Chapter 12: Hey Mickey
"Oh Mickey, you're so fine
You're so fine, you blow my mind
Hey Mickey, hey Mickey"
Friday. January 10th, 1986
POV: Winter Reid
I see Marissa Randall waving her arm enthusiastically at me. She jumps up and down which causes her overly teased hair to lightly bounce on her scalp. It reminds me of when you tap on a jell-o mold and the edges ripple with movement, while the rest of it remains still. I smile and wave back at her.
The warped reflection of a girl shines from the surface of the polished gym floor. The squiggly shape of green and orange moves alongside me as I walk towards the cheer captain.
"You're here!" Marissa says with a dazzling smile.
Her teeth are sparkling white. I wonder if she brushes with baking soda instead of toothpaste.
"6:30 on the dot… you got here just in the nick of time!" Her eyes search my uniform, making sure every small detail is in place. She looks back up at me and her lips purse into a reluctant smile. "I was a little worried you wouldn't show."
I tighten my fingers around the strap of my duffle bag. "Oh... um-"
"You live on the edge of town, right?" Marissa takes a step forward and cuts off my speech. "I couldn't remember exactly where, but I said to the girls you probably traveled a little farther than us."
She narrows her eyes at me slightly. Her tone is light and animated, but there's a small edge of intimidation buried in her voice, like a razor stuck in the middle of a candied apple.
"You know you really stuck out to me at try-outs." Her mouth spreads into a blindingly white grin. I smile tentatively at the half-compliment. "I thought you looked so... unique. I loved that you weren't as polished as the other girls. Like a diamond that's still buried in a lump of coal! I just knew there was a gem waiting to be discovered."
My smile falters. Did she just compare me to a lump of coal? Also, should I tell her that it's borderline impossible to make a diamond out of coal?
I try not to make surface-level judgments about people, but I still like to at least figure out what someone's opinion of me is before I open up. Right now, I feel myself shrinking in front of Marissa Randall. Everything about her is shimmery and bright, from her expensive charm bracelet to her salon-styled hair. But I have a sense that behind her eyes the neon-pink gears inside her brain are working overtime. Her eyes flicker over my frame once more, and I understand what's happening now.
She's sizing me up.
I'm the new girl tonight, and she's trying to catch me on my back foot just so that I'm well aware of who holds the power in this situation. I straighten my spine and make the decision not to rise to her weird attempt at asserting dominance.
"I had car trouble," I reply simply.
"Okay! Well... set your bag over there next to ours-" She motions vaguely to the side of the bleachers. "-and we'll all sit down in our rows! It's going to be so fun!"
Her mouth drops into a gaping, open smile and she looks like a cartoon character. I try to mimic her overenthusiastic expression, but it feels a little ridiculous.
Marissa has us sit in two rows on the side of the court behind one of the tall baskets. The away teams' cheerleaders sit in the same formation directly opposite us on the other side of the gym. They are wearing bright yellow skirts and vests, a black letter B is embroidered onto their chests to signify Briarwood High School.
They wear the letter 'B' and look like bees.
The observation causes me to snort loudly to myself. The girl sitting on my left looks over at me, surprised by my unladylike sound. I press a fist to my chest and force a cough, pretending that the sound I made was just my throat clearing. I smile and rub my neck, trying to play it off. She scoots away from me an inch and leans forward to speak to the girl in front of her.
I'm second to the end in the back row. I like the vantage point and cover this spot gives me. Immediately to my right and sitting last in the back row is a girl named Helen. She has bright brown eyes and permed hair. Her hairline is dotted with zits that she has covered up with thick powder. I watch as she speaks, her hair moves with every over-exaggerated shake and gets tangled in her droopy gold earrings. I absentmindedly rub my own earlobe, which isn't pierced.
I can never bring myself to get my ears pierced. My mom has tried on several occasions, holding a needle, and an ice cube above the basin in our small bathroom, but I chicken out every time. Eddie says I should skip earrings altogether and just get a tattoo. It's not the pain I'm afraid of; my tolerance is actually much higher than Eddie's, but I've always resisted body altering procedures.
Even as a kid, my mom had to fight me and hold me still in a kitchen chair just to cut off the damaged inches of hair that hung to my waist. The only jewelry I wear is my gold locket because I know it makes my mom happy, and it gives me something to play with when I begin to feel anxious. But piercing my ears, or getting a butterfly tattoo, something about it is almost too visceral. I can't bring myself to paint the skin of a body I feel detached from most days. I can layer on top of myself; adorning a cheer uniform and shaking pom-poms, sliding into a turtleneck sweater and clutching my textbooks against my chest. I'm good at becoming something other than myself, the girl next door, the teacher's pet, the cheerleader. But who I am underneath those costumes, with all of that stripped away… I have no idea.
