©2025 SammyC

Tom found one of the last available parking spaces behind the Fair Lawn IHOP, a stone’s throw from Route 208. The seven of us tumbled out of Tom’s mom mobile like clowns ejected from a clown car. I checked to make sure my majorette hat hadn’t been flattened like an IHOP pancake. The interior of the restaurant was already buzzing with the clamor produced by forty-odd teenage jocks, cheerleaders, and their coaches. The post-game carpool from Rossington had beaten Mrs. Verlaine’s boxy 2010 Subaru Forester by at least 10 minutes. Which is troubling since it’s only a 15-minute drive!

Regina headed toward the table where her cheer squad and Coach Mason were sitting. The marching band settled into an adjacent table. Just as Tom held out a chair for me, George and Billy ran over.

“Hey, Gigi, wouldn’t you rather sit with the MVP of the game?”

“Back off, George. She’s our majorette. She sits with us,” Tom declared, trying to look George in the eyes though he was at least three inches shorter.

George grabbed my arm, realized he was being too rough, and released it. “You and Regina can sit with me and Billy…in the champions’ booth.”

“I’m fine right here with the other girls, George.” Regina smiled as she scanned a menu with Kendra, the new captain of the cheer squad.

“George, the chicken fingers are the same over on this side of the joint. And I’m sitting with MY team.”

“I’m sure Winnie’s going to be royally pissed that you’re trying to cheat on her,” Tom teased.

“I told you. Everybody knows. Me and Winnie. It’s casual. Casual. We’re not going steady.”

“I didn’t know that, George. I thought you and Winnie—”

“Billy, shut up. You don’t know nothing. Okay, Tom, I’ll let you win…this time. But Gigi’s a newbie. She’ll find out what a loser you are, soon enough. Come on, Billy, you look like you need some electrolytes…badly.” They strutted away, high-fiving teammates as they headed back to their booth.

“I’m sorry, Tom. George doesn’t usually act like that.” I smoothed my skirt under me as I sat down in the chair Tom pushed in.

“Really? George is like that all the time. You haven’t spent 4 years in school being verbally abused by him.”

Five minutes later, as we were feasting on IHOP’s famous chicken fingers and Splash berry fruit drinks, the siren from a police cruiser grew louder and seemed to be approaching the restaurant. Two doors slammed shut and everyone turned to look toward the front entrance. The automatic sliding doors opened, and two figures entered. It was Winnie, seated in a wheelchair, her right leg in a bright pink cast, being pushed in by her father in full Deputy Sheriff uniform. Aviator sunglasses included.

Everyone put down their food. The din of conversation diminished to a slight hum. A few whoops and escalating applause serenaded her as Winnie’s dad pushed her wheelchair toward the cheer squad’s table. All the cheerleaders and Coach Mason surrounded her. Each leaned down to hug her and press cheeks, including Regina. The last bit turned Winnie’s smile into a frown and her father addressed Coach Mason.

“Damn it, Brenda, how could you replace my daughter with this freak?”

“Jack, you’re out of your jurisdiction here. I’m in charge of the school’s cheer squad. And Regina knows all our routines. What’s more, she’s already fit in perfectly with her teammates—”

“She’s a he! It’s against nature. You’re all making a mockery of—”

“Sheriff, Regina’s legally female. The state of New Jersey says so. Check her ID card,” I stood up from the table to confront Winnie’s father. Tom stood up alongside me.

“And you, Miss LeClerc. I know all about you. We’re still investigating you. Whatever the courts say, it’s all political nonsense.”

“Unless Regina’s broken a law, your opinions are just that. Your opinions.”

“I’ve already discussed this with Principal Stover—”

George appeared behind Winnie’s father.

“Mr. Schlitter—”

“Deputy Schlitter, son.”

“Deputy Schlitter. Regina being on the cheer squad is not a police matter, is it? She’s legally a girl now and she’s qualified to be a cheerleader. I understand you’re upset about Winnie’s accident and everything—”

“George!” Winnie screamed. “What are you doing? Speaking up for that…that freak! Dad, it’s useless talking to these people with their politically correct biases. Rossington’s being invaded by radical thinking. Anyway, my leg will be healed by the time basketball season starts in December. Enjoy your brief cheerleading career, Reggie—”

Coach Mason interrupted Winnie’s screed. “Oh, Regina’s a permanent member of the squad. Since Dolores has quit after her parents decided cheerleading was too dangerous, you’d be replacing her, Winnie.”

