Chapter Five
Chrissy's cheer bag was spread before her on her fluffy pink and orange daybed. She had been staring into its empty pocket for well over five minutes and was begging her hands to respond, to start packing. She was running out of time.
The front door slammed shut downstairs. Her mother had just returned home from work. Immediately, Chrissy sprang into action, tossing her cheer shoes into the bag, a padded sports bra, an extra pair of socks. On autopilot, she gathered her uniform, and a few extra clothes. She wasn't sure what she would need at Eddie's. She packed a thick beige wool sweater, one with a golden embroidered "C" over the heart, and thick leather pads stitched over the elbows. She had heard it was going to be cold tonight. After a last moment's hesitation, she grabbed another pair of panties buried from the far back of her dresser drawer- a soft silky pink pair bearing a small sleek black bow on the front, ones she considered her "lucky undies." She figured she would need Lady Luck on her side tonight.
Her mother tried to open Chrissy's door but was stopped by the lock latched shut. "Chrissy?" She called, sounding worried.
Chrissy jumped and her mouth dried. "One second!" She choked.
"One second? Why is your door locked? Chrissy?" Laura's voice began to rise in volume and grew from worry to fury as she tried the door repeatedly. "We've talked about you locking your door!" She began to pound her fist on the thick wood between them.
"I-I'm changing!" Chrissy replied, searching her room in a panic. A makeup bag, her toiletry bag. Her toothbrush. Shit. It was in the bathroom. She looked at the door, which was shaking under her mother's aggressive knocks.
With a quick zip of her duffel bag, she swung it over her shoulder and checked her reflection in her vanity mirror. Her mother was shouting something about how Chrissy's body was hers to see– it was nothing she hadn't seen before. Chrissy shuddered, steeled herself, and opened her door coolly. "Yeah, I know, I just forgot it was locked." She shrugged her bag higher onto her shoulder. "It won't happen again, mom. I'm sorry."
Her mother squinted her gaze at her, and her lip curled up in the corner. It made Chrissy squirm inside, but she worked hard to stand still, upright and postured, her bellybutton tightly pulled in toward her ribcage, like her mother had always instructed. The rising and falling of her chest when she breathed was hardly noticeable. Statuesque, still and pretty, like her mother had trained her to be. "Do I need to take away your door again?" She threatened. "I won't accept this distrust in my house, Christine Cunningham. What are you hiding that you need the door locked for?" She glared at her daughter.
Chrissy smiled sheepishly, and grabbed her bag tighter, sliding past her mother and heading towards the bathroom. "It's just a habit from the school bathrooms, mom. It's not a big deal."
"It is too a big deal!" Her mother hollered, following after her and standing in front of the bathroom door, an immovable force with her arms steely crossed over her chest blocking Chrissy's progress. "You don't get to tell me what is or isn't a big deal– I'm the parent and you will respect me as such! What I say goes, and I say no locking the door! You have no right to be such a little bitch, you know that? I will take your door away again, don't test me, Chrissy." She threatened again, her sharp green eyes shooting hot daggers at her daughter. They burned and cut at her, making her feel weak and small.
Chrissy sighed softly. "I know, mom." Her voice was meek, her shoulders dropping slightly inward. 'I'm sorry."
"Damn right you're sorry," Her mother scolded, and roughly pulled Chrissy to her bony bosom. She gave a long exhale of her breath that stank of clove cigarettes and stale coffee. A brooch on her pantsuit collar was jabbing painfully into Chrissy's shoulder.
When her mother spoke next, she spoke theatrically, dramatically, like she wanted her words to ooze with some kind of sick honey Chrissy would gobble up. "I just worry so much, Chrissy. You don't know the stuff they say about you kids nowadays. Drugs, alcohol, sex… Just the other day, Bethany- you remember Bethany Best, from the office? Well, she was telling me about how she's worried about her son Jeff. She's worried Jeff is involved in a gang for the Devil! You know he goes to your school?" She gave a desperate cry and squeezed Chrissy's cheeks with a hard pinch of her thumb and fore finger, pulling her face closer to hers. "I told her 'Not my Chrissy, she's a good girl.'" Laura stared her daughter squarely in the face, her expression hard and cold and searching, and Chrissy tried her best not to blink, or reveal much emotion at all. Her cheeks were beginning to ache in her mother's tight grasp.
