“There you are. You ready, Ranko?” Shiori smiled up at her squadmate as she entered the designated ready room for the Yusue Lions cheerleading squad. Four squads had already performed, and the captain was getting a little worried their star singer and gymnast wasn’t going to show up. The arena was a maze, and after talking with Ukyo, she’d had a hard time finding their designated locker room.
The room was a chaotic frenzy of makeup, hair products, stretches, and enthusiastic cheers. It was as if the room where Ranko got ready for Izumi’s wedding had been injected with a twelve-pack of her favorite energy drink as thirteen cheerleaders scrambled to make their final preparations. It was not lost on Ranko that the room looked more like a theater dressing room than a locker room, and that somewhat annoyed her, given the athletic nature of what she was there to do.
“I guess so, yeah.” She looked herself over in one of the many wall-mounted mirrors, ensuring that the few tears that welled in her eyes while she talked to Ukyo hadn’t marred Akane’s cosmetic handiwork, not that she’d have been able to do much about it if it had.
“Is your mom here, Tamiko?” Shiori flitted over to check on the youngest member of the squad, just a freshman. “You said you weren’t sure if she could get off of work.”
“Yeah! I saw her just before I came in.” Tamiko grinned. “What about you, Ranko? Is any of your family coming?”
Ranko frowned. It was a Saturday afternoon, so preparation for a busy night at the Phoenix would already be well under way. Akane had said she would come, but Ranko hadn’t seen her. Granted, there were too many people out there to see everyone coming in, and it was probably for the best that Akane hadn’t run into Ukyo. Ranko wondered if Ukyo herself would come in to watch, but knew that she probably couldn’t leave her cart for that long.
“I don’t know, Tami. Probably not.”
“Shi’ri, how much time do we have,” Yori called out from the stool where she was touching up her eyeliner.
The captain whirled. “We’re going last, so you’ve got another few minutes.”
The double-doors into their combination locker room and salon swung open, and a woman in a purple and white nylon jumpsuit entered. “Hello, girls, this is the Yusue squad, right? I’m looking for Ranko Tendo?” As the door slowly squeaked closed, the announcer’s voice summoned the fifth squad of the meet to the mat to perform.
The redhead in the back corner raised her hand. “Yes, ma’am?”
The woman held up a contraption with a collection of wires. “I understand they’re planning on having you use a microphone during the competition?”
Ranko blushed. “Yeah. I’m gonna sing, if I can do it and still do stunts. We brought a copy of our music with the vocals pre-recorded too, just in case.”
The woman nodded, and motioned Ranko to join her on a wooden bench that ran through the center of the room. “This is called a lavalier.”
Ranko nodded. “And what exactly does a lava lamp do?”
With a chuckle, the blonde in the jumpsuit shook her head. “Lavalier. It’s a wireless microphone, but you wear it on your body. Here, I’ll show you.”
She clipped a heavy box about the size of a cassette case to the back of Ranko’s skirt. “Here, run this wire up your shirt and clip it up there by your neck.”
Ranko did as she was told. “Okay, now what?”
The woman shrugged. “See if you can move in it okay?”
Seeing nowhere that wasn’t a flurry of activity, Ranko hopped up on the bench, shooing Mizuki off of her seat for a second. On the bench that was no more than a half-meter wide, Ranko performed two back handsprings as if she were on a balance beam, but on the second one, the large pack fell off of the back of her skirt, almost tangling her in the cord before she could stop her motion.
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“Drat. It looks like we’re not going to be able to do this. I’m sorry.” The woman sighed, putting her hand out for the device.
A chorus of disappointed awwwws rose from Ranko’s squadmates.
“We’ll be okay, girls. We have the backup tape.” Shiori smiled, but she knew between that and the quadruple twist, the Yusue squad had now lost both of its secret weapons.
Ranko looked up and saw the worry in her captain’s eyes, sighing and turning back to the event organizer. “You know what? Screw this. You got any duct tape?”
A few moments later, Ranko sat hunched over on the bench trying to protect her modesty somewhat without her shirt on as the woman in the jumpsuit affixed the equipment to her back just under her bra strap. Ranko rolled her shoulders, and she could feel the tape pulling on her skin with every slight motion. It was like having a grabby octopus that had wriggled under her bra strap and dug its claws in, or at least, it would have been if octopuses had claws, she thought to herself.
“Okay. I don’t think it’s going anywhere, but remember, you won’t be able to get to the off switch, so the second they turn up your audio, whatever you say is broadcasting to the speakers. So be careful.”
Ranko nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” She carefully pulled her red and silver sleeveless cheerleading shell back on just as another organizer in a matching athletic jumpsuit poked her head into the room. “Okay, Yusue, you’re on deck. C’mon, let’s get you to the staging area.”
Trailing behind her squadmates, Ranko was led to a darkened area off to the left side of the performance area. From where she stood, she could see the squad that was performing, but not the audience. She’d hoped to scan the crowd for Akane’s face.
The twenty-one girls performing sprung effortlessly around the mat, seemingly flawless in flight as they twisted and flipped to Technotronic’s Pump Up the Jam. At one point, of the nearly two dozen girls on the blue foam mat, Ranko did not think any of them were touching the ground. Holy shit. We’re so screwed.
Shiori must have seen the look on Ranko’s face, because she walked over and squeezed the redhead’s hand. “Hey. We’ve got the only pop star in the competition. We got this, girl.”
The song ended with a thundering bass drop and the sound of the crowd was unlike anything Ranko had ever heard. As the performers cartwheeled off the mat in their black and yellow leotards, one of the backstage organizers motioned the Yusue squad forward. They had not yet taken the mat, but it was the first time Ranko had gotten a look at the audience in the arena where they’d be performing. She had expected a gymnasium, maybe a little larger than the one where Akane had her volleyball games. This was practically a stadium. There had to be six or seven thousand people or more in the seats, and they were all roaring.
The voice of the announcer boomed over the sound system. “That was last year’s champions, the Minato Academy Archers! And it’s gonna be awfully tough to top that score! Holy cow, a 9.41!”
Shiori winced. “Shit!”
The crowd continued to show its appreciation for the reigning champions, chanting the name of their school.
“MI-NA-TO! MI-NA-TO! MI-NA-TO!”
Ranko’s eyes darted around the crowd frantically. Her breath quickened, and her palms began to sweat.
“MI-NA-TO! MI-NA-TO! MI-NA-TO!”
She had performed for crowds of as many as four hundred at the Phoenix. Maybe as many as twice that at one of the Dapper Dragons’ outdoor gigs. But nothing like this.
“MI-NA-TO! MI-NA-TO! MI-NA-TO!”
Only one other time in her life had she been the center of attention in an arena this size.
“MI-NA-DO! MI-NA-DO! MI-NA-DO!”
Only one other time had she had this many people staring. Watching. Waiting to see what she would do. Slavering ravenously to see her defeated.
“MI-KA-TO! MI-KA-TO! MI-KA-TO!”
Ranko felt a chill over her skin. She felt exposed. Bare. Vulnerable. Cold, as if she were suddenly surrounded by ice. The pleated red-and-silver miniskirt and the cheerleading shell did not protect her enough to face what barreled through her mind. Plate mail armor would not have.
“MI-KA-DO! MI-KA-DO! MI-KA-DO!”
“Ranko, are you okay?! You’re white as a ghost!” Shiori placed her hand on Ranko’s shoulder, but before the redhead could respond, the announcer’s voice boomed overhead again.
“AND NOW, our final squad of the competition! Please welcome the Yusue High Fighting Lions!”