Save the Cheerleader, Save the World

[Flicker]

Save the cheerleader, save the world.

Peyton always thought that was the lamest tagline, ever. First off, who says that cheerleaders NEED saving? You try pulling off a double toe touch back handspring tuck, keeping in sync with 17 other people. Athletic conditioning, situational awareness, strength, agility, those don’t add up to great damsel in distress material.

Second, what’s with this save the world crap, and what does a cheerleader have to do with it? Sure, everyone wants the world saved, and it sounds great when you’re down in Orlando and an ESPN 8 commentator shoves a microphone in your face, but in reality, there’s people far more qualified to save the world. Besides that, saving the world involves being all green and environmentally conscience, and no cheerleader worth her or his own salt would go on stage without using a metric ton of Paul Mitchell to keep their hair in place while competing.

Go save someone else.

That’s what came to mind as Peyton stared at the application Mr. Herrera handed to her, the one for her ‘hero’ license. She chuckled as she thought of the girl’s back home and the teasing she’d get about it. Sure, the squad was a little freaked out about finding out she was a mutant, but then again, so was Peyton’s mom. It’d take time, but they’d get over it. They’d see.

Peyton didn’t know how to answer. All this was too new, too fast. She smiled at the irony. Fast.

Peyton was fast. Not just ‘run-a-mile-in-under-four-minutes’ fast, but super fast. She’d never clocked herself, but she knew she could get away without being seen within the blink of an eye. With the speed came lightning fast reflexes. She always thought it contributed a lot to her co-ordination while cheering. But despite that, she meant to keep it a secret, just as she had the first time her ‘powers’ kicked in.

She was 13, still a cheerleader on the Pop Warner Jr. Bantam team. Practice had ended and her parents were late picking her up. It happened from time to time. Dad would be at the field with Brett for football, Mom would be with Kelly at mighty mites practice across town, each thinking the other was picking up their middle child, or that she’d grab a ride with Kayla Culepepper’s parents, but Kayla left early for the orthodontist. Thunder had rolled in the distance, and the Kentucky sky grew dark. Peyton groaned. Home was at least half hour away by car. Her best bet would be to hoof it and flag her parents down on the side of the road when they finally got there. With the first clap of thunder - Peyton ran.

The image was etched in her mind , how everything around her slowed down. She passed cars, weaving in and out of traffic, everything motionless. The sounds around her stopped. She could hear herself breathe, hear her own heart but the ambient sounds around her were non-existent. She pictured it would be like running slow-motion through a museum, everyone, everything else still as statues. When she stopped, she found she had welts caused by the rain drops, and everything around her resumed as it had been. The car that had seconds ago seemed far off screeched as the tires tried to grip the wet pavement when the driver slammed on the brakes. The car barely missed her, and she vaguely recalls the sound of the car horn.

She kept the incident under wraps, afraid of what happened but more importantly of what people might say or think. She tried to convince herself it was a freakish day dream, but over time she found she could easily reach the same break-neck speed. She could run from school to home to retrieve books she forgot in between classes without being seen. She could finish her chores in a flash. She could slip in and out of a room with people barely noticing a flicker of light out of the corner of their eye. It gave her so much more free time, free to work on choreography or routines. She had a leg up on the competition, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that, but more importantly she didn’t want to jeopardize what she had.

In her world, things were near perfect. She was a cheerleader, top of the social food chain. She dated football players and sat at the ‘good’ table in the cafeteria. She was co-captain of the JV cheer squad with Becca Cunningham. Sure, Drew Gannon thought the spot should have been hers, but Peyton came up with better choreography and that’s how the squad voted. Her grades were up because she could easily copy off Johnny Marino, the smartest guy in class even though he was three rows away. The John Tyler High School Jet-ettes won overall first in state, placed second in the regionals, and placed in the top five down in Orlando. All of them, Drew, Becca, Heather McNabb, Abby Simms, Kayla Culpepper, the whole squad was tight. 17 BFF's. They went to parties, worked on routines, did homework, and held the occasional “please don’t let there be a plus sign” support group, everything together. Why did this one little thing have to change all that? So what. They found out she was a mutant. She looked normal. It’s not like she developed bad acne or anything.

