The Freshman FIfteen: Cordelia

The Memory Shop

Suggested listening:

"King of the Hill" Roger McGuinn

"Hell on Wheels" Lemon Twigs

"Dig, Lazarus, Dig!" Nick Cave

"Bitch" Meredith Brooks

The breeze carried the taste of salt. Wainwright University wasn't called the Blue Wave for nothing. The sweat that trickled down Cordelia Chase's temples and beaded her upper lip also carried the taste of salt, which mixed with the coconut smell of sunblock and the bouquet of hot bodies to create a very particular atmosphere.

Cordelia pinched the fabric of her T-shirt and pulled the sodden material away from her chest. The once sky-blue garment was soaked down the spine, under the arms, and in a Rorschach-like blob down the front, tie-dyed with perspiration. She accepted a cup of water and swirled the first mouthful before she swallowed.

"Okay, people, let's hustle! Get your pipes wet, then let's get busy on the dance routine." The speaker was medium height, with ridiculously broad shoulders, thick arms, and a chest that looked like it could stop a bullet through sheer intimidation.

"You're always looking to get your pipe wet, Dorian!" a voice shouted from the scrum around the watering station.

"Oh, someone's a clever boy," the speaker crowed, his shaven head gleaming in the sun. He clapped his hands. "Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

"You heard the man, people," Allie Anderson yelled. "Form it up. The squad hustled to their places. Cordelia took her spot between Sarah Williams and Remy Dixon, two returning cheerleaders. She shook her head and concentrated on keeping her shoulders back.

"Okay, everybody, we're going to be doing routine one." Dorian Parks looked up at the trim woman standing atop the viewing tower. "Say the word,"

Karen Martin looked down at the co-captain. "Word," she said, her voice dry and droll.

"Five, six, seven, eight!" Allie barked out the count and the sequence began. It was mostly a ground routine, lots of pinwheeling and crossing, punctuated with basic lifts. Maria Espinoza was in the same group as Cordelia; Maria was the flyer, Cordelia the base. The routine went smoothly, segueing into the final movement: squad formed parallel lines that alternated male/female while two of the cheerleaders (returnees whose names had not yet stuck firmly in Cordelia's memory) began at opposing ends of the formation and did a series of flips and twists down its length. As they neared the end of lines, Cordelia's stomach tightened. She watched from the corner of her eye as the finale began: a girl would race across, then flip into her male partner's hands and be lifted up into an extension. Cordelia saw Juniper Taliferro take two hard steps, extend her hands, and launch herself. Juniper completed the flip as if she was spring-loaded and bounced up directly into Jefferson Taylor's large, powerful hands. He grabbed her waist, spun her around, then crouched and lifted as Juniper pushed off the ground, her hands grasping his forearms. She rose through the air like she was on an invisible elevator as Jefferson released her waist and brought his hands down, caught her feet at shoulder level, and lifted her to full arm extension as Juniper shot a fist into the air. It was spectacular in its simplicity and execution, like watching two beautifully engineered mechanisms mesh into a single machine. Rachel Fitz went back the other way, completing her stunt competently, then, it was Cordelia's turn.

She took a deep breath and two running strides, then reached above her head as she threw herself forward. Her hands contacted the scratchy Astroturf and she pushed off as hard as she could, a kaleidoscope of images and colors swirling around her as she flipped, twisted, and landed in a perfect crouch…

And flinched just as David Mosley's hands touched her waist; it wasn't even really a flinch, more of an involuntary quiver of her hips as his fingers closed around her. She pushed, hard, as David lifted and tossed. She pointed her feet down, then felt David's hands grab the soles of her shoes. Her toes curled even as she locked out and he pressed up to full extension. She extended her hand above her head, staring forward as the rest of the squad completed the routine. There was a beat of silence, then the blast of Karen Martin's whistle.

"Nice, people, very nice. Good day's work. Hit the showers."

Cordelia bounced slightly as David popped her into the air; her skin tightened again as his hands touched her waist to guide her to ground.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Everything's fine." Cordelia pulled her scrunchie loose and shook out her hair.

"All right." David fell into step beside her. "You would tell me if something was wrong, right?"

