The Butterfly Manifesto

As 1993 came to a close, my finances were chugging away at their usual pace. I had slowly accumulated a foothold in Microsoft and Intel and with our latest short on Commodore filed, I was sitting on over ten thousand in equity. It wasn’t easy managing Dad’s assistance while keeping him unaware of the details; I was always vague about how much I was earning, and I began intercepting account statements from the mailbox before my parents could see them. It was especially tricky finding an accountant to manage my taxes without either of them knowing.

It was becoming a full-time job managing my account and juggling my parents’ involvement, even with the Butterfly Manifesto’s data and the free time seventh grade classes offered me. I was beginning to find that my activities as a girl had taken a new role. Before, finance was my escape from the repression of my life as Maya, but slowly it had become the opposite.

I found that the low-stakes life of a twelve-year-old girl was a relief. Since the night Catherine stayed overnight, I eased up my prohibition on sleepovers and found myself enjoying them. It was fun painting nails, or playing board games, or just gossiping until we passed out. I was in the moment those nights, and all of the positioning and plans I formulated melted away until morning.

I even decided to join a dance class with Catherine at her urging. I didn’t expect to find myself in tights, but I reasoned it was a good way to work on my coordination. I had had a little growth spurt in the last few months, and I was clumsier than ever. If I was forced to admit it, I did find it fun. One day, Catherine and I were chatting after one of our classes.

“The cheerleading tryouts for next year are coming up, you know.”

I felt a pang of sadness. Against my will, a memory pulsed of Jane performing at her first football game. It was in 2007, and I sat in the bleachers watching with Mom and Dad as she bounced around in her ponytail and screamed her head off. Jane lit up the field brighter than the floodlights that night.

I pushed aside the painful reminder and forced a smile.

“Well, yeah, in a couple of months.”

Catherine lightly hit my arm. “Well, I’m nervous, okay? If I get into the eighth grade squad I’ll be able to get in the freshman squad, and then into varsity…”

“Yes, yes, I know your plan. You’ll get in, I know it,” I assured her. She got in the old timeline, no reason she wouldn’t this time. I assumed.

“Would you be able to help me practice?”

I pursed my lips uncomfortably. “I don’t know anything about cheering.”

Catherine waved it off. “It’s a lot like dance, and you’ve gotten a lot better at that since you started. I just need a partner to go over the routine with is all. Please say you will.”

I sighed.

A few days later we were in Catherine’s basement, in our dance gear. She got a book from the library about cheer routines, and wanted to work through a few of them. Catherine had always reminisced about being a high school cheerleader when she was in her thirties. It was cute seeing her aspiring to be one at thirteen.

“Okay,” I said with the book in hand while she stood at attention. “So it’s ‘stomp, clap, arms up’ and then it’s ‘G-O, Let’s Go!’”

Catherine nodded determinedly, and performed the cheer. I didn’t dare say I thought it was a bit silly; Catherine was taking it very seriously, and I wasn’t here to detract. I was here to make sure she got on the squad, like she was meant to. Jane wouldn’t be a cheerleader, but Catherine would. Besides, coaching was feeling more like momentum and less like an indulgence. Catherine’s earnestness was infectious.

Weeks later, the tryouts were after school on a Wednesday, so the two of us grabbed our backpacks and headed to the gym. I agreed that I would sit on the sidelines for support, since Catherine was clearly nervous. However, once we got to the gym we saw the basketball team already at practice and a sign saying that the tryouts were relocated to a classroom. I was a little offended that the boys had been allowed to take over the gym for their practice, especially since the change was clearly last minute. I was the only one outraged; the other girls quietly accepted it.

We made our way to the classroom in the same direction as several other students. There was a teacher sitting at a table outside the door with a sign-in sheet.

“Cheerleading tryouts, girls? Sign in here, please.”

Catherine nodded and wrote her name down, and I attempted to follow her in before I was stopped by the teacher.

“You need to sign in first before you go in.”

“Oh, I’m not trying out.”

The teacher shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it’s pretty tight in there. Only girls who are trying out can go in.”

I turned to Catherine, but the look in her eyes was absolute fear. “I thought they would let people just watch tryouts,” she said nervously.

“I’m sorry, Catherine. But hey, you’re going to do great!”

I could see Catherine tense, her anxiety flaring up. “Couldn’t you just…say you’re trying out so you can go in? Please?”

I took a breath to assure her that she would be fine without me, but I stopped. I could see her already start to freeze up, so I relented. “Okay, okay. I’ll just sign the thing.”

As Catherine sighed in relief, I scribbled my name and she took my hand to drag me inside. The desks were all pushed from the center of the room, so we sat on the floor on the side with the other girls who were trying out. Catherine squeezed my hand as if hanging on for dear life the whole time. There were around twenty girls in the room by the time the coach started making announcements, and I was thankful I had decided to wear jeans instead of my usual skirt if I had to get up and move around.

“What are you doing here, Maya?” whispered a girl named Ashley. “I thought you weren’t into this kind of stuff.”

“Oh, I’m just here for Cath—” I cut myself off. It probably would have looked bad if I revealed my typical indifference to middle school life. “I mean, I changed my mind.”

Ashley twisted her nose. “You’re so weird, Maya.”

I was surprised that I was kind of hurt by her comment. It also made me want to make a good show of it, even if I didn’t get in, just to prove her wrong. Fortunately, I was near the end of the list, so at least I was able to observe what everyone else was doing. I had practiced enough with Catherine and it wasn’t overly complicated. After about the fifth time watching someone perform, I had it down enough to not embarrass myself too much.

When it was Catherine’s turn, she stiffly made her way to the center. “Go for it, Catherine!” I shouted, and she grinned. Ashley and a couple of other girls shot me a disdainful look.

She had poise, she had determination, and—as I expected—she did well. I knew how hard that girl worked, and all she needed to do was believe in herself.

“Good job, Catherine!” I shouted out before I noticed everyone looking at me. I was the only one who made any noise during the tryouts, much to my embarrassment.

The teachers thanked her, and my name was called out next. I took a breath, doing exactly what everyone else had done. It was a lot easier than anything I did in my dance class, but I bumbled along well enough. Thankfully it was over quickly, and Catherine clapped for me just like I did for her.

Catherine was aflutter after the tryout, and wouