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puffs on the whistle a second time—urgently—because she thinks we aren’t moving fast enough. Oh my god. I think my life would feel better if I quit.
    â€œLet’s practice without traveling!” Ruthann barks.
    During the learning phase of the routine, I’m always surprised that some girls have a tough time traveling from their first assigned spots to their second assigned spots, and so on, while executing the arm sequences at the same time.
    â€œFive, six, seven, eight!” Ruthann calls.
    We unleash our arm moves. Straight out. Straight up. Drop to our sides. Triple clap. Repeat. Double clap. Punch at the crowd. Jab. Jab. Jab.
    â€œI see sloppy arms! Hit those points! Be fierce!”
    We slap and clap and jab over and over.
    â€œNow do it while traveling! Make the circle. And rotate!”
    Ruthann paces in front of us while Ms. Prufer sits in the stands. How do they choose who’s good enough? I am rotating within my circle position and punching the crap out of my jabs. It’s time for the kick sequence. I kick with such intensity that my stomach muscles cramp. I will not be cut from my first game. I will not.
    â€œDeidre! Where are you going?” Ruthann calls. “You’re making the circle look like a cancer cell. Way too much irregular growth. Come back!”
    I can’t believe in our final position that Deidre is a triangle point.
    â€œAll right! Let’s take a break!”
    Ruthann flips around and bounces over to sit next to Ms. Prufer. They’re talking about us. Judging us and our traveling abilities and our kicks and arms. We haven’t even done any tumbling yet. I walk to the sidelines and grab my water. The room is definitely way too hot. I can feel sweat dripping down my back. This is how I spend fourth period now every other day. I don’t take a regular gym class. I attend Tigerette practice and receive credit for PE. Our school alternates between A day and B day, four classes each day, eight classes total. It’s tough to keep everything straight. Basically, the system sucks.
    â€œMolly!” Ruthann yells. “Can you come here?”
    She is in a terrible mood. I was so afraid of talking to her at lunch that I bought a banana and went to the library to eat it, even though food isn’t permitted in there.
    â€œYeah?” I trot across the courts, in her direction.
    â€œMissed you at lunch,” she says, standing up.
    â€œI was studying,” I say, “in the library.”
    Ruthann rolls her eyeballs impatiently. “Don’t lie to me. I saw you in there trying to eat a banana surreptitiously.”
    â€œI just needed a break,” I say. “Life feels crazy right now.” In order to avoid making eye contact, I play with the hem of my shorts. Her gaze is so powerful.
    â€œCrazy?” Ruthann says, and takes one intimidating step closer to me. “So I take it you’ve heard the bad news?”
    At the word news , I look up. Ruthann squints, making her brown eyes appear slanted and venomous. If I were a prairie dog or small rodent, I’d be dead by now.
    â€œIs it about Joy?” I ask. I’m suddenly worried that something “crazy” has happened to her. That must be why she is absent.
    â€œSort of,” Ruthann says.
    I cover my mouth and gasp.
    â€œI know,” Ruthann says. “It’s terrible. You and Joy got me fired from the nut shop.” She slowly shakes her head in disbelief. Then she reaches out and grabs my arm. “I’ve lost my job.”
    â€œReally?” I say, trying to sound surprised, but I’m not that surprised. Ruthann was a total bitch last night.
    â€œJoy won’t even take my calls. And she’s skipped today. Can you believe that? Just like you said: it’s crazy.”
    Ruthann is still clamped on to me above the elbow, and I try to shake her grip loose by shrugging several times and lightly swinging my arm.
    â€œHas