"Yes, I'm a good girl." She uttered between her pinched lips.
She gave Chrissy another hard squeeze to her chest and sighed heavily. "That's what I thought." When she released her, she gave her a soft, loving caress of her daughter's bronze ponytail. She curled her fingertip at the end of the locks, several times, twirling it around and around. "I love you, sweetie. Please don't give me reason to doubt you. I will find out." She tightly smiled, her leather-like tanned skin stretched far over her thin framed face. Her eyes still glared like knives. "A mother always finds out, you know." She said in a sing-song tone.
"I know, mom." She smiled sweetly and gently pushed past her into the bathroom. "I'm almost ready for the game, just got to freshen up and we can go. Is it still okay if I stay at Jenny's tonight?" She hoped her smile was believable and the alibi she had tried to establish earlier this morning was still in effect. She hadn't known about her meeting with Eddie at the time, but she had known she wouldn't be coming home that night. The dread in her body convinced her of that much; she was certain of it.
Laura's face lit up at the mention of the game and clapped her hands happily together. "Of course! Yay! I'll tell your father to get the car ready!" She began to walk away from the door, towards the stairs.
"Hey Chrissy," She called back from over her shoulder in a chilly, snide voice. "Try contouring your cheeks a little more– you can use the powder from my bathroom. They're looking a bit chubby."
And with that, Laura Cunningham descended the stairs, humming liltingly to herself, on her way to terrorize her husband and son.
Chrissy shut the door and firmly locked it behind her.
She splashed water on her face quickly, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. Her stomach growled in protest, and she glared at her reflection. She had managed to stomach a granola bar when she got home, but it still left her feeling hollow and hungry. Her cheeks didn't seem to look any chubbier than she thought they normally looked- and she had always thought she had a fairly narrow face to begin with. The surface of her cheeks were currently beat red, dark fingerprints pressed into the hollows of her face.
Frustrated, she grabbed her toothbrush and shoved it deep into her bag. She splashed more cold water onto them, trying to minimize the swelling the best she could.
Far away behind her– much farther than the small bathroom walls allowed– she could hear the distant ticking of a clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
With a final look in the mirror, Chrissy took a steely breath and steadied herself. She could do this. All she had to do was get through the game. Then Eddie would give her the relief she had been desperately craving for days.
Chrissy couldn't hear the clock anymore when she made it to the basketball game. She could hardly hear herself think, let alone hear an imaginary clock that wasn't there.
The Hawkins gymnasium was more boisterous and louder than it had been during the pep rally– nearly deafening. The energy was pure electric, the stands vibrating with bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, the perfumes and colognes of parents and raw stench of the pubescent students mingling through the air. The high school band thundered, echoed, boomed through the stands.
The noisy gym gave Chrissy something close to relief and she felt herself finally release a breath she felt she had been holding for nearly the entire car ride to the high school. With a peck to her mother's cheek, she jogged over to the edge of the court, her pom poms held at her sides.
The cheerleaders were sprawled out on the benches, stretching out their legs and holding their arms high above their heads. Chrissy could see the boys– and a few girls– in the stands eyeing the cheerleaders hungrily, like they were delectable desserts, petite bite-sized cakes, primed and iced and beautifully on display behind the counter, just out of reach, just out of budget, just out of their leagues. It made her uncomfortable and she wondered if any of the other cheerleaders felt the need to pull down their shirts a little farther every time it ran up too high. Instinctually, she moved her pom poms to cover the small, revealed sliver of stomach her uniform revealed.
Stacy, Jenny, and a red-haired cheerleader named Rachel, squealed as Chrissy approached and ran to greet her in their welcoming arms. Before she could say anything though, Jason and the rest of the Tigers' basketball team were pouring out of the locker room and onto the court, growling as the Hawkins' Band played loudly from the stands.
Cued in, the girls fell into line and began to cheer, and allowed the game to fly by before Chrissy's eyes.
Chrissy had been cheering since she was in first grade. It was practically second nature to her now. It had been something her mother had done when she was a kid, but it was different at that time. Realistically, her mom was on the color guard, but she didn't like to call it that. She would always tell people she was a cheerleader, just like Chrissy. She was a baton twirler during her time on the color guard, and her mom was a baton twirler before her. But Chrissy was the first cheerleader from a long line of women performing before crowds, smiling brightly, and twirling.
