tonight’s bonfire was practically a staged event for alumni and helicopter parents. It was full of pseudo smiles and school spirit, and it was a far cry from the drunken fueled “unofficial bonfire” that the football players held, randomly, off-campus every year.
The latter was every student’s little secret that we kept tucked under our tongues. Even though I never attended the other one, I’d heard enough rumors to know that it wasn’t for the faint of heart.
By the time I made it to the lawn, the football team was already running around and giving the alumni high fives and posing for pictures.
I jumped up and down as they ran around the flames like madmen, joining in the chants that had dominated their incomparable three-national championships-in-a-row reign.
“Hail to Pitt!” I screamed. “We’re winning this shit!” “Alle-genee-genac-genac! Hoorah-Hoorah!”
“Introducing our team captains!” A loud voice from the speakers called out.
“Playing the quarterback position, Grayson Connors!”
Deafening screams filled the yard as Grayson winked at every girl who made eye contact.
“Playing the wide receiver position, Kyleeee Stanton!”
I immediately stopped jumping and held back my applause as the guy I’d hated for years strolled across the lawn.
Unlike the rest of the team, who wore button-down shirts under their navy blue blazers, Kyle wore nothing under his.
Instead, he let his well-defined six-pack abs steal the center stage, along with his perfectly messy dirty blond hair and deep green eyes.
Some of the alumni—full-grown women who were here with their children, fanned themselves as he took his place on stage next to Grayson.
Ever the jester, he motioned for the crowd to give him another round of applause, but I held back again, just like he held back on showing up for a certain group project during my freshman year.
Although my version of events was slightly fuzzy after all this time, my feelings weren’t. I doubted someone like him even remembered me, but I didn’t see a reason to go back on my “No cheering for him, ever” policy at this point.
Since I had no interest in hearing his ridiculous speech, I decided to grab some water from inside.
I was halfway there when I felt myself being tackled by something hard.
Suddenly, I was in an utter free-fall, tumbling backward without any control. My back hit the ground with a loud, sickening thud, and everything went black.
I knew I had to be dead from the sudden collective gasp by the crowd, so I lay there and waited for Death to greet me.
“Hey,” a deep voice said. “Hey. Can you hear me?”
I couldn’t feel my legs. I couldn’t feel my arms.
Oh my god, I’m paralyzed!
“Shit. Can someone come help me, please?” The deep voice said. “She’s blinking and talking to herself, but …”
I opened my eyes and saw Kyle Stanton on top of me. I wanted to push him off, but the sun was hitting the angle of his face in all the right places, only confirming that he was, hands down, the most beautiful asshole on this campus.
Why the hell did he tackle me?
“So, should I assume that you were just savoring the moment of me on top of you, then?” he said, smiling. “Would you like to try this position with me tonight when no one else is watching us?”
I quickly came to my senses, felt my toes and my fingers. “Get the hell off of me before I scream.”
“I think I might want to hear that.” He smirked. “You don’t strike me as much of a screamer, though. You look like the moaning type.”
“Kyle Stanton …”
“You can leave it at ‘Kyle’ whenever you say my name.” He laughed, rolling off me. “Adding my last name makes it a bit too formal, and I’m not really into historical romance.”
Standing to his feet, he bent down and grabbed my wrists, helping me up amidst a round of roaring applause. The crowd was literally applauding his assault on me, as if he’d done something heroic.
“Why aren’t the campus police arresting you right now?” I asked.
“Because you were seconds away from walking into the fail pit and jinxing our entire season,” he said, pointing to the superstitious grey area that’d been blocked off since Pitt’s only loss to Louisville during our sophomore year.
No one ever stepped in that spot. Ever.
My eyes widened as I looked over at it. “It’s usually on the right side.”
“It still is.” He raised his eyebrow. “Were you that distracted by me that you couldn’t tell directions?”
“I wasn’t even looking at you.” I crossed my arms. “You can’t possibly think that I was giving you any attention.”
“Maybe I thought you were finally going to stare back at me for a change this season,” he said. “I stare at you on the sidelines all the time.”
“That’s … a waste.” I couldn’t think of anything better to say. “I was on my way to get some water.”
“Yo, Berman!” He shouted, keeping his eyes on mine.
“Yes?” A young guy in a blue baseball cap rushed over with a bag. “Need another snack?”
“Not right now. Can you give my favorite cheerleader of all time a bottled water from your bag, please?”
The young guy nodded and handed me a perfectly chilled bottle. “Here you are, Miss.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He rushed away to help someone else.
Kyle moved closer and lowered his voice. “Since I just saved you from being a pariah on campus for the rest of the year, how do you want to thank me?”
Getting an up-close view of his face again, I got lost in the way his defined lips looked, lost in the way his abs—
Wake the hell up, Court.
“I’ll thank you by saying, Thank you,” I said. “Thank you.”
“I think you can do better than that.”
“No, I really can’t.”
“Would you like some suggestions?”
I stared at him blankly as that sexy smile spread across his face again. From right here, I could honestly see why most girls dropped their panties at the sight of him and let him have his way.
I could also see that engaging in this conversation for another second wouldn’t lead to anything worthwhile, so I turned around and walked away.
Returning to my space in the cheer zone, I downed the water before joining in on the one part that I loved about every event: A yelled version of “Sweet Caroline.”
“See? That’s what I mean.” Coach Tina whispered into my ear once the song ended. “If Kyle Stanton had tackled me with his rock-hard body, in front of everyone, he would be walking me out of here and into his bedroom.”
I rolled my eyes and faced her. “You do know that he goes through girls on this campus like it’s his full-time job, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” She nodded. “But I also know that you’re a cheerleader. Your pussy is magical. Trust me on that.”
I trust that I should’ve quit the team last season …