Dying with Her Cheer Pants On

by Seanan McGuire

These girls, who had seemed like strange, bright birds to me when I stood at the edge of the forest, were birds in more ways than one. They flew. They soared, they twisted in midair, they dropped out of the sky with the absolute confidence that they would be caught. Colleen seemed to have no weight at all when her teammates flung her upward. She jackknifed in flight, pressing her face to her knees, and then she fell like a star, so fast and so impossible that I almost made a wish on her. I was sure that if I did, it would be fulfilled. I wanted to fly. The practice that came after it was less of a surprise, and more of a communion between girls and soil, girls and sky, girls and the need to shout their exorcisms into the wind. They were a necessary safety valve for that impossible energy in the halls. As long as the Pumpkins flew, the school spirit—which was not necessarily a positive thing—wouldn’t grow too strong and overwhelm everything else. So the girls launched themselves into the sky, gambling with gravity, and every time they came down safely, it was a miracle. I wanted to be a part of that miracle. I needed it.

Surprisingly poetic!