Chrissy twirled, giving her pom pom a toss into the air. She caught it and stomped her feet to the boom of the band like she was stomping away the thoughts. She didn't want to think about her mom while she danced.
The game raged on, running close, with the teams rapidly scoring one right after the other. Each score was met with an appropriate cheer– a victory chant, "Gimme a G! Gimme an O! What's that spell? Go! Go! GO!", or a defensive call to action, "Be aggressive! Be! Be! Aggressive!" – and a heartful "Rawwwr!" from the cheerleaders and audience members after missed shots taken.
By the time the halftime show began, Chrissy was drenched in sweat and eagerly looking forward to her time on the bench while the band and color guard took the court. Their shiny lack Dinkle's clattered loudly against the floor as they all shuffled into their spots and the stands were rowdy with people excitedly discussing the game– which was still scored at a tie. The band kicked up their renditions of Huey Lewis and The News' The Power of Love– which had taken Hawkins by storm following the release of Back to the Future the previous summer- and Tears for Fears' Everybody Wants to Rule the World. Chrissy enjoyed the band instructor's attempt to stay modern, even if he was usually a year or two behind.
Both teams were playing so hard, eager to end the season on a high note. She watched as the Tigers huddled around one another, their muscled shoulders coated in sweat, shiny and reflective. With a sudden "break!", and a loud bark, the boys dispersed, like positive charges, in all directions.
Jason Carver, basketball captain and game MVP, was headed towards Chrissy, zeroed in like a missile about to strike, as she took a lengthy swig from her water bottle. He crashed beside her on the wooden bench, his wet arm sliding against hers and around her shoulders, holding her tightly. She stifled the urge to pull away from him and allowed him to pull her into his side, his sweaty armpit hair brushing uncomfortably on her shoulder. "Hey Chris, you been seeing me out there?" He grinned confidently and brushed a wave of blond hair from his forehead.
She politely smiled and nodded. "Definitely. You've really been on it." She looked out at the band and took another sip from her bottle.
"So, tonight, I was thinking after the party dies down a little bit, we could head back to my place, have a couple of beers, fool–"
Chrissy put her hand on his chest softly and began to pull away. "Jason, I told you, I have to go home to pack. My mom is super crazy about the little details. You know this." She gave a showy roll of her eyes and a big pout of her bottom lip. "She wants to make sure we are 'completely packed– list checked and double checked.' Her words, not mine." She held her finger at him sternly and then tried to teasingly rock into him.
Jason looked unconvinced and he stood firm, like a brick wall. His arm slid down hers until her thin wrist was grasped tightly within his strong fingers. When she looked up at him, his eyes were narrowed. She felt herself gulp and she shakily giggled. She smiled as sweetly as she could, feeling nothing but rot and decay inside, and said, "I'm sorry JC, but I can't tonight. I wish I could." She kissed him softly on his moist cheek and fought back the urge to wipe her mouth. The short, blond stubble on his face pricked her and she felt her skin itch.
The band began to make its way back into the stands– a single body made up of a bunch of moving parts, brass, cloth, and flesh. Chrissy jumped up, eager to be away from Jason's grasp and back on the court dancing. The sweat on her back was already beginning to grow cold and clammy-like.
She didn't look as Jason glared after her, or as he threw his arms up in disbelief at her. Her and her friends were already going into their next cheer, "We're number one! Not number two! We're gonna beat the whooooopsie outta you!" The cheerleaders gave a flip of their skirts on "whoopsie," revealing their bloomers, and Chrissy may or may not have tried to aim the dismissing toss of her pom poms in Jason's direction.
Grateful to be back on the court, Chrissy allowed her cheerleading autopilot to take control and cheered joyfully throughout the rest of the game.
It was a truly exciting champion ship, with the last quarter seeming rougher than usual and resulting in an injury– but Chrissy was happy to see season benchwarmer Lucas Sinclair get some time on the court and his winning shot earned him a cheer in his name.
Chrissy took a long time in the locker room, meandering idly between her locker and the showers, talking to her friends to give the appearance she was doing something productive and not killing time.
It didn't take long before finally Jessica was the last girl remaining and she left with a "sucks you won't be at Benny's tonight!" and then Chrissy was alone in the green and yellow tiled room, slinging her duffle bag over her torso, and ducking out the back door behind the gymnasium to wait for Eddie in the darkness.