Rationalizing a situation and seeing the situation clearly were not the same thing Courtney decided as she stood in front of her mirror in her cheer uniform. Could she completely rationalize the fact that she hadn't been cheering for the past weeks and at times comfort eating resulting in the uniform not looking the same on her?

Yes. She fully accepted this rationalization.

Did she feel good about the situation?

No. But that's because she was standing in front of the mirror clearly seeing the end result.

Solution to the problem: avoid all full-length mirrors while in uniform until back at cheer.

Did Courtney leave the mirror in her closet?

No. Was she using it as an excuse to focus on something other than the mountain of issues in her life?

This was another no, it was just one more issue added to her list. Staring at it, did nothing but outside her closet was a phone and a blank mind on what to say to the one person she needed to say something to.

But then again staring at herself in the mirror was doing nothing for her self-esteem either. Darn you comfort food!

With a frustrated groan, Courtney shuffled out of her closet, crossed to her bed, spun around, and fell back on it. At least this dramatic option gave her a ceiling to stare at, which was better than her reflection. And at this angle, she couldn't see her phone on her nightstand. It was a win-win.

A very pathetic win-win since it didn't feel like a win-win it felt like a loser losing to their own loser-ish-ness. Not a word but it is my current state of being. Ha. And no one thought cheerleaders were losers. Plot twist!

Scrunching up her face and moaning with utter despair...

Too dramatic, already had a net drop on me, got carried out of the gym, and fell onto my bed, despair is one dramatic-ness too much.

Someone knocked on Courtney's door and she barely got the word 'yeah' out before it opened and her father strode in. Without blinking an eye at her dramatic state of being, he flopped back on the bed with her. He held up his tablet, giving her a view of the screen which was covered in some diagram with numbers written along the sides.

"I solved it," he said.

"I knew you could get a handle on basic math one of these days," Courtney said.

"The problem to your decoration issue, so keep the mockery to a minimum."

"You did. You genius."

"Exaggeration is acceptable." He pointed to the diagram with his stylus. "As you can see, your idea can still be used, adjustments in materials simply have to be made." He circled a number. "This is the length of nylon rope you will need."

"Nylon?"

"With this density, it will be strong enough to hold the decorations but won't be a hassle to handle." He tapped another number. "This is the width that needs to be between each set of hanging leaves to make it even as well as staggered."

Courtney pointed to another number. "What's this one?"

"That is the amount of gold chiffon fabric you need. Hanging it above the lattice of leaves and with the right direct lighting it will give a golden hue to the gym while blocking the ceiling."

"We can't afford that much."

"You can with the refund you will demand from the army surplus store. They failed to have the net you requested in the beginning and the one they set was the wrong size. Send Miguel, he'll get your money back."

"You don't think I'm tough enough?"

"No. You like people too much."

"Fair."

"And there you have it. Your idea can be saved."

Courtney hugged her father's arm and rested her cheek on his shoulder. "Thank you."

He kissed her forehead. "It's not every day my very independent daughter walks into the house and asks for my help. I like to think that this old man can still be useful."

"Old but very spry and good-looking."

"That is true."

"You seem so pleased with the compliment I almost feel bad for reminding you that you said exaggeration was acceptable."

Her father stood up. "On that cutting note, I will leave you to the clearly wallowing state you were in before."

"Not wallowing. Merely dramatic."

"I find that more acceptable. Anything you need help with to be less dramatic? It doesn't play well with the whole not being a stereotypical blonde image you've held for your whole life."

"I joined cheer, I feel like I have played into the stereotype. And I like clothes."

"Ah. That is true. Pity, I thought I raised a daughter with more depth."

"Sadly no."

"Is the way you are avoiding the question your way of telling me this is an issue you need to solve on your own?"

"Maybe unconsciously."

"If you become conscious and realize you need help, you know where to find me."

"I will."

With a wave of his tablet, her father left and Courtney laid her head back on her bed. The ceiling didn't feel like the same sanctuary to stare at as it had been a few minutes ago. She looked at her nightstand. Her phone lay there unassuming but equally eager.

I could message him. But that's impersonal. Could call... Would he want me to? Would in-person be better? At the game? But maybe a call beforehand would be better.

Courtney didn't move, sitting there staring at her phone with indecision.

He hasn't messaged. He hasn't called. Maybe he's looking at his phone wondering what to do too. Wait! Is this a split-screen moment where it shows both of us in the same position and neither doing anything and the audience is screaming at us to call?

Wait are split screens even used now? Or would it be more of a fade from one image to the next type of deal? Why am I thinking about this? Call him.

