From where I crouched, I was able to see a thin column of the gym room where three other cheerleaders were standing stiffly at set hips. After two weeks of intensive summer cheerleading full of toe-touches, football cheers, and splits, it was time for our evaluation to see if we were ready to perform at the first football game. I had tried out for the squad the previous spring as a sort of last hoorah in high school, thinking that it would all be knit sweaters and pompoms. Since freshman year, I have sampled a wide array of what my high school has to offer, from Key Club and Earth Corps to the Gay Straight Alliance and Latin Club. It was not until junior year after weighing the attractions of the new Scrabble club, that I realized it was finally time to join the group I'd secretly admired since day one: the cheer squad.

But after making the squad it didn't take long for me to crave the comforts of an old-fashioned game of Scrabble. First there was the disconcerting lecture on "behaving like a lady," which meant never being seen acting out in or out of the uniform, never having contact with the opposite sex while wearing the uniform, and most importantly, being clean and thoroughly shaven at all times. Then, after spending all of spring quarter and most of summer practices struggling with dance moves, I realized that ten years of classical ballet and jazz training had provided me with minimal support in this endeavor. I was fine with my role as one of only two white girls on the mostly black squad, but I lamented my body's inability to pick up on the rhythm-based cheers. I feared discrimination not because of my skin color, but because of how I cheered.

It was on this sweltering day in August that I was forced to unveil all the cheers in front of the intimidating eyes of the squad's two captains and three coaches. The previous evening I treated the task like a test and crammed for hours late into the night, supplementing my studying with a viewing of the film "Bring It On." I was paralyzed with an unfamiliar fear of being utterly humiliated in front of my peers and coaches. As student body vice president, I can give an impromptu speech in front of 1,600 judgmental teenagers without breaking a sweat. Where was the logic in this immense fear of gluing on a smile and shouting rhymes for five people?

On the day of the evaluation, I was paired with one veteran cheerleader whose mother was the coach, and with a freshman who was in a daze after losing one of her contact lenses. Finally, after two hours of watching dismayed girls come and go from their own evaluations, it was time for my trio's final judgment.

I stumbled in behind the other two girls and tried to sense the atmosphere of the room without making eye contact with the judges. Disregarding any formalities, they began to count us in for our jumps. All of a sudden, I leapt off the floor and reached for my toes pointed at the ends of splayed legs. I couldn't keep a smile from my lips as my anxiety sweated away and out of my pores with every new movement. I'd run numerous laps for forgetting cheers during practice, but now they lined up in my mind, dying to escape and prove themselves. I stiffened my arms, achieved resounding claps, and projected my voice to yell cheers with confidence. After 45 minutes, it came time for the final cheer. One of our captains counted us in, and with my endorphins flowing, I tensed every muscle in my body and hit each move with accuracy.

As I left the gym after the evaluation, I felt as though I radiated potential. It is in my nature to find excitement by diving head first into unknown territory, but the trials of cheerleading caught me off guard, and I was proud of myself for attempting something so far from the scope of my regular activities. In the end, my success has only strengthened my desire to take on new challenges and to commit myself to meeting them. There are so many tempting opportunities to try new things in high school that I feel I would be cheating myself if I didn't take advantage of as many as possible, even if common sense tells me I can't do it all. Still, while some people may urge me to second-guess my impulses, what fun is that when rugby tryouts are right around the corner?

 This essay was written by Mimi Kennelly, Garfield Class of 2007, Scripps College Class of 2011.