Helen is still rambling next to me about something she did over Christmas Break. I think she's talking about skiing? Or, perhaps, skateboarding?
My head rolls around the gym, trying to take in my surroundings. The stands are packed on both sides. Locals clutch small paper signs and soda cups from the concession stand. A group of stoners stumble out from under the bleachers. Their eyes are red and a familiar herbal smell floats out from behind them. I bite my lip, trying to repress a smile.
"Oh..." Helen says, her nose crinkling in disgust. She looks at me and then to the empty space next to her. "Did a skunk get into the gym again?"
I cough out a surprised laugh. "What?"
"It happens every game I swear! I sit here on the end, and then this foul smell just creeps into the room. The phantom skunk." She looks at me, her eyes are two shimmering, innocent pools.
"Oh... honey," I say softly and offer her a sympathetic look.
"At the last game I stayed after to talk to the janitor. He opened the bleachers and I watched him take his broom and start poking around, trying to find the skunk's nest. But there was nothing. Phantom skunk!"
My eyebrows continue to raise and she carries on, is this what normal people worry about? Fascinating.
Suddenly the stands roar and I look around, wondering what started the commotion.
Helen is still chattering, she's now explaining the breeding habits of skunks. She may not be streetwise but, hey, the girl really did her research.
The away team begins to jog onto the court in a single file line. They are wearing warm up suits. Long yellow pants and yellow jackets. The cheerleaders are bees, the boys are yellow jackets. They break out into their formations on the court. Basketballs are tossed over and they begin passing and dribbling.
Marissa Randall is sat dead center in the front row. She slowly runs her hand under her glossy hair, smoothing it down her back. She lifts one hand, her silver charm bracelet twinkles and slides down her forearm, and snaps twice in the air. The girls around me all stand up suddenly and obediently. I look around, startled.
Helen hisses down to me, "Winter, that's the signal!"
"Oh, shit!" I say and jump to my feet.
Helen looks a little shocked at my profanity, but quickly looks forward. Her back goes rigid and her pom-poms push together, creating an orb of shiny plastic threads in front of her body. I copy her stance. Legs tight together, feet planted firmly, pom-poms at the ready. We're like the army, but cuter and our routines don't affect the geo-political landscape... as far as I know.
A teenager in white sunglasses and a red beret touches a button on his DJ setup and We Will Rock You by Queen begins to play loudly in the gym. The people in the stands begin stomping their feet and clapping to the beat.
I look around nervously.
I have only ever attended a couple of school games before. Last year, I joined the school paper and was inanely assigned the job of photographer for the sports section. I arrived and stayed at the games for a maximum of 15 minutes. I hid by the trash cans near the door and took blurry photos of the player's converse sneakers. Teens would push past me and bump hard into my shoulder. Children screamed as they ran in and out of the open doors. Once, a man chucked a half-empty Coke at me, mistaking me for the garbage can to my right.
I quit the newspaper after that, deciding that tutoring kids during study hall was an easier and far less sticky way to pad my resume.
The people in the stands continue their rhythmic chorus.
Stomp, stomp, clap. Stomp, stomp, clap.
Helen leans over to me and whispers, "They play this when our boys come onto the court!"
She begins moving her pom-poms together in front of her to the same rhythm as the fans. I peek around and notice all of the other cheerleaders are moving in sync.
Stomp, stomp, clap. Stomp, stomp, clap.
Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise.
Playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday.
I force a smile onto my face and bring my pom-poms together with the beat. My eyes still dart around nervously.
You got mud on your face, you big disgrace
Kicking your can all over the place, singin'
A stampede of sneakers suddenly flies by. I flinch and look over to see the Hawkins High basketball team running out into the arena, the fans begin screaming like they're at the Colosseum. I catch the eye of Jake Hartman briefly, who runs by and squints at me. I look away quickly.
The boys take their half of the court and begin shooting baskets.
We will, we will rock you!
We will, we will rock you!
Marissa and the rest of the cheerleaders suddenly sit down. I'm the only one standing for a moment. I glance around and the other girls look up at me with confusion painted over their sparkling faces. My mouth opens and closes like a fish pulled out of the water.
Well there wasn't a signal that time.
I slowly sink down to my knees. I settle into the same position as everyone else, both legs to one side, knees pressed tightly together. We look like mermaids perched on rocks.
The game has not officially started yet, that much I do know.
Helen scooches closer to me. "So... are you nervous? It's your first game! Although, I remember thinking at tryouts that you were such a natural. I'm so glad Marissa picked you!"
