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to show the slightest enthusiasm.
“She's nice, too, I guess. Sometimes it gets kind of sickening, though, all the attention she gets—awards and stuff. I mean, she's not dumb.”
Sundara remembered Cathy's English class paper that first week. It was written well enough. Something about the importance of being yourself. But how puzzling. Who else could you be?
Now Sundara's eyes widened as Cathy and the other rally girls launched into a shimmying, hip-wiggling dance.
“Oh, Kelly,” she breathed. “I'm shock!”
“What? Oh, I know. Except for the pleated skirts, they could be a bunch of strippers.”
Sundara had seen this on television, the young women in the white cowboy hats and the skimpy fringed vests, but these were girls her own age, girls who walked the halls of Willamette Grove High every day!
She watched Cathy Gates swinging her hips, flipping her little skirt up, showing off her thighs. This was what Jonathan McKinnon liked? She sighed. Perhaps she'd been mistaken in thinking he meant to flirt with her at the market. And yet all week it seemed he'd been trying to play eye games with her in class, staring at her so that she'd look. Of course she wouldn't. She'd been taught to sit erect, face forward. But why would Jonathan McKinnon want to look at her anyway? She was not like Cathy Gates at all.
The players gathered at thč sidelines now, hands on their hips. Those funny tight pants! Sundara had to smile behind her hand at the lumpy padding on their thighs. The players didn't seem embarrassed to be dressed this way, though. They strutted around as if they felt quite manly and powerful.
Suddenly they all took off their helmets, dropped to one knee, and put their heads down. The crowd hushed.
“What are they doing?” Sundara whispered to Kelly.
“Praying.”
“Praying? What for?”
“To win the game, I guess. Or to do their best. I don't know. Coach Hackenbruck always makes them do it.”
The rally girls, too, had their heads bowed.
Sundara frowned. “I thought in this country no one can make you pray.”
“Well, people don't argue with Hackenbruck. That's him, there.” She pointed out a solidly built man in gray slacks, a V-neck sweater, and a baseball cap.
After the prayer the players stood in a huddle and chanted, “War! War! War! War! Warriors” Then they ran onto the field.
The band started playing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Sundara stood with the others. Behind her, a boy began singing in a silly falsetto. Sundara turned and eyed him coolly. So disrespectful. Naro would be outraged at this. He always became emotional during the national anthem, especially the part about the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Soon the players were smashing into each other, the men in the striped shirts were blowing whistles and tossing handkerchiefs. Unfortunately, the strange game didn't seem any clearer to Sundara here than it did on television. There must be more to it than she understood. Otherwise, why would the Americans get so excited? At school the crowds parted in respect when two or three of the players in their letter jackets came swaggering down the middle of the hall. But why were football players such heroes?
And Cathy Gates … Sundara found herself staring at the girl. She was fascinated with her face, which looked as if it turned on and off with a switch. One instant she'd be standing there with her hip cocked, one elbow cradled in her other hand as she bit her thumb, watching the players on the field. Then something would happen in the game and—click—her face would light up with a big smile as she whirled to face the crowd, clapping and prancing, her brown hair bouncing. Her skin was dark, Sundara noticed, but it was light skin tanned dark, which seemed to make all the difference to the Americans.
Most of all, Sundara envied Cathy's mystifying knack for knowing when Jonathan and his teammates had done something worth cheering about. She always knew whether to chant “Go! Go! Go” or “Push ‘em back, push