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Mrs. Peters hung up her phone, sat back in her chair and rubbed her temple. It was only 8:30 in the morning, and already it was turning out to be a long day. She had just gotten off the phone with Missy’s parents and would finally be able to give some definitive answers to the steady stream of people coming into her office. Stephanie was able to limp away with a sprained ankle and wrist; but nothing broken. As the cushion to the fall, Missy didn’t fair quite as well; she had a sprained knee, a fractured femur and some bruised ribs. A painful result, but it could have been so much worse. Of course, it went without saying that both girls were on the bench as far as cheering, for the rest of football season for sure, and possibly the rest of the year.

The post puzzling thing about the whole incident – other than why Ms. Williams would allow them to perform such a dangerous stunt – was the girls’ attitudes about being on the sidelines indefinitely. When she’d talked to them that morning, both had seemed relieved. The cheerleaders were such a tight-knit, intense group. You hardly ever saw them apart from another girl on the squad, and on game days they always wore their uniform to school the entire day (Mrs. Peters expected some would wear their uniform every day if they could). Even girls who couldn’t cheer that day for some minor injury or illness showed up in uniform.

Mrs. Peters sighed. Well, there was no use trying to figure out the minds of teenage girls, that she knew.

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Monday was a change the light bulbs day. Pretty much everyone at the school, from teachers to students were used to seeing Scott walk into a classroom or office carrying a box of light bulbs or tubes, and tended to just smile at him then forget he was there. He tended to overhear some very interesting conversations. On this Monday, there was plenty of buzz around school about the accident at the football game on Friday; plus a puzzling exchange between Ms. Williams and Coach Ryan, the athletic director.

“Look, I know we talked about this last spring, but last spring we didn’t know that the cross country team would get an invitation to the tournament in New York. It’s really a once-in-a-lifetime chance,” Ryan was saying.

“As is this clinic in Boulder,” Ms. Williams said, her voice icy.

“I understand that,” Ryan countered, “but the cheer squad got to go to Boulder last year – a very expensive trip, by the way – and the cross country team has never had this kind of opportunity. The clinic will be there next year.”

“Yes, but no one cares about cross country,” Ms. Williams replied. Scott glanced at the faceoff, and felt a slight shiver go up his spine at the look on Ms. Williams face. Yikes.

“The athletic department is not run like a popularity contest,” Ryan said, his voice becoming heated.

“Clearly,” Ms. Williams said. “Or you would not be standing in front of me.”

What did that even mean? Scott thought. Obviously, she was trying to take a shot at Ryan’s position as athletic director, but still, that woman had a screw loose.

“You are not changing my mind.”

The silence drew Scott’s gaze again, and again a shiver ran up his spine. “This isn’t over,” she finally said, her voice dripping with ice and venom. She left the room and Scott would have sworn the temperature rose five degrees.