I hazard a small smile, my heart is beating loudly in my chest. What I really want to say to Helen is:
"Oh, believe me, there's nothing natural about this, I have no fucking clue what I am doing here."
I take a deep breath.
That was just a trial run, Winter. You haven't even done the halftime dance yet... get a grip!
"I'm a little overwhelmed. I've never done anything like this before," I finally say.
Helen nods in agreement. "I totally get that. Everyone says the boys do everything and we just sit and look pretty, but, honestly, there would be no spirit or fun if we weren't here! It's a lot of work!"
I nod slowly at her. She reminds me a little of Eddie. When her words pour out, they are colored with drama and feeling.
"I've been cheering ever since I can remember," Helen babbles on. "My mom was prom queen and head cheerleader, Class of 1969, so this is really important to her. I'm a cheerleader, check! Next, I guess, prom queen? But, there's so many other pretty girls in our class I'm not sure I even stand a chance..." She glances at me, pointedly. I shift uncomfortably.
She looks down and for a moment I catch a glimpse of sadness flash across her face. She tugs at her skirt, seeming insecure.
I don't know this girl at all, but her words make me sad. Helen is nice, clearly very spirited, but she sits at the back and certainly isn't a Marissa Randall clone. I wonder if her mom even bothers to come and watch her cheer. I find this small chink in her facade actually makes me like her more, so I try to keep the small talk going.
"My mom was a cheerleader at Hawkins High, too," I offer.
Helen's gloomy expression disappears quickly and her face morphs back into a joyful smile.
"Really?! What class? Maybe she cheered with my mom! How lush!" She gushes. "Maybe they were like best friends and now here we are, sitting together! In the back!"
I suddenly realize the mistake I just made trying to be open. My mom never graduated, and if I say any more, and Helen goes home and tells her mom... well, then suddenly there's a phone tree with the Class of 1969. They'll discuss how the newest addition to the Varsity squad at Hawkins High is the daughter of the girl who was knocked up and dropped out during their senior year.
My mom became pregnant with me the summer before her last year at Hawkins High. It was the tail-end of a surprisingly warm June, and there was a teenage boy who would show up during her shifts as a lifeguard at the public pool. He would park his Camaro and smoke cigarettes in the parking lot, and always found her when the pool closed to offer her a ride home. My mom told me she knew he was up to no good, but during one of the last weeks of summer, when her ride never came, she slid into the passenger seat of the boy's car.
Before she knew it, they were strolling down Main Street with their hands gently intertwined. He made her laugh and bought her a vanilla ice cream cone. The boy's persistence and his charming smile eventually convinced her to take a dip with him in the river... and then one thing led to another.
She fell under his spell without even realizing what she was falling into. In January of 1969, when my mom could no longer hide her growing belly from her boyfriend or her parents, the teenage boy changed. Their relationship had been a whirlwind, my mom found her teenage rebellion sneaking out with him in the middle of the night and skipping school… but then it stopped being fun. Suddenly, he no longer made her laugh and didn't go out of his way to buy her ice cream cones. My grandparents made her quit school to try and save some face, but word had already gotten around. I was born in March that year and by early June my parents were speeding down the road that took them out of Indiana.
I assume Helen must be younger than me, unless her mom also scandalously had her at 17. I don't know if she's a sophomore or a junior who advanced a couple of grades, but I don't want to pry in case she starts asking me questions about my age. I don't want her to connect my birthday with a story her mom might've shared with her, about the cheerleader led astray by the bad boy, who left Hawkins High under a cloud of shame.
I know enough about small town gossip to know I definitely don't want that to happen.
I breeze past Helen's question and force myself to sound nonchalant. "I didn't join because of my mom. In fact, she doesn't really care if I do this or not."
It's a half-truth. My mom really didn't know I had signed up or even tried out until I made the squad. She did cry when she saw my uniform, but not because I was fulfilling some long-held wish, but because the last time she saw a Hawkins cheer uniform she was turning hers in to her coach, and then leaving high school behind, forever.
"Oh... Well, that's cool!" Helen looks around and then back at me. "Why did you try out? It's just... I've never seen you before - which is insane because you look like a goddess who just, like, fell from Mount Olympus or something. Seriously, how is your skin so glass-like? What cleanser do you use?" She leans toward me and I sink back as she tries inspecting the pores on my nose.
Helen notices me flinch and moves away quickly. A look of embarrassment passes over her face as she twists her hands together in her lap.
I don't love her invading my personal bubble, but I actually find her unfiltered enthusiasm extremely refreshing.
