Read Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II Online

Authors: Jack Canfield,Mark Victor Hansen,Kimberly Kirberger

Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II (36 page)

 

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me now. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of wood. It was about the size of a deck of cards. "I made this for you," he said. He handed me a piece of the heartwood of the river birch. He had shaped and carved the face of it so that the tree from which it came appeared again on the surface, tall and strong and all leafed out. And beneath were carved the words, "Our Tree." And for the first time I felt really good about those words.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
When I was leaving the field that September day, after the Marlins missed their bid to win a play-off spot in front of the home-town fans, I saw the man and boy who had been sitting in front of me in the stands. They were walking toward the parking lot with the noisy crowd. The man's arm rested on his son's shoulder for a moment. They looked relaxed, comfortable with each other, their immediate problem resolved.
I wondered how their peace had been made that day. But whatever they'd done was on the right road, it seemed to me, and was worth acknowledging. So as I passed I tipped my cap to them in a small, personal tribute to both their present moment and to my own memories.
W. W. Meade

 

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The Cheerleader
Everyone wants to be a cheerleader. Every girl wants the chance to shine, to have all eyes on her, to be the one to wear the uniform, be part of the "squad," be in the "in" groupeverything that cheerleading connotes. Any girl who says differently is either the exception to the rule or fooling herself. Everyone wants to be a cheerleaderbut not everyone gets the chance.
In the fall of my senior year in high school, I was faced with more pressure than I knew how to handle. My friends and I were applying to college, taking the college admissions tests and writing essays. Each essay, it seemed, asked a variation of the question, "What makes you different from the other thousands of high school seniors who are seeking admission to our school?" It was in the midst of these other pressures that cheerleading tryouts for the varsity team took place every year.
Varsity tryouts were different from trying out for the freshman, sophomore and junior teams. Pretty much every girl who tried out for those teams got to be a cheerleader because there were two squads for each gradeone for football season and one for basketball. But the

 

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varsity cheerleaders were ten senior girls who got to cheer for the whole year. Out of the many who tried out, each having had some experience as an underclassman, only that very special ten made it.
Those ten girls knew, without a doubt, the answer to that essay question that the colleges asked. They knew the moment they put on that uniform what made them unique. They felt it the minute they ran out onto the field at the first game. They reveled in it the first time they walked down the halls of the school, all eyes on them.
I knew I had to be one of them.
As I listed all the other things I had done in school and extracurricularall the clubs and sports I had enjoyed, the awards I had won, the jobs I had heldI knew instinctively that none of them was special enough to set me apart. None of them meant what being a senior cheerleader meant. At least to me. At seventeen, I was sure that the college admissions departments felt the same way.
My younger sister, Molly, started high school that year. I thought she would have it especially easy since I had already told her everything to expectwhich teachers to fear, which courses were easy. From my experiences, she already knew which activities were offered and when, and how much time each one required. She even knew many upperclassmen, which was a real plus for a freshman.
The first few weeks of school were fraught with tension for me. With everything going on, I admit I wasn't too attentive to Molly. Still, I waited for her every afternoon in the parking lot to drive her home. I thought that was enough for her, getting a ride instead of having to take the bus, like many of the other freshmen.
Cheerleading practice was held after school and sometimes ran long during those weeks before the tryouts. Molly had to either wait for me or take the bus. Most of

 

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the time she waited, watching me from the bleachers.
I could see the tension mounting in my friends as tryouts approached. We got into a lot more fights, sniping at one another. One of my friends confided that she thought she stood a better chance of making the team if she lost a few pounds. So she stopped eatingI mean completely! Another girl began skipping other activities to practice after school. She was a really talented dancer and had always loved her dance classes. But she stopped going so she could practice for the tryouts. When I asked her if she was going to give up dance altogether if she made the team, she said yes.
But the worst was when I saw one of my friends crying in the bathroom. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me her parents were getting a divorce. Then she said that if she made the cheerleading team, they would both have to come see her at the games. She thought that might get them back together.
Making that team meant a lot more than it should have to so many of us. But like my friends, I didn't think about whether or not it was worth it.
The day of tryouts came. I gave it everything I had. I screamed the loudest, smiled the widest, jumped the highest. I was perfect. At least I thought so.
The list of the ten girls selected was to be posted that Friday at the end of the day, outside the principal's office. My last class was just down the hall, so I would be one of the first to see the list.
Friday morning, I drove Molly to school as usual. But I hadn't slept well the night before and was so on edge that I thought I'd scream if anyone even talked to me. Molly must have sensed that because she didn't say anything the whole ride to school. But when she got out of the car she handed me a note. I was in a hurry so I stuffed it into one of my books and headed for class.

 

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Friday was the longest day of my life. The last period was English, and as I took out my copy of
Tess of the D'Urbervilles
, Molly's note fell out. It said,
Dear Sis,
No matter what happens today, whether you make the team or not, I think you are the best sister in the world. I was so scared to start high schoolyou know how lowly freshmen are treated. But having a sister who's a senior makes me special. All of my friends are jealous. I just wanted to tell you.
Love,
Molly
The bell rang, but I didn't run to see if my name was on that list. For just a minute I stayed where I was, rereading my sister's letter, rereading it until the words blurred. Then I stood up, gathered my books and headed for the door.
At the end of the hall I could see Molly leaning against the door, patiently waiting for me to drive her home. Between us, on the bulletin board outside the principal's office, was the list. There was a huge crowd around it already. I knew I would have to wait a long time to get to the front of the line. I looked at Molly and gripped the note in my hand. Suddenly, I knew what I would write for my college essay. I knew what made me different, unique. And it didn't depend on whether or not I had made the squad.
I made my way down the hall, without stopping, my eyes glued to the form of my very own personal cheerleader, waiting patiently there for someone she thought was very special.
Marsha Arons

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