“Dad! This is unacceptable!”

“We’ll see about this, Brenda. We’ll see about this! Let’s go, Winnie. My shift starts at 5. I’ve got just enough time to drive you home.” He turned Winnie’s wheelchair around as she waved to everyone. She muttered something inaudible to George when he tried to lean down to kiss her cheek. George looked at Regina and shrugged his shoulders.

After gorging on chicken fingers and French fries at IHOP, the whole sick crew dispersed to their respective homes. Regina decided to go with the other cheerleaders to see the Trent Foster concert movie at the cineplex in Paramus. Even though, of course, she’d already seen it…with me! Coach Mason was driving.

“Tell mom I’ll try to be home by ten.” We were walking to our respective rides in the parking lot.

“Thanks for not inviting me.”

“What? Oh, yeah. But you’ve already seen it.”

“So have you. Duh.”

“It’s a girl-bonding thing. And team-bonding too. Speaking of which, looks like you and Tom might be doing some bonding soon yourselves.”

“Do you think he likes me?”

Regina screwed up her face and laughed.

I took my baton home and, at first, practiced twirling around the house. It was kind of pitiful to just swing or pump the baton while the band played. Why even hold a baton then? So, I decided to master baton twirling in the two weeks before our next home game. Spinning it until my wrists loosened up enough to be somewhat competent and passably graceful doing it. Tossing it and catching it. First with one hand and then the other. What I discovered, to my dismay, was the ceilings in our house just barely met the code requirements of the State of New Jersey. A little below 8 feet. It was the same as the house in my universe but, as you’d expect, I’d never tested it before.

Undeterred, I practiced in our backyard, dressed in my complete majorette outfit, hat and all. Mrs. Gillespie, our next-door neighbor, enjoyed watching me practice. Although she was still a bit dubious, it had been explained to her that I was Regina’s long-lost twin sister, whose adoptive parents had recently passed and was now reunited with her birth family. She hummed one of those Sousa marches and applauded excitedly when I executed a series of flawless twirls and tosses. Whenever I dropped the baton, she’d quickly offer words of encouragement.

One day, late in the afternoon, Regina emerged from the back door to say goodbye. She was going over to George’s house for her weekly Math tutoring session. When Mrs. Gillespie saw us standing side by side, she sighed.

“Such beautiful twins! Bless me, your mother must be so proud. Now, Regina, is this that Parker boy who you used to play with?”

“Yes, Mrs. Gillespie. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering why he stopped coming by so suddenly a while ago. You two were like Siamese twins for so long.” She laughed at the irony of her observation.

“He wasn’t okay with me being a girl, I guess.”

“Oh that boy knew you were a girl. Everyone did. I think it’s just taken some time for him to decide what to do about it.”

Regina smiled at the thought.

Every night I would collapse onto the bed and be out like a light the instant my head hit the pillow. I wouldn’t even be aware that Regina had slipped into bed an hour or two after me. At least I got a solid eight hours of sleep every night. The days were getting to be exhausting. School until 2:30PM. Pick up Artie at 3PM. Two afternoons a week I had an hour and a half of marching band practice. Wednesday afternoons, I had to take the bus to my one-hour session with Doctors Navidad and Loving. Most days, I’d make a snack for Artie and myself before going out into the backyard to practice baton-twirling. Before and after dinner I had to catch up on the mountain of homework I was assigned, most of it from my three Advanced Placement classes. Forget about watching TV or surfing the net. Forget about long, desultory chats with my family or swapping insults and rude comments on social media. There was just enough time to shower and change into my NY Giants night shirt before beddy-bye.

In fact, I was very concerned about living up to Gigi LeClerc’s genius-level reputation. I was falling behind after only a couple of weeks of classes. Oh well, in my own universe, I wasn’t planning on attending an Ivy League school anyway. It’s embarrassing when your teachers expect you to be a virtual teaching assistant and you’re as lost as the next student. My only recourse was to bury my head in textbooks.

“Your twirling was really good yesterday, Gigi. You keep getting better and, if there was a scholarship for majorettes, you could score one. Of course, you’ll be getting scholarship offers by the bushel from places like Harvard and Yale—”

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and stepped out of the gym, Tom following behind me.