“Sorry Peyton. The squad voted, and added a third M.. No muffin tops, no mirror breakers, and no mutants.” Those were Becca’s exact words when she and Drew went to Peyton’s house to take her uniform back. Drew looked smug enough to smack, and even Becca didn’t sound all that apologetic.

Now, even as she sat in Mr. Herrera’s office, she wished her mother would change her mind. She wished she could go back home and everything would be normal again, wished she hadn’t been so careless with her powers, but wishing never solved anything. She was going to be stuck here for a bit, and she’d have to rebuild and make the best of it.

She filled out the registration form, giving it back to Mr. Herrera. If that’s what it took to fit in, that’s what she’d do. She toured the school with Eli. (A kilt? Seriously? At least he had nice enough knees to pull it off.) She’d get used to the genius boys wearing metal suits,or those having green hair or fur. People from the past or from outer space. Sorceresses. Bubble Boys. Cyborgs. Girls who could catch fire. Streets full of criminals, crimes and super powered bad guys. And she changed her mind.

Maybe cheerleaders did need some saving.

[Flicker]

Take me home.

Peyton's eyes pleaded as she sat on the edge of her bed, watching her mom dig through her purse. But her mom wasn’t making eye contact. She hadn't made eye contact, not really since she found out. She cried, and she hugged Peyton, and lied and said it would all be okay. But she didn’t make eye contact.

"Your father and I got you this credit card for emergencies, Peyton. Emergencies. That doesn't mean cute shoes on sale, or a will-die-without-it new skirt. " Peyton nodded as her mom handed over the Master Card.

Please don't leave me here.

"This one is preloaded, we set up an account for you here in Paragon. This way, we can transfer money into your account if you need it. And we can make sure you have some cash on hand for extras, going for pizza or to the mall with your fri..." Her mom's voice trailed off as she set the Visa card on Peyton's new desk. "Or to the movies, just like back home."

"My friends are back home." Peyton sulked. Her mom softened a little, but not much.

"I know. But in today's electronic age, you'll keep in touch with everyone. And just think, maybe you'll see them again in regionals or Orlando."

"I don't even think this school *has* a squad." Peyton sulked again. Eli - the boy with the nice knees - had showed her the gym. Not one championship banner, not for any sport. There were medals and plaques adorning the hallways, praising this hero or that one, but no trophies. Eli said something about Intramurals. Deep down, Peyton was pretty sure intramural was Latin for "loser not good enough to compete."

"You'll find something. Maybe there’s an all-star team near by. I’ll make sure to find a good studio, dance, tumbling, I'll look into it when I get home. And you'll make new friends. Kids like..."

"Like me?" Peyton interrupted, raising both eyebrows. Her mom was lumping her in with the side show that was Westbrook?

Sure Peyton had smiled and joked around while meeting everyone. She was never the shrinking violet type, and besides, how was she supposed to react? It was like seeing Mr. Bartkowski, the coach of the bantam Pop Warner football team - the guy with what her mom called “cauliflower ear.” You couldn’t help but notice it and be a little freaked out, but flat out saying “What’s wrong with that freaky looking ear?” is rude as all get out. So you pretend it doesn’t exist and try not to stare.

This school was full of Mr. Bartkowskis. New kids started at John Tyler High now and then, and no one was a cyborg, a robot, or had grey skin, everyone had pupils in their eyes, even Vic Hasselbeck and he was as blind as the day was long. Is that how her mom saw her now? Like Mr. Bartowski or Vic the blind kid? It wasn’t like that... was it?

“Try to make the best of it. You’ll make new friends, you’ll keep in touch with the old ones. Think of it like an adventure. Like going to Rome. And I know you. When you’re in Rome, you do as the Romans do. I know you’ll be fine.” Her mom hugged her tightly, kissing her on top of the head. Her mom’s voice cracked slightly, but her decision was final. Peyton hugged her one more time, then giggled a little.

“Know what this reminds me of? Remember that day I didn’t want to go to kindergarten, and I begged you to let me stay home?” Her mom laughed a little.

“I dragged you down the hall with you carrying on like I was leading you to be fed to the lions.”

They both laughed a little at the memory.

“I’m still Peyton, you know Mom. Even if I’m in Rome.”

“And I’m still your mom. You know I’d never feed you to the lions.” Obviously, she didn't meet Lorne.

“I know.” Peyton said with a smile, the same smile she’d use during a game even if she caught an elbow or sneaker to the face.

But I’m not Roman. Take me home.

[Flicker]

Do as the Romans do. That’s what her mom had said. Only problem was no Roman ever had to worry about a praetorian invasion, that’s for sure. Not that Peyton knew of anyway. They had that crumbly old Coliseum, but she doubted it was an interdimensional invasion which caused it. More likely it was some normal old war or really old age. She made a mental note to ask Hank about it.

In anycase, she was doing as the Romans. She bought a patrol outfit, complete with cape and mask, Wildcat colors, of course. She was using her ‘power’ more casually now. Helping more on patrols. Hanging out in parks where random robots come and attack. Trying Louisiana Rolls and listening to stories about religions she didn’t understand, but more importantly, learning that maybe she didn’t have to completely let go of her old life just to fit in with this new one.

The sun barely began to rise up behind the stadium, and there was still a chill in the air as Peyton stood on the field, shivering slightly. It’d been a while since she was up at the crack of dawn to practice, but if she was going to try out for the Mustangs, she didn’t want to be rusty. She could almost hear Becca back home, being all hotheaded and ‘motivational.’

"For cryin' out loud! How hard is this to understand!" Becca would scream, fuming. Peyton tried not to giggle at the memory as she warmed up with a few heel stretches. Becca could be such a bitch at times, but she kept everyone in line, making them work their asses off. It’s why they got along. Peyton was content to choreograph. Routines and pom work came easy, but leadership wasn’t her strong suit. Becca couldn’t choreograph her way out of a wet paper bag, but she could sure boss people around. The best thing to do was wait for her rant to end then try again. "Bases, we need higher tosses! Flyers! I said swtichleg kicks! Flyovers into liberty tick-tocks! And where the hell are the tumblers!”

Peyton giggled again at the memory and launched into a round-off double-back handspring into a tuck combo, ending with another heel stretch before hopping 360 and glancing around the empty stadium. She missed it. Even Becca being a hard nose. She missed the squad and her school, stands full of people. Slowly she let her foot down and took a deep breath, trying to remember the quote about never looking back, only forward. Westbrook had slowly started to grow on her. Like her mom predicted she would, she was taking to the Romans like a Roman. She loved John Tyler High, but it wasn’t hers any more, there was no going back. Only forward.

Westbrook was unique, that was for sure. Peyton wanted a happy medium between all the freak-flag-flying and the normal, but at this point she’d settle for happy. And there was one thing that made her happy - cheering. Amber said it best on her FaceSpace page. Cheer 4 fun, cheer 4 life. It didn’t matter where. Westbrook Academy was her school.

Go Mustangs!

[Flicker]

Starting a squad was harder than she realized. Back home, Peyton was happy enough back home to not challenge Becca Cunningham for the top slot, but now? What if she bit off more than she could chew? Her nerves were less shot before Hank told her about Mike Jackson and the cheer squad poster. She still wasn't sure what it said, but from the notes in her room and in her locker, from some passing comments a couple of the boys made, she was pretty sure she was better off with the ignorance is bliss philosophy.

The image made her smile at least, Hank grabbing Mike by the scruff of his neck and shoving him into a locker for making rude comments. "Not cool, Hawkins!" He'd protested. Mike told him that he was just repeating what the poster said. The poster was long gone, and Peyton made sure to check on the rest around campus, but it had been up for a while apparently. Hank had gotten a week of detention for it, but in his own words, his actions 'seemed justified'.

Her smile faded as she approached the gym, not breaking any speed records to get there. Her stomach was almost as big a ball of nerves as it was right before a performance, before the hype music would start and then second nature would take over. And at least then she had her squad to back her, a great support system of best friends always there for you no matter what.

Only not really.