Courtney jerked her hand forward and snatched up her phone as if speed would help her from backing out. With a deep breath, she called. As the screen showed her face, she lifted it, finding the best angle. Better to look cute than not so cute, might help. The screen remained on her face and she noticed as her small smile slowly slipped with each ring. Eventually, the call ended and Micah never picked up.

Okay, ouch.

She lowered her phone and nearly dropped it when it dinged. She raised it, smile already returning. But all that waited was a message.

Miguel:
I'm outside. I thought you might need a ride for tonight in case your ankle acts up later in the night.

As touching as Miguel's thoughtfulness was, Courtney felt disappointed.

Courtney:
I'll be down in a second.

After waiting a minute longer to see if Micah would call back, Courtney resigned herself and tucked her phone into her cheer bag. She hooked it on her shoulder and avoided the mirror on her way out. As she approached the stairs, she heard voices, and a stupid part of her heart that held hope, quickened. But as she reached the stairs, she found Miguel talking to her father.

"Thank you," Miguel said, looking away from the tablet her father held and holding out his hand. "This is a huge help."

They shook hands. "Of course. When my daughter arrives sobbing and stumbling into the house in pure desperation, there's nothing a father wouldn't do."

"Hey! I was not being that dramatic," Courtney shouted.

Her father looked up at her, grinning. "Heard you coming. That might not be true but I did find you dramatically laying on your bed."

Courtney rolled her eyes as she descended the stairs. "A girl is allowed to be dramatic in the safety of her own room."

"If you say so. But I didn't know I raised such a drama queen."

"You should have seen her at school," Miguel said. "She let a net fall on her and then had me carry her out of the gym."

"These blondes," her father said. "I don't know how they make it through life without setting the world on fire with their dramatics."

"You're a blonde," Courtney said.

"Technically, I'm half blonde, half gray."

"Twenty-three gray hairs does not count as half."

"Fine, I retract my previous statement."

"Thank you. Miguel, let's go before he says another statement in which I have to make an argument against."

"That's highly likely to happen," her father said.

Courtney walked to the door, grabbing the edge of Miguel's shirt sleeve as she went.

"Thanks again for your help, George," Miguel said.

"My pleasure."

As Miguel started up the car, the front door opened and Courtney's father jogged out, holding her crutches. One second he's supporting her and the next he's bringing her the support she hated.

"You might need these," her father said, tucking them into the back seat.

"I'd rather die than use them but thanks all the same."

Her father leaned in through the window to kiss her forehead. "For my sake, don't die. Also for your mother's, she would be terrible at writing your eulogy."

"Well, when you put it like that I'll avoid death as much as possible."

"That's my girl."

Her father backed away and Miguel drove off. As they hit the main street, Miguel cast a sideways look at her. Since she wasn't a fish, Courtney didn't take the bait. But her silence seemed to bate Miguel anyways.

"You're making jokes with your dad," he said. "I can't tell if this is your normal form of connecting or if you're hiding your emotional state behind jokes."

"My cheer uniform doesn't fit like it used it."

Miguel gave her a critical once-over. "You look fine."

"That does nothing to alleviate my anguish over this turn of events."

Miguel nodded. "I see, we're masking all the other problems in your life with this one pointless problem."

"I feel like masking is too small of a word, I was going more for mass concealment."

"Ah. Do you want to address the mass concealment?"

"What concealment are you talking about? The only thing in my life I have to conceal is the fact that I gained weight."

"Understood."

Courtney leaned her head back and stared out the window. The fuzzy world of passing neighborhoods wasn't enough to not make her think but she did her best to convince herself that it was.

"You can talk about it with me if you need to," Miguel said.

She knew that. But with issues that take not just masking but mass concealment to hide weren't issues that would be solved in the ten-minute drive to school. Correction: six-minute drive since they'd already wasted four minutes.

Courtney knew if she opened the door in which everything was hidden behind, in a cartoon manner, all of it would come tumbling out and crush her. In the same cartoon manner, she'd pop her head up from the heap and look down at a cartoonish version of Miguel standing below with his hands on his hips.

No, it was not the time to open the door, they had a football game, a Homecoming halftime walk, and hundreds of people waiting for them, for her to be the bright Courtney they all knew.

When they pulled into the school parking lot, Courtney took a second to breathe in. She inspected her appearance in the mirror. She smiled and turned it to Miguel for his approval.

"Convincing?" she asked.

He watched for her a long moment before nodding. "Yeah, Cor, it's convincing."

"Really because you're forlorn tone makes me think otherwise."

Before he could respond, she flipped the mirror back into place and climbed out. Again now was not the time to delve into the Issues, so an as-much-possible-convincing smile would have to do.

On the sidewalk, Miguel split off towards the field while Courtney made her way toward the locker rooms to meet up with the squad. But she redirected her path at spotting a familiar boy and girl. Familiar in the sense she'd met them last week but she felt that counted as familiar.

