Pete's Vagina -68- Reverse

There wouldn’t be anyone in there who wasn’t fully clothed, but it still felt a bit… wrong.

Going to the morning meeting in a cheerleader uniform made a big difference. Lee opened the door to the boys’ locker room, and I almost hesitated. There wouldn’t be anyone in there who wasn’t fully clothed, but it still felt a bit… wrong.

A dozen or so guys were already there, including Jake, Gogo, and Dave Garcia, also wearing his cheerleader uniform! He looked ridiculous! Not just because the top and skirt didn’t really fit, but because Dave is a hairy guy, and had refused to shave his arms or legs, letting his hirsute limbs testify as to his true gender.

A murmur of “Pete! Pete!” went up when I entered, and Dave turned to face me. He winked like a stage actor and waggled his furry eyebrows. I shook my head, looking at the concrete floor, trying not to laugh. What came out instead, of course, was a giggle, and I knew I must have turned even redder.

“You look a lot better in the uniform than he does,” Gogo commented to me, and Lee glared at him. But yeah, I surely did. And that didn’t help the giggles.

I finally got control of them when I heard Coach Wilson say, “Enough hilarity,” except he mispronounced the word, and I can’t even spell it the way he said it. “If the cheerleaders in the room,” he continued, “want to pay attention, we have some stratedizations to talk about.”

I almost strangled on my giggles. “Pinch me!” I whispered to Lee.

“Wh-what?” he replied.

“I need to stop laughing, hee-ee, pinch me!”

He did, grabbing a bit of my flesh just below my modesty panties, and I yelped, but the giggles stopped. I rubbed my backside. “That hurt,” I complained, “and I didn’t say pinch me there!”

“It’s the most pinchable part,” said Lee with a totally straight face.

“I meant like, my arm or something,” I grumped. I wanted to rub the pinched place, but decided not when I realized Coach was staring at me with a sort of weak-ass grin. I did not stick my tongue out at him, but I thought about it.

Jordan would, though, and if she makes the team next year, Coach is going to find out about her attitude.

That thought almost caused me to giggle again, so I pulled on the sternest expression I could manage and nodded at Coach to continue, ignoring the whispers and snickers around me.

Coach jerked his head up like he’d been caught stealing someone’s lunch, but covered it up with a “hmph!” noise. “Okay, okay,” he continued. “As some of you may be aware, we’re playing the kids from the Apache school tonight.”

“Those guys are tough,” someone mentioned. “They almost beat us in September.”

Coach nodded, looking a bit sour. “Final score was 11-6, but it was closer than that sounds. They stopped our drive twice and almost took away our secret weapon.” He glanced at me.

There’d been a massive pile-up on the second half kick-off return, and I’d been at the bottom of it. I blinked several times. Had that really happened the way I remembered it? “I wasn’t hurt,” I reminded Coach.

He nodded again, admitting that other than a bruise on my back and a torn jersey, I’d come out of the encounter with the Wolfpack better than some. (Wolfpack was their team name, singular, not the plural Wolves, which they had used up until last year.)

“Yeah,” Coach drawled. “You don’t know how close I came to pulling you out and not letting you play.”

I frowned at him, but Lee’s hand touched my back, and it made me feel stronger. “Do I have to say it? Except for the early field goal, I carried the ball for our scoring, one TD, one PAT. Both after the wolfpile incident.”

Coach had a pained expression. “Your damned jersey almost got ripped off you.” He glared at me when I made a noise. “And they had stopped you three times. I was afraid they had your number.”

Jake had to say something then. “It wasn’t the number on her uniform they wanted. Just the jersey.”

All the guys laughed, and I shot a lot of glares around the room. Some of the guys pretended to dodge.

Coach smiled slowly at me. “That’s our Pete,” he said fondly. “And we’ve got a couple of surprises for them wolves, don’t we?”

I nodded, but with a sinking feeling in my middle. I’d been catching passes all week when I wasn’t practicing high kicks with the cheerleaders. Everybody expected me to run with the ball, and I’m good with that. But if I caught a pass in the first half, they wouldn’t know what I was going to do in the second. With an aggressive team like the Wolfpack, keeping them off balance would help.

But I still wasn’t that convinced of my own ball-shagging skills.

*

We went over some other plays that might get called, including a tricky double-reverse where Gogo would carry the ball after a fake handoff to me. Then Coach dismissed us with a reminder of the pep rally scheduled right after the end of classes. “You cheerleaders will have to show us how it’s done!” he ended.

I felt my face turn red, but Dave, the goofball, hopped up and down and shouted, “Pack Them Wolves in their Own Suitcases!” which was a yell we had practiced on Wednesday.

We left the gym, the guys staying behind to put on their pads and jerseys while Dave, Lee, and I headed for our first class.

“You look ridiculous,” I reminded Dave as he faked a cartwheel and did an actual handstand on the grass of the quad.

“I know,” he agreed. “I’m the comic relief, and you’re the ingenue.”

“Does that make me the romantic leading man?” Lee asked with a straight face.

“You wish,” said Dave, giving me another theatrical wink. “I think that’s up to Pete. But right now, it’s showtime.” He pointed with his pom-pom to where the other cheerleaders had gathered in front of the Admin building. They had a crowd forming around them, with some kids in their own Halloween costumes —hosts, witches, clowns and zombies, mostly.

I’d almost forgotten, we were going to give a pre-taste of the later pep rally before class, and again at lunch. This would be my first time cheering with a real audience. Megan was already cranking up the crowd. I heard “Rah! Lions!” and also “Pete! Petey! Pete!” and “Number Seventeen!”

I glanced down. The other girls in the varsity squad wore numbers from 1 to 8, but Mom had sewn my football number onto my cheering uniform, front and back. I ran toward the squad, screaming. “Rah! Lions!”