I laugh suddenly and her head jerks up. She cautions a small smile. Giggles pour out of my throat and I feel the bubbles of nerves that have formed over the course of this evening begin to pop in my chest.
Helen looks around, then begins to laugh along lightly.
"I like you," I manage to say.
Helen's eyebrows raise and her mouth grins with wide appreciation, as if I've just bestowed an honor upon her.
"Really? Most people think I'm weird. The senior girls never invite me out with them to the diner after the game... and I've been sitting in the back row for like three years-"
I decide I need to cut her off before she begins another rant. She asked me why I tried out, and I'm not quite sure how to put it without mentioning Mrs. Kelley or my mom.
"I signed up on a whim," I say quickly. "I saw Marissa hang up the sheet on the bulletin board and I just thought… fuck it? Y'know?"
Her eyes widen and a small squeak emits between her tightened lips. I knit my eyebrows, unsure how she is going to react to the second curse word I've dropped in the past five minutes. She looks appalled, but then her lips prick upwards into a grin.
"Wow," she says finally.
"You can say it, y'know? It's just a word. It only has as much power as you give it." I lean in and whisper this to her. Then I sit up straight, look ahead, and say, "Fuck it!"
No one around me even bothers to look over. I shrug at Helen. She's watching me in quiet shock. I think we're going to be friends... but she's gotta loosen up.
"Yeah…" Helen looks down at her lap. "Fuck it."
She whispered the profanity so softly that I could barely hear her. After it leaves her lips, her eyes dart around the gym, as if her mom is going to appear out of thin air and wash her mouth out with soap.
I laugh loudly, causing the prissy cheerleader on my left to jump.
"There you go Helen! Fuck it." I give her an understanding nod, feeling proud of her. She smiles back timidly.
"Seriously, where did you come from?" Helen asks.
Her eyes search my face with bewilderment, as if I'm a forest nymph who only recently decided to emerge from the wood to try and blend into human society.
Jeez, I really was invisible before.
I almost feel comfortable enough to tell her that I actually hail from Forest Hills Trailer Park. Strangely, I feel as if I can trust her completely after only having this short conversation with her. I recall Eddie telling me my trustworthiness was one of my fatal flaws. I open my mouth to speak.
Before I can answer her, the music cuts out and the teams leave the court.
"It's starting!" Helen says, shaking with glee. Her face cracks into a wide smile and I match her expression. Her perkiness is contagious.
My heart begins to pound in my chest. I comfortingly slide my golden locket back and forth on its chain.
The coaches begin yelling to their starting teams. The boys move themselves into their spots while the extra players sit on the bench. I suddenly notice Lucas Sinclair, one of Eddie's Hellfire freshmen, sitting down. I'm surprised to see him here, he is clearly the youngest on the team.
I smile softly to myself, feeling that both him and I are venturing outside of our bubbles. I would wave to him, but I'm sure he wouldn't recognize me in my new green and orange costume.
My eyes drag away from the bench and land on the court. The boy who was leaned up against the brick outside, passing the cigarette, stands in the middle. He's right beside Jason Carver, the captain of the team, nodding, and listening to him. He has a lopsided smile, dark eyebrows, and short but messy hair. His arms are tanned and toned. I think to myself that he resembles Dallas from The Outsiders.
I like finding movie doppelgängers for people. Looking to my right at Helen's profile, I decide she's a spitting image of Alex from Flashdance. I wonder if she knows anything about welding.
A hush settles over the room.
Marissa Randall snaps twice again and I get to my feet with more speed and grace this time.
Hey! I'm getting the hang of this now.
She calls out the first refrain for our starting cheer. She slaps her pom-poms together twice, signaling the rest of the squad to join in.
The hoop is open,
The net is hot,
C'mon boys,
Make that shot!
Well, it's certainly not David Bowie level lyricism, but at least I won't have trouble remembering any of it. We repeat the cheer twice more, shaking our pom-poms at the end and whooping loudly.
The referee blows a whistle, the ball flies up, and the game begins.
Author's Note:
Okay, so I've created a few other original characters…
First, cute basketball player that that looks like Dallas from The Outsiders… intriguing, no? I thought about writing Jason as a love interest, but his characterization on the show made it difficult for me to find any sympathy or nuance for him. But, I do think it's crucial for the character of Winter to have experiences & make her own choices... so there will be another love interest coming her way. Also, Chrissy Cunningham isn't mentioned in this fic. I just thought she was too sweet to play the character I had in mind, so that's why I created cheer captain Marissa Randall. Finally, meet Helen! While Winter and Chrissy probably would've made great friends, I created Helen instead bc her story will be intertwining with a different st character in other ways… so stay tuned for that!
Thank you for reading!
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