Why was it the longer she was away, the cattier some of them seemed? Not Kayla Culepepper, of course. Becca, Drew, even Valarie. Or was it Vanessa? They were identical twins, and near impossible to tell apart. No one treated them different though. Okay, sometimes, they were referred to as Valessa, or Vanarie, but that's a freak thing too, isn't it? Same DNA? Why was that freak genetic thing okay, but a gene that made you super fast not?

They'd cut apart Westbrook's squad. Maybe there was a time Peyton would have too, but now? Things were different. Even though practice hadn't even started yet, the thought of anyone doing that bothered her. Cyborg, skulker, skater and all.

Peyton let out a deep breath standing outside of the gym, clutching her Bose system tightly in her hand. She'd spent the past few nights watching countless clips and DVD competitions from her and Kelly's Pop Warner days. And seeing that no one in the school seemed to ever have heard of Pop Warner - as synonymous to cheerleading and football as the term 'little league' was to baseball, she figured she could use some material from that without anyone thinking it was too rudimentary.

She wasn't a leader. Becca was a leader. Leaders had to holler and be tough. I can't do this. She lamented. But that was for competition. This was for fun. Fun. Just like when she and Kelly were little. When she first met Kayla Culepepper and offered her half her popsicle after Kayla's ice cream rolled off the cone. Fun.

Peyton's game face dissolved into a genuine smile as she entered the gym, seeing the squad together for the first time.

"Hey, hey, what do you say? Welcome to cheer squad!"

[Flicker]

Peyton yawned and debated hitting snooze one more time on her phone, trying to make the decision to wake up or drift back to sleep. Ironically, the song playing was the Lazy Song by Bruno Mars, and even more ironic was that it inspired her to wake up. 5:30. Plenty of time to go for a jog then take a shower before class, the thought of which made Peyton smirked as she slipped out of the sheets. She could have woken up ten minutes before class, had time for a run, a shower, gotten dressed and still made it before the final bell. But that wouldn’t be normal. That would make Becca and Drew and Hannah and them right.

There had to be some sort of happy medium between using your powers to their fullest and still keeping hold on your normal life. Things like a morning jog. Back home, it was easy. The whole cheer squad ran together, 5:30 every morning. Keep pace with them, and let Becca stay up front. Easy. Even left to her own devices, it’s not like it was hard to keep a pace of no more than six miles per hour. She’d looked it up once, on the internet that’s what a few sites said was normal. Running, 17 miles per hour. Sprinting, the record was set at near 30 miles per hour, and that was cake if you used cars to pace yourself. She didn’t need a speedometer to judge, it was pretty straightforward - distance and time, there was probably some formula to figure it out. Plus most school zones had those electronic signs with the PPD ticketing cameras that told you your speed so you’d either slow down to 15 miles per hour or be sent a ticket through the mail. Then again, she thought with a smirk as she eyed the device before blurring into a flat out sprint, it was fun to flat out run. The speed limit signs blinked and bugged out, going haywire. Peyton laughed as she tapped the stop sign she used as a marker of how far to run, and turned around for the slow jog back.

[Flicker]

“Was I ever that stuck up?” Peyton thought to herself, logging out of her Faceplace account with a scowl. Drew was talking like the trophy was already on display at John Tyler High. “Get over yourself.” The Jets weren’t even favored to win in Cincinnati. Sure they won first in state for Kentucky the 2nd year in a row, but Columbus was still the strongest squad out there. She smiled a little at that. Technically, her new squad had Wyatt, which would make them the ‘strongest’ in the physical sense. Even Etienne, all 7 feet of him was built like a grizzly bear. And Ar? With his cybertronics or whatever they were called. Him too. The image of cheer girls hanging from the rafters of the gym after being tossed made her giggle. Best to practice stuff like that outside, she decided. Just in case.

Then there was Jeremy. No one on the squad, not even Peyton had Jeremy’s level of enthusiasm. He wore a smile from start to finish and gave everything his all. She didn’t get it. He was pretty well coordinated. He was a fast learner. He was eager. He was loud and full of confidence. And yet Peyton winced as she watched the video she took of the squad that afternoon at practice. He had three near misses, two collisions, and saying he marched to the beat of his own drummer was a huge understatement. Unfortunately, it looked like his own drummer was also rhythmically challenged. Or deaf.

