The Hardest Cut, Jamie Bennett [howl and other poems TXT] 📗

was afraid I was going to lose some of the rhinestones from the tangerine top.  Luckily, they stayed in place, and when the music for my group cut off and I turned to smile over my shoulder, I saw several male judges looking in my direction again.  In the direction of my butt.  I tossed my hair and made my sore muscles pull my lips into another big smile.

That was good. I needed their eyes on me in any way I could attract them, because I would have to make the team based on my looks and my body—not my dancing.  Sure, I had been a cheerleader in high school, but most of these other women had performed on the fields of major universities, and a few had already been members of other pro-sports squads.

There were some seriously talented dancers here today, but I hadn’t seriously taken dance since college.  I was very out of practice, despite the quick brush-up work I had tried to do after deciding to try out for the team.  So, if becoming a Woodsmen football cheerleader was based only on talent, then I was already out.  Fortunately for me, I already knew from years of watching them (and from constant reading of team gossip sites) that talent alone wouldn’t get you into that famous orange halter top.  My butt would help a lot.

But I meant what I’d said to the judges: I did love to dance, even if I wasn’t nearly as good as some of these other ladies.  The sixty seconds they’d let us freestyle for this audition had been a blast!  In fact, I loved dance so much that I’d minored in it in college.  “What does that mean?  What are you going to do with a dance minor, Gabriella?” my mom had asked.  Well, this was it!  I would become a Woodsmen cheerleader, joining the select and renowned group of women formerly known as the “Dames.”

And about that.

“A couple announcements,” Rylah, the head choreographer, said into her microphone.  “Circle up, ladies.”  The other women bunched together on the dance floor but I didn’t mind skirting the edge of the crowd.  I was hot, glowing to beat the band, and I didn’t want the press of bodies around me.  I held up my heavy hair to try to cool the back of my neck and waved my hand at my face to make a breeze.

“We wanted to announce that starting next season, the Woodsmen cheerleaders will have a new name for our team,” Rylah told the crowd, and everyone applauded, me included.

“What is it?” someone called, but Rylah shook her head.

“You guys will help decide!  We already have a short list, and once we have the final roster of our squad, we’ll vote.  It’s the one and only time this season that the team will be a democracy!”  She smiled and several women chuckled, ha-ha.

Rylah lost the smile so fast that the laughs broke off mid-ha.  “In everything else, it’s our way, or the highway.  If you want a popularly-elected representative government, go check out Cuba.”  She turned her head from side to side to stare at the crowd, challenging us.

What?  Several women also glanced at each other, as confused by that statement as I felt, but most nodded seriously back at the choreographer.

I heard a surprised burst of laughter somewhere behind me and a deep voice repeated, “Cuba?”  I turned to stare into the crowd of onlookers, but Rylah was speaking again and I quickly focused back on her.

“As a special treat, our head of security here at Woodsmen Stadium, Lyle King, will lead you on a tour while we judges decide who will move on from today’s preliminary round.”  More clapping, and a man in a uniform whose nametag identified him as Lyle stepped forward and bowed slightly.  “If your number gets called,” Rylah continued, “you’ll come for a special meeting with me!”  Big smile from her and we clapped again.  I felt a little glow at the thought of hearing my number announced and joining a group of other chosen women.  I patted the paper pinned to my bra top announcing me as “No. 17.”  Come on, seventeen!

Rylah suddenly glared down from the dais.  “If we don’t call your number, then Lyle will show you to the exit and you will immediately vacate the premises.  Anyone who tries to remain here in the stadium will be arrested for trespassing.”  Our clapping cut off like someone hit the mute button.  Arrested?  The glow of anticipation in my chest turned into a frozen chunk of worry.

“Ok, have a great time on the tour!” Rylah beamed at us.  “And just a reminder, all of you have signed a legally-binding non-disclosure agreement regarding your experience in these auditions so you can’t say one word, not one single word, of what went on here today, because we will go after you with both guns blazing just like Mahatma Gandhi.”  She looked around at us again and I swallowed hard.  But I was pretty sure that Gandhi wasn’t a real shoot-em-up guy, if I was remembering my Civics class right.

The smile returned to Rylah’s face as she yo-yoed in the other direction.  “Take it away, Lyle!” she said cheerfully, and we clapped a little more, but very half-heartedly in our emotional confusion.

All the would-be cheerleaders lined up behind the security guard, jostling to get to the front, but I hung back, willing to let them beat me—in this.  “Follow me, no pushing!  Welcome to Woodsmen Stadium,” I heard the guard say.  “Now, prepare yourselves for wonder and awe.”

A few women laughed but I nodded.  I really was prepared for wonder and awe, because I wanted to enjoy every moment of this, from waiting outside in the cold parking lot under the stars this morning, to following a security guard down a hallway, deep into the stadium where I never would have been allowed to go as a mere fan.  This, today, was my one and only