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tickets for family and friends.
    OK, life was good. But I meant the FUTURE. I told them I had watched Gorillas in the Mist and was thinking about quitting after the season so that I could venture to a remote country, live in the rain forest, make friends with the natives, and track primates.
    â€œYou mean, like monkeys?!” After they stopped laughing, they asked me if I was serious. “I mean, you’d what, like live in a tent? There’s no electricity—how would you dry your hair?” asked one of the girls.
    I had not thought of this.
    I made the point that cheerleading was not something any of us could do forever and that I was thinking of giving it up for the experience of exploring uncharted territory and contributing to science. They thought I was nuts. A few took me seriously, but most laughed, and the conversation devolved to comparing football players and apes. Offended, I grabbed my unsweetened tea and excused myself so that I could give further thought to this “no electricity” business.

Three
Cheerleader in the Mist
    JULY 21, 1996: We spent an entire day on the river rowing a dugout canoe, trying to elude the rains. As dusk settled, we spotted monkeys high in the canopy along the water’s edge foraging for fruit. It was my first wild primate observation and I am feeling invincible. Last night—my first night in the jungle—seemed romantic, too. I cooked on a fire, read by candlelight, and went to sleep to the sounds of frogs and a cascading waterfall. But my love affair with nature is over after having spent the entire night in bed with a mosquito.
    That year, with the help of Doc’s glowing letter of recommendation, I received my first grant to study a rare species of monkey in South America, the white-faced saki. I thus started my travels to distant and remote places, in pursuit of some of the most critically endangered animals in the world.
    I had never traveled outside the country before, but how hard could it be to chase monkeys? I approached my coach and let her know that I would not be returning to cheer the following season. She warned me that if I missed summerrehearsals, there was no coming back. That thought had occurred to me, but I was determined to trade in my pompoms for a pair of hiking boots. Pink ones.
    The cheerleaders thought I was crazy. But it was my mom who took my news the hardest. She cried, but she still felt compelled to iron my field clothes, a clear sign that on some level I had her support. She probably convinced herself that it was a phase and that her dreams of me becoming a good housewife would not in the end be shattered. I’m pretty sure she was also convinced that I’d been brainwashed by this “Doc” character. But nothing would stop me. I was heading to the Amazon with a few key supplies—a teddy-bear backpack and stylish, black Ralph Lauren vest. Those oversize fishing vests just wouldn’t do.
    Doc introduced me to the director of the Smithsonian Institution’s Guyana project, Dr. Shawn Lehman. He was six four and at one time had played college football, so at least we had football in common. At some point during that meeting, Shawn, whom I secretly nicknamed Dr. Handsome, said, “You don’t look like a scientist.” I was deeply offended, but he was a really good-looking guy, so I smiled. Had it ever occurred to him that maybe he didn’t look like a scientist? What does a scientist look like? I’ve asked myself that many times since. As a former NFL cheerleader, I would not feel welcomed into the scientific community for years. In graduate school I know I was graded more harshly. Later, producers remarked on my looks and said things like “You’re a Sexy Jane running around in the jungle.” “You don’t looklike a scientist” was a statement I would come to hear and loathe for years.
    Regardless, Dr. Handsome took me under his wing, offered me a place to stay,