Shiori grumbled, climbing the grassy hill overlooking the rugby field, shielding her eyes from the setting sun. She felt like such an idiot. After the argument with Ranko, she had stormed off the field with her squadmates and left her bag behind. She really couldn’t afford to lose the half hour she knew it would take for the round trip walk back to school to get it, but without her notes, she’d never be able to study for the Chinese test she had the following morning.
She replayed the events of the last few weeks in her head. She really did believe that Ranko was trying to help them, but her tactics were far too heavy-handed. She’d pushed them harder than they’d ever experienced before, and finally broken their spirits – a hard thing to do to thirteen cheerleaders. Shiori knew Ranko’s heart was in the right place, but she was too single-minded, and had held her squadmates to an absurd standard. Chinatsu’s boyfriend had already broken up with her because she kept missing dates to stay at Ranko’s double-length practices, and lately, the new girl had even been pressing for workouts before the performances on game nights.
Ranko had such exacting expectations, and her choreography ideas were really solid. If Shiori thought they had any chance to pull off half the moves she’d scripted, she’d have had every confidence they’d win the Invitational hands-down. But at the rate they were going, Ranko was more likely to get someone seriously hurt. The new girl had all but usurped Shiori’s captaincy, demanding respect she hadn’t yet earned, and the squad had just about had enough.
She didn’t want to, but she knew she had no choice: to keep the squad together, she was going to have to ask Ranko to leave. It was a shame; she was unquestionably the most talented gymnast among them even before her singing was factored in, but it didn’t matter if the whole rest of the squad quit in protest. The sentiment Tanda had brought up was nearly universal among her squadmates – Ranko was willing to push everyone but herself. She sighed, resigning herself to giving Ranko the bad news in the morning before her test.
As dusk fell, Shiori reached her bag, right where she’d left it on the grass a few meters from the equipment storage building in front of the bleachers. She picked up the duffel and her cheer binder that sat atop it, turning for home with a sigh. The evening had sucked, and the day to come was going to be worse. Sometimes, she regretted signing up for the responsibility of being squad captain.
She stopped suddenly, her breath catching in her throat as she heard what sounded like a huge sack of potatoes hitting the ground. What the… nobody’s supposed to be out here this late.
Shiori quickly darted behind the cinder-block outbuilding, hiding from whatever potential assailant might be lurking around the corner. None came, but she heard a few metallic bangs, followed by a moment of pregnant silence. And then, another slam of weight hit the ground, this time accompanied by a pained groan.
Her bag strapped over her shoulder and her binder tucked under her arm, Shiori braved to peek around the corner. She saw the form of a girl about her size walk around the bleachers from behind, leaning on the steel handrail for support as if she’d had the wind knocked out of her.
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As Shiori watched in silence, the figure rounded the handrail, jogging up the aluminum bleachers to the very top next to the press box overlooking the rugby field. The silhouette lifted both her arms in the air, bounced once off of her tiptoes, and leapt off of the back of the metal steps. A moment later, the air crackled with another loud thud.
“Ow, dammit!”
Shiori blinked. She thought she recognized that voice. Was it…
She quietly crept around the storage building, watching as once again, the figure of Ranko Tendo stumbled around the bleachers, leaning on them for support, and began to ascend them. Sticking to the shadows, Shiori snuck behind the concession stand to get a better view of the rear of the bleachers. By the time she reached her vantage point, Ranko had again made it to the top of the steps. This time, Ranko clamored from there up to the roof of the press box to get herself an extra few meters of height.
She put her hands up in perfect gymnastic form, and jumped with a grunt of effort.
Shiori could barely make out the individual rotations as Ranko twisted in the air, so fast was she moving. Only by tracking the flashes of the reflected stadium lighting glinting off of the silver bracelet on her squadmate’s left wrist was she able to count them.
One… two… three…
Ranko’s body continued to corkscrew in the air, but before she could complete her final rotation, she slammed hard, shoulder-first, into the blue practice mat that she’d dragged behind the bleachers. She cried out in pain, and Shiori had to cover her mouth to keep from being heard as she gasped. Ranko lay stunned on the mat for a second or two, and then rolled off of it onto her backside, getting up with a cough.
Almost doubled over, she started rounding the bleachers again.
Shiori looked down at the binder she had tucked under her arm, its cover plastered with the photo of Mieko Suto at the 1984 All-Tokyo Invitational.
She… she can’t be trying it. Can she? Is she crazy?
Her eyes snapped up from the binder as she heard a sharp bellow of exertion from above her, and watched as the twisting redhead plummeted to the vinyl mat below, again counting the flashes of light reflecting off Ranko’s bracelet.
One… two… three… four?!
Ranko hit the mat on one knee, her momentum carrying her forward until her face slammed to the blue vinyl. She skittered forward on the mat, clearing its edge and falling the half-meter or so from its surface onto her back in the grass with a loud whimper, writhing weakly from the impact.
Shiori gasped and started to step out of the shadow of the concession stand to offer assistance. Ranko was damn lucky she had forgotten her bag. There was no way anybody was getting up after that.
Nevertheless, Shiori stopped in her tracks a few steps later as the silhouette of the slight girl somehow rolled over onto her hands and knees and rose, agonizingly slowly, using the edges of the bleachers as a ladder to claw her way to her feet as she coughed.
Bracing her ribs, Ranko looked up to the top of the bleachers wearily, shaking her head as Shiori watched surreptitiously from the shadows. “Fuck! Almost had it that time. Can’t stop. Not yet. Those girls are gonna bring home that fucking trophy if I have to do it for them by myself.”