"Damon, Trina, hi!" she said, waving to Micah's friends. "Here to watch the game with Micah?"

Though Courtney had greeted them warmly, the warmth froze as it reached them. Oh, the Locals are wearing matching angry faces... yay.

"Are you serious?" Trina asked.

Only 65% of the time but not likely an answer to go over well.

"What's up?" Courtney asked.

"What do you mean 'what's up'?" Damon said. "We told you at my party if you didn't like Micah as much as he liked you to drop it now. We thought that was clear to make it a clean break, not mess with him for a week then kick him to the curb."

Mess with him? Kick him to the curb? She couldn't even fully trust one ankle, how could she possibly mange to kick someone?

"I'm not sure what you mean," Courtney said, slowly. "I wasn't messing with Micah and there was no kicking."

"Oh really?" Trina said. "You actually think we'll believe that after the way you ignored him all week."

The hostility coming off Trina made Courtney feel like she should raise her hands and take slow steps backward without making eye contact with the pissed-off tiger but she remained where she was. 

"I didn't ignore him," Courtney said. "As Micah knows this week was really busy with Homecoming prep."

Trina let out a disgusted snort. "You and your stupid dance. We watched him message you and wait for your response. Multiple times."

Don't think about 'stupid dance', don't think about it. Focus on Trina, she is bringing information to you, focus on that.

"I know that my responses were late but we did talk," Courtney said. "And I explained to Micah that this week would be busy."

"Yeah with a dance that doesn't matter," Damon said. "You put a dance over your boyfriend."

A dance that an entire school is planning on! Breathe, Cory, breathe. Don't lose it. You lose it now and there's no coming back from this.

"I get that you don't care for dances but a lot of students are looking forward to it. Micah knows this. He knows I'd be busy for this week and then it will be done."

"Really?" Trina asked. "You're not going to go back to cheer next week? You won't put that over him as well?"

"I will be going back but it's not like practice lasts forever. It's an hour after school and weekend events. I told you, I care for Micah, I'm not going to lose him."

Trina gave a laugh that made Courtney wince inside as Damon shook his head at her.

"Funny," Damon said. "Coming from the person who pushed him away today."

"I didn't push him away. We just... we hit a situation."

"Nice way of saying you hurt him," Trina said.

The image of Micah walking away hit Courtney. True, he'd walked away on his own but she knew she'd been part of the reason for making him want to leave.

"I know," Courtney said. "I know I messed up, the decorations for Homecoming fell apart and I was stressed." Both Damon and Trina reacted to the word Homecoming, Damon with a look of irritation and Trina with downright scorn. Right, not supposed to mention the H word. "I called Micah but he didn't answer. If he's in the booth now we can go talk to him and I can fix this."

Even before she finished talking, she took steps toward the bleachers and the sound booth. Those looks of disdain are getting stronger, had the situation been worse than she remembered? It hadn't felt like it lasted long but was the damage long lasting?

"I just need to talk to him and-"

"Cory! Thank goodness!" Lynn jogged over to Courtney. "I need you, Bridgette doesn't think she can do the routine tonight. I need your help talking to her."

Lynn took Courtney's hand to lead her away but Courtney tugged back, looking at Damon and Trina who both wore twin masks of annoyance.

"Look," Courtney said. "I'll talk to him-"

"No," Damon said. "Do him a favor and leave him alone."

**********************************************************************

SOMEONE HOLD ME BACK! I'M- Wait, I did this last chapter didn't I?

Okay, but I'm not going after the author, I'm going for Trina and Damon, I don't care if they are worried about Micah, I'm going to punch them into next week! So don't you dare hold me back!

*looks back at you and whispers* That means hold me back, I don't know how to throw a punch. Oh, I see how it is, you're blaming me for this? Well that's just... fair, it's my fault.

Fine, go ahead and tell me how annoyed you are with me. I promise I won't throw a punch at you. As I admitted, I can throw one. 🗯💭💬😠

I mean I get where Damon and Trina are coming from but also I'm thinking 'woah! Chill out it wasn't even a fight more of a non-fight-that-caused-a-break-but-one-that-can-be-fixed-with-communication-possbly-ducktape'.

See, there's hope! We just have to go to the supply store and pick up communication, easy.

If you don't have hope that it will get fixed, just let me handle the hope. I do have insider knowledge. But mixed with having insider knowledge I also have an evil side, so am I actually gaslighting you that it will all be okay? And can you even trust me to hold your hope?

Haha! I have way too much fun messing with you. There might be something wrong with me. Or you, since you keep coming back to me. It's undecided. I guess we will just have to continue this journey until one of us falls off a cliff hanger.

Vote, comment, follow but only if you don't like waffle fries.