But he had fun, and that was what cheering was all about. Now all Peyton had to do was find something he could do that wouldn’t endanger anyone.

What are we going to do about Jeremy Patterson?

Still in her “TEAM SLEEP” dorm shirt, she darted to the gym store room for some ideas or inspiration and upon finding some, texted Jeremy to ask if he could meet her on the field after school the next day.

[Flicker]

Peyton tried to be quiet as she could, returning to 308 B where Sondra was sleeping. She wrapped her damp hair in a towel, having freshly washed all the salt and sand out of her hair after being at the beach with everyone that night. She bumped her computer chair trying to cross the room, but if Sondra noticed, she didn't even stir. Quietly, she slipped on her headphones and brought up Youtube.

As promised, Meg Mac had the video of the Jets performance on her site. It exclaimed 5th place with a bunch of exclamation points, but Peyton knew it was for show. Becca likely tore them a new one on the bus ride home, and she imagined there were plenty of tears. It's hard to go from first in state down to fifth, and it lessened the chances of placing at all down in Orlando.

Silently she watched the high energy routine. Perfect toe-touches, extensions, flip-flop combos. Peyton checked over to make sure Sondra was still sleeping and rubbed her eyes. She missed them. She missed competing. Even getting reamed on the bus ride home, leaning up against Kayla or Amber while listening to Becca go on about how awful they were. Amber would lean over and call Becca the world's first 'demotivational speaker.'

The Jets were great up until around two minutes. Not one, but two groups failed a stunt, an elevator kewpie for the first, and seconds later another group messed up on a reload. After that, their confidence was shook up, but you could see on the tumble passes that they brought it back in sync. Suck it up and press on. They managed to pull it back together though and nail the last half minute, so they scored bonus points for that, but they were lucky to get fifth.

Peyton wanted to gloat. She wanted in the worst way to post something snarky about it under the comments, but truth be told she couldn't. They were still her squad, or they felt like it. How do you toss out 13 years of friendships? She winced at the drops, and could see tears streaking down Sara's face even as she smiled and waved to the crowd. Even Drew. Drew who was full of venom and all too happy to grab the co-captain title from Peyton. Seeing her heart break didn't make Peyton feel any better. Well, maybe a little better, I mean, she was the first one to throw out the 'freak' title, but there was still some sympathy left over for her. Peyton knew how bitter it was to just suck it up, smile and skip off stage.

She looked back at her sleeping roommate. Sondra's ever present sunglasses were on the nightstand. Peyton suddenly wondered if she used them so the rest of the world couldn't see her iris missing colorless eyes, or so she could pretend not to notice the people staring at her gray skin.

Peyton sighed and watched the video clip again.

"Great Job, Jet-etts!" She typed sincerely "You'll get it back in Orlando. Best Bet is Still a Jet!"

[Flicker]

Peyton stared at the photos she downloaded from her camera. Boardwalk shots with Sondra, Lauren, Wyatt and Sydney. Beach photos with Jessie, James and Mia, Matt, Sondra, Aiden, Eli and Donovan. Then the ones at the diner. Her, Ar, Lauren and Wyatt. Eli snapped the photo for her. She could put it up on Faceplace, but she knew there would be comments, mostly about Ar with his 'eclectic' style, his scars and his dyed jet-black hair. Quintessential Emo boy. He just needed longer bangs. But Ar had been on her page. He made little snide comments meant to rattle her, which she'll give him, it did momentarily. And as much as she hated to admit it, he was right about a few things.

Drew was a catty bitch, and yes she made mean spirited comments meant to dig under your skin like a fist full of nettles. Yes, Becca was worse, because she tried to veil her intentions. And yes, it was messed up, codependent, high school social BS, but for 13 years, she was part of it. Drew and Becca, Emily, Jenny, Robyn, they were who they were. And Peyton wasn't ready to give up on them, not yet. What was so wrong about wanting to hold onto part of who you were?