“I’m afraid I might have to stay local. Maybe Rutgers if I can keep my GPA up to standard.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I think my amnesia has messed up something neurologically. I’ve misplaced like 50 IQ points somehow. I’m not a genius anymore. Ha ha.”

“Well, at least you’re still beautiful.” I stopped and turned toward Tom. His lips were curling into a wide, somewhat crooked smile. He was cute when he smiled that way. Truthfully, he was cute…a lot of the time.

“I’m still smart enough to know when you’re trying to rizz me up.”

“Am I?” He shrugged his shoulders. “How am I doing?”

I planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“Pretty…pretty good.”

“So, do your slave-driving parents allow you any free time on weekends?”

“Saturdays, I have to take Artie to his hockey game but Sundays I’m usually just home catching up on my reading assignments unless Regina has plans. Now that she’s cheerleading, she spends a lot of time with the other girls. It’s the first time in her life she’s had girlfriends…as a girl herself.”

“If a 5 GPA is a lost cause, why not take some time for yourself. Have some fun. Go out—”

“Like dating?”

“I’ll be honest, Gigi. I’m kind of short on disposable income, you know. And I don’t have a car. I mean, I can borrow my mom’s SUV but…”

“It’s a TMI situation?”

“Yeah, I’d rather not have to swear a deposition every time I need to borrow her car.”

“Not that I’m advising you to do it but why don’t you get a part time job? You could save enough to buy a used car maybe.”

“I have been saving. I worked the last two summers to compile a nest egg for after graduation. Like I told you, I’m not planning to go to college. I’m hitting the road. Maybe work my way out to the Coast.”

“And do what exactly?”

“Whatever comes my way. Life is full of possibilities if you keep your mind open to them.”

“Sounds like a sure route to homelessness. Tom, you’re so talented. You should apply to a music conservatory like Berklee. I bet you could pass their auditions…on more than one instrument.”

“I hate going to school. I just want real life experience. Music schools are over-rated.”

“Promise me you’ll think about it?”

“Okay, I promise.” He looked at his phone. “Shit, I’ve got to go. I’d walk you home, but I’ve got an appointment with some dudes across town who are looking to form a band.”

“A marching band?”

“No, silly. They’re college dudes who go to Parsons State. The cassette they gave me to listen to was really good. Kind of jazz rock with trap beats. They’re looking for a multi-instrumentalist to join up. That’s where I come in. Hey, maybe your uncle has heard about them. They’re all in the music program there.”

“Well, see you tomorrow at practice.”

“Gigi? We could take a walk along the lake in Parsons State Park on Sunday. They say it’s going to be a nice day. No rain in the forecast. I’ll bring my guitar and give you a show. Maybe a pizza afterwards at Leo’s?”

I pretended not to know where Leo’s Pizzeria was. Or having ever been to Parsons State Park. But, just to play hard to get, I hesitated before I finally agreed.

“If you don’t mind taking the bus, I’ll pick you up around 10AM.”

“Okay but you’ll probably get the third degree from Nick and my mom.”

“I’ll make sure to shower before I leave the house.”

“I think my mom likes you.”

“I like her too.”

Tom was sitting underneath a Red Oak tree, tuning his Martin D-18 acoustic guitar. I had picked some brown-eyed Susans that grew wild in the park along the lake and stuck them above the first fret, just below the headstock. Tom insisted on placing two of them in my hair, just behind my left ear. Their yellow petals didn’t really stand out against my blonde tresses.

“But Nick probably thinks you’re a bad prospect for a boyfriend. He didn’t like it when he asked you what school you were planning to attend and you said, ‘the school of life.’”

“Well, your mom liked me and that’s most important. I’d want my mom to like you too.”

“Play it again, Sam.”

“My name’s Tom but it’s nice to meet a girl who can make a reference to Casablanca.”

We were laughing at our pleasant banter when a shadow appeared between us. We both looked up and saw a tall man in a field coat, his felt fedora low on his head, partially obscuring his face.

“Excuse me. Are you Gigi LeClerc?”

“Yes. Do I know you?”

“We’ve spoken on the phone. My name is Grant Moorefield. I’d like to speak to you about something you might find rather important.”