"That would depend on what it was," Cordelia replied. "I'm certainly not going to ask your opinion on stirrup pants."

"And I appreciate that, I really do." They walked a few yards in silence before David spoke again. "I just… I'm responsible for you in the air, you know?"

"And I appreciate that so much," Cordelia deadpanned as she rolled her eyes. "Listen, I'm fine, we're fine, the lift is fine."

David nodded. "Okay. But Saturday's the first game. If something's wrong, talk to me, okay?"

Cordelia shook her head. "Yeah. I'll be a regular Chatty Cathy."


The dinner hour at Dickey was post-peak. Cordelia grabbed a veggie stir-fry and rice, then swung by another station and grabbed a serving of chicken adobo. She looked around as she entered the dining area and spotted Maria and Tamarra seated along the right-hand wall. Maria saw her and waved, a wide, extravagant gesture that was perfectly Maria. Cordelia dodged two guys leaving the caf and made her way over.

"Here." Maria used her foot to push a chair away from the table. The small girl had a plate piled with meatloaf, french fries, and green beans. "Sit down."

"Don't really need directions on how to use a chair, Maria." Cordelia put her plate on the table and settled into the seat.

"Are you ready for the American History test?" Tamarra asked.

Cordelia took a bite of chicken and chewed before responding. "I think so, but I'll probably hit it again tonight."

"Thought I would, too." Tamarra had opted for the taco station. "Want to get together? Mayer at seven-thirty?"

"Sure." Cordelia pointed. "Those earrings are the cuteness."

"My cousin makes them."

"Really?" Maria was wide-eyed, but then Maria got wide-eyed over lots of things.


"What did you do?" Cordelia stopped just inside the door of Craig 303. Her roommate, Tess Lavigne, was stretched out on her bed, right hand heavily taped.

"This?" Tess held up her hand and waved it. "Dumb move. I went up for a block and didn't pay attention to my hands, got my thumb out of line, got it bent in a little."

"How bad is it?" Cordelia asked as she crossed to her desk, which was tucked under her lofted bed. Tess's bed was not lofted; at six feet tall, the volleyball player would have cracked her skull on the ceiling every morning. She was a deep sleeper and bad waker-upper. Instead, her bed was along the hallway wall at a right-angle to Cordelia's; Tess's desk was wedged into the space between the two beds.

Tess shrugged, her face noncommittal. "I don't think there's any damage. I'm supposed to get X-rays tomorrow, but it probably just needs to be taped for a couple of days."

Cordelia stuffed a couple of books in her backpack and hefted it to her shoulder. "Well, I have to go work on a paper for English and then I'm gonna review for the history test, so I am library-bound."

"Have fun."

Cordelia offered a deadpan glare. "Humor is not your strong suit."


Cordelia trotted down the steps of the Mayer Library. She was beat; cheer practice was hard enough, but certain people made it even more of a challenge, and the study grind of college was… different from high school. She paused at the bottom of the steps and shaded her eyes against the evening sun, which was coming in almost straight horizontal.

"Cordelia! Hey, Cordelia!"

She turned toward the voice, but the sun in her eyes rendered the approaching figures as featureless silhouettes. She grabbed her sunglasses out of her backpack and slipped them on. "Oh. Hi, Larry."

"Good to see you." Larry Blaisdell rolled his shoulders and fidgeted. Pre-out Larry had been scary Larry, but now he tended to act like a giant puppy (which was somehow just as disconcerting) except for the football field, where he still liked to drop running backs like stones down a well. "Whatcha doin'?"

"I'm teaching an extension class on trends in foundation makeup. It's toward more." She tossed her head. "We're in front of the library. What do you think I'm doing?" She noticed Larry's companion: slender, an inch or two shorter than the linebacker, with a strong chin, dark eyes, and the sort of hair that always looked as though the wind had blown it into the perfect level of sexy messiness.

"Oh," Larry said, "this is Trevor."

"Trevor Evans-White." He stuck out his hand, which Cordelia took.

"Evans-White? Is that some sort of royal family?" Her voice practically purred at the end of the sentence.

He winked and clicked his tongue. "Australia hasn't had any royals since 1986… really since 1900, but don't tell the poms about that."

"Huh?" Cordelia looked at Larry, who shook his head.

"No idea. I know it's English, but I don't understand half of what he says." Larry grinned and shrugged, palms up.

"How do you two know each other? Oh," Cordelia leaned forward and lowered her voice, "are you gay, too?"

Larry and Trevor exchanged looks, then Larry laughed. "No. C'mon, Cordelia, I still play football. I know straight guys. No, Trevor's our kicker."

"Our…? Oh, you mean, here... at Wainwright?" Cordelia pointed at Trevor with her whole hand, palm down. "You're the guy who runs out and kicks the, um, extra points?"

"Among other things." He stuck his tongue in his lower lip.

"Why are they 'extra'?" the cheerleader asked. "I mean, everybody tries to get them, right? Nobody is, like, 'thanks, we have enough points already', do they?"

"Yeah," Trevor said slowly. "That's a great observation."

"By the way, completely love your accent." Cordelia nodded, her hair bobbing.

"Thanks… and thanks for not asking me if I've got a knife."

"Huh?" Cordelia frowned. "Why would I ask that?"

"Oh, uh, sorry," Trevor stammered. "Just… most Americans, you know… the whole Crocodile Dundee thing."

"Ew, you mean that movie about the old guy with the leather face?" Cordelia made a disgusted face and shook her head. "No, no, not even. Ew."

Larry filled the resulting silence. "So, how are you doing?"

Cordelia shrugged and hitched up her backpack. "Okay, I think. Everything's just a little… more."

"Yeah, I get that." Larry clapped his hands and turned to Trevor. "I think we need to get going, so-" he looked at Cordelia "-it was really great to see you, keep your head up and your eyes forward, and we'll make Sunnydale High proud."

Cordelia's smile was tight. "Yeah, that's number one on my to-do list, make ol' SHS proud."

"If I don't see you before then, see you at the game on Saturday." Larry pumped a fist.

"Yeah, it was nice to meet you." Trevor said.

"Same," Cordelia replied. "Maybe we'll score a bunch of points and I'll get to see a lot of you on Saturday."

"Your mouth to God's ear." Trevor winked, then he and Larry went by her as the horizon bisected the sun. Cordelia watched them go, then sighed. Her legs were sore and her backpack seemed to weigh fifty pounds.

"God," she whispered, "'I'll get to see a lot of you'? When did I become the social awkwardness?"


Saturday was absolutely gorgeous and the Wainwright cheerleading outfits were boss, Cordelia had to admit. The warm-weather top was a Silver Lake Blue sleeveless with Oxford Blue trim and an appliqued white 'W' outlined in Oxford Blue; the outer fold of the pleated skirt was Silver Lake with Oxford underfold. New white Kaepas with alternating trim triangles were laced tightly; her hair was held back by a Wainwright double-blue ribbon, and there were enough butterflies in her stomach for the organ to qualify as a sanctuary. It was 10:00 AM, an hour before gametime, and the Blue Wave cheer squad was warming up under a high sky dotted with fluffy clouds, a sky a shade lighter than the Silver Lake Blue in their uniforms. David walked up, flexing his hands; he had just gotten his wrists taped for support.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Sure." Cordelia turned her back to him and felt the familiar crawling sensation between her shoulder blades. His hands touched her just above the hips and her stomach fluttered as she bounced twice and jumped, lifted into the air, then lowered.

"You okay?"

The concern in David's voice made her turn around. "I'm fine. Your hands are cold."

David nodded. "Sure." Cordelia's face flushed. He was clearly not convinced by her explanation. He raised his hands to his mouth and blew on them. "There. Go again?"

"Sure." Cordelia turned, then looked over her shoulder. "Count it off this time."

David shrugged. "Okay." He counted and she tensed the second before his hands closed around her waist. She pre-flinched, as it were. It worked well enough. David lifted her up, then put her down.

"Was that up to your standards?" Cordelia asked.

He shook his head and raised a hand. "I just… never mind."

"Okay, everybody." Allie Anderson's voice cut through everyone like a buzzsaw. "Let's get the lifts warmed up. Go, go, go." The squad members scattered to their long, the stands began to fill up. The squad spread out along the sideline and began the pump-up routine. As 11:00 drew close, they raced across the field and formed the double line; the players would exit the locker room and sprint through the double line onto the field. Cordelia experienced a weird deja vu: this was all so familiar, yet all so different. She had gone through the same rituals dozens of times in high school, but the atmosphere was so different. The strangeness was heightened when Larry ran out of the tunnel. For four years, he had run onto the field wearing the cardinal and gold of the Sunnydale Razorbacks, a known quantity until senior year, when… everything changed. Now he raced past her clad in the double blue, the same person, but different.

Just like her: the same, but different.

The Blue Wave kicked off to Long Beach Lutheran. Cordelia noticed another similarity to high school: she had attended something like fifty games and never watched a single one. Her view was always the crowd. Today, it was a good view: beautiful day, good mix of fans, high enthusiasm. The squad was doing standard sideline yells when the crowd roared. The cheerleaders all whipped their heads toward the game. Wainwright players jumped and pointed; Long Beach players looked dejected. "What happened?" Cordelia asked.

"Number 55 just de-cleated their running back," Jefferson replied. "Knocked the ball loose, too. We recovered."

Cordelia watched Wainwright's #55 take off his helmet as he reached the sideline. "Hey, I know him. That's Larry."

"Hey, no gawking, people! Crowd's into it, keep it going," Allie barked. "Shoulder sits, V's on top." Cordelia swung around and put her left foot on David's left thigh as he grabbed her toe. She pushed off and swung her right leg around, settling herself on David's shoulders as he stood up. Cordelia tucked her feet alongside David's ribs and thrust her hands skyward as the crowd screamed and stomped. She heard David's two-count and brought her hands down. He was already in the mitten position and as her hands found his, she locked her knees out straight. David crouched and pushed, and Cordelia dismounted like a feather floating to earth.

"Great job," David said. "Perfect."

"I know." Cordelia was flushed, her heart pounding.

Wainwright was deep in Lutheran's territory and scored quickly; their quarterback threw a short pass over the middle to the tight end, who crushed a safety and ambled into the end zone. As the extra point went through the upright, Cordelia's base group executed a flawless basket toss with Maria flying. Maria was an excellent flyer: short, strong, and flexible, she could really get air and keep her equilibrium at the same time. The squad scattered and began to perform bow and arrows as they chanted "G to the O, yell Go, Go! G to the O, yell Go, Go!" while the Blue Wave lined up to kick off again. Larry's early play was no fluke; the first half ended with Wainwright leading 17-0. The squad huddled on the sideline as the Blue Wave Band marched onto the field. "Okay," Allie barked over the music, "we're going 2-4-2, 3-2, whirlaway, end with the line cross." Her eyes flashed. "Let's not screw up, okay?"

"Everybody clear, any questions?" Dorian looked around the circle. "Okay, then, let's play it like we practiced it." The squad clapped in unison and ran to their positions. Cordelia focused on her responsibilities, but apprehension tickled the base of her brain. As the routine unfolded, everything was fine, beyond fine, but that whisper at the back of her awareness would not leave. The final six-person pyramids were completed; it was time for the line cross. Cordelia sprinted to her position and looked across at David. He gave her a tiny nod and thumb's up. The flyers started their runs; Cordelia concentrated on deep breaths to calm the butterflies. The lift were accomplished like falling dominoes, each one bringing her moment closer, until…

It was right, it was perfect, she could feel it in her run. The twist was exact; she landed square, on balance, weight distributed perfectly… and her spine tightened and her stomach contracted as David's hands touched her. She pushed off, but the infinitesimal hitch meant she didn't go as high as was necessary, and David had to bend his knees slightly and take the tiniest step forward to find her feet. He did it, and got her into the air smoothly, so smoothly that no one in the crowd noticed… probably. The line cross completed, Cordelia dismounted, feeling sick to her stomach. She twitched like a nervous thoroughbred when David's hand touched her shoulder.

"It's okay," he said. "It was good."

Cordelia nodded. She didn't trust herself to say "Liar" without cracking. She lined up with the rest of the team, left hand on hip, right hand pumping in the air, a giant smile pasted on her face and tears in her eyes.