She moved over to the bed and folded her hands behind her head, staring up at the ceiling. Ar just didn't get 'it'. The team mentality. Or maybe he did? He told Peyton she had her loyalty mixed up, and that's where she thought he was wrong, dead wrong. She wasn't ashamed of Sondra's skin color or Mia's white hair, of Ar being a cyborg. She didn't care what Becca or Drew or Sara said about her, but if they cut apart Sondra? Sondra's feelings could get hurt, hurt bad. She was protecting them. The thought made her snicker. She was protecting people who didn't need protection. People who could go out and stop crime and save the world. She rolled on her side and giggled again.

I'm saving the cheerleaders. Still the lamest tagline ever.

[Flicker]

Peyton watched the video from practice one more time while tapping her pen against the blue and white “Wildcat” spiral book. She shook her head at something that didn’t seem to quite work, and made a few notes to try something else. She used the scrunchy on her wrist to fasten her hair into a loose ponytail as she watched Ar being Ar. The squad was practicing toe touch jumps, Ar was throwing in doubles.

In some ways, Peyton found Arthur Rawlings just as challenging as Jeremy Paterson. Even more so in others. Cheering was a team sport, more team oriented than any other sport at that. Football, basketball, baseball, yeah, they were team sports too, but they gave individual athletes a chance to shine. There was always a Manning (or two,) a Kobe Bryant, a Derek Jeter. But cheering is different. Cheering is about being a team, staying in sync- as Drew all too often points out. It’s a lot of cogs working together to make one impressive looking machine.

Ar wasn’t especially used to being a cog. Ar was used to being the shiny red button with the ‘do not touch’ sign that you can’t but notice. He liked being noticed. He liked showing off. Both were great traits for a cheerleader to have, but what he didn’t have was the team mentality.

Peyton scribbled a few notes in her cheer book, songs she planned to use or combinations that she’d like to try out. She’d worked out a few places for Ar to be able to be front and center, show off what he could do, but the real challenge with Arthur Rawlings wasn’t to show him a complicated pass. It was trying to get something neon orange to fade into the background.

Maybe there was some middle ground they could reach. She sent Ar a text message asking if he could meet her in the gym after school. Now just to figure out that could be.

[Flicker]

Peyton sat on the beach and chuckled at the text messages Kayla Culepepper was sending her. The Jets were at cheer camp, and Becca was on the warpath because the squad was split up for the final competition. It made Peyton laugh because she remembered how big of a deal it was when she was actually there, compared to how trivial it seemed now. That's the thing about being sheltered or isolated, or whatever you want to call it. Back in Kentucky - that was a normal worry. People at John Tyler High, they were afraid to be different, to stand out from everyone. Kids who were different were mocked. And other kids were afraid to be friends with that kid, for fear they'd be mocked too. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but it was the way it was. Peyton imagined that's the way it was in most high schools.

In Paragon, people were sheltered too, but in a different way. Take Mia for example. She couldn't understand why Peyton would 'touch up' her hair in a picture for the cheer squad back home. Mia was proud of her silver hair, and in her culture, it meant something important. But Peyton knew to the kids back home, her hair wouldn't be called silver, it'd be called grey. They'd tease her for having the same color hair as the lunch lady. Mia couldn't understand why anyone would tease her. In Paragon, people who could be whoever they were, however they wanted to be, and very few people batted an eye, but they forget or don't know that outside of Paragon, there are still a lot of small-minded people out there.

Since she came to Paragon, Peyton tried to change the minds of her friends back home. Becca and Drew and Robyn, Val, Vanessa, Heather, Hannah, Abby and Gabby, all of them. But it was like the night in Galaxy when Wyatt tried to convince everyone that fried livermush was really good. Unless you experience it first hand, you're going to crinkle your nose and not give it a chance.

Peyton chuckled again as her thumbs flew over the keypad, offering some words of encouragement to Kayla.

"wish u were here" Kayla texted back. Peyton looked around the beach and smiled. She leaned back to back with Eli as he played something amazing on his violin, saw Sondra's bright smile, Lauren and Wyatt making goo goo eyes at each other, kids being kids mulling around on a warm summer late afternoon. Kids who could be who they are, what they are.

"Wish I wuz 2." Peyton typed back, content to relax against Eli. But I'm sort of glad I'm not.