“Don’t take pictures of my butt!”

Pete's Vagina
67. Uniform
by Erin Halfelven

Friday finally came. Game day, as usual. Not as usual, I would be going to school in my cheerleader uniform — just like the rest of the girls in the squad on game day. So weird.

And maybe the weirdest part was how over the moon Mom and my sisters were about it.

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” Mom said, straightening my skirt an infinitesimal bit. I kept tugging on it, since it revealed an embarrassing amount of thigh, and she kept adjusting it back to hanging evenly. I’d seen myself in my mirror already, and I knew for a fact that the blue-and-gold pleated skirt was too short for decency.

Meanwhile, Jordan was snapping pictures — both with the Polaroid she’d gotten for her birthday and with the family Kodak. Molly was in charge of the developing Polaroid snaps laid out on the kitchen table. Watching them turn from gray blobby masses to full-color images always fascinated her.

“Hey!” I protested when I realized that Jordan was taking her third shot of my rear.

“All the running you do, Pete,” she commented, “you’ve got an amazing ass.”

“Don’t take pictures of my butt!”

“She’s right, dear,” Mom added. “….”

But I didn’t want to hear what Mom thought about my backside. “Nah! Nah! Nah!” I shouted, holding my hands over my ears.

Molly giggled, and Dad snorted before he got the heck out of the house, pausing at the front door to call back, “Lee’s out here, Gayle.”

“Already?” I yipped.

“Hey,” said Jordan as I turned and scooped up my books. “He’s gonna want to see these Polaroids.”

Molly put a word in, nodding. “He’s a professional, and he’s been taking pictures of your butt all semester.”

I got the heck out of there, leaving by the side door because it was closer.

Dad and Lee were talking through their left-side windows as I trotted around the house.

The mountain above the town gleamed with some of the snow that had been recently dropped on it, and the air between the peak and our front yard was as sharp and clear as a crystal knife. My breath turned to fog in front of my face, and despite the legwarmers I wore above my knees, I felt the icy breeze lift my skirt a bit.

“Damn it,” I muttered. I wanted to tug on the cloth again, but having one arm full of books, I didn’t think I could manage to do so without falling on my overly mentioned butt. Some of the girls on the squad wore boots with two-inch heels, and I was glad for multiple reasons that I had opted for flats.

As Dad sped away, Lee reached over to open the passenger door for me from inside. I caught it, pulled it wider, dumped my books in the floor, and climbed into the van, worrying at the last moment that I might be flashing the neighborhood.

“You look amazing,” Lee said.

I knew he wasn’t talking about my butt because he couldn’t see it from his angle, so I smiled at him. “Thanks, I guess. But this is all your Mom’s fault.”

His eyes looked vague for an instant before he pulled his mind back into focus. The cheer uniform is not that low-cut. “Huh?” he managed before turning back to the business of getting the van moving.

“It was her idea that I be a cheerleader for the pep rally and her little pre-game show,” I grumbled, getting myself and my things arranged.

“I guess so,” he agreed weakly. “But it’s going to be amazing publicity for the town, the school, the football program and the players — meaning you and Jake, mostly.” He nodded more strongly. “Better chances for scholarships!”

I examined my nails. I’d broken two of them Thursday night practicing catching passes — not my usual running style at all. Jordan had helped me repair them, and the clearcoat she had used gleamed in the wintry light from the sun peeking over the eastern hills.

“Bleah!” I said. “Good for Jake, but no one is going to offer me a football scholarship. No matter how good I play!”

“They give scholarships for cheerleaders, too,” he pointed out — then seemed to regret it when he caught my glare.

“I’m not a cheerleader,” I insisted. “I’m just pretending to be one for this stupid skit your Mom wrote!”

He didn’t really want to try to reply to that, and we drove most of the rest of the way in silence. Again, I regretted that the van had bucket seats instead of the big wide bench in Jake’s F-150. When I considered why I regretted that fact, I felt myself blush. It was embarrassing to admit, even just to myself, that I wanted a cuddle with Lee before facing the day.

We pulled into the varsity parking spot reserved for Lee’s van a good ten minutes before this morning’s scheduled meeting. Before I could open my door, Lee had jumped out his side and stumped around the front of the van to hold the door for me and help me down — and I got that cuddle I’d felt that I needed.

“You’re amazing,” he repeated.

I snorted, refusing to offer him a different view. Molly was right. I’d seen Lee’s collection of photos of my rump. Football pants are super tight!