But I 39-m. Cheerleader -

The room went still. He blinked. I watched him try to fit that square peg into the round hole of his insult. In his mind, cheerleader meant pompoms, spirit fingers, the girl who lifts others up so they can score. It did not mean logical fallacies, eye contact during a rebuttal, or a closing statement that made the judge nod. He had called me frivolous. I had agreed with him—and then redefined the entire dictionary.

So go ahead. Underestimate the girl with the pompoms. but i 39-m. cheerleader

Because the but was a lie. The but suggested that my real self was hiding behind the pompoms, that the skirts and the chants were a distraction from the actual me: the reader, the debater, the future lawyer. But here is the secret I have learned, standing on the sideline of my own life: The room went still

So when I say “but I’m a cheerleader” now, I mean something specific. In his mind, cheerleader meant pompoms, spirit fingers,

After class, she asked what I wanted to write my final paper on. I said I didn’t know. She said: “Write about the magic. Write about what it costs to be the one who makes everyone else feel brave.”

Here is what people don’t understand about cheerleading: it is not a denial of intellect. It is a discipline of projection. You learn to count in eights while holding a flyer’s ankle. You learn to smile so wide your cheeks ache, even after you’ve dropped the stunt and your back hits the mat. You learn that timing is a kind of truth. You learn that loud is not the opposite of smart —sometimes, loud is the only way to be heard over the roar of a gymnasium full of people who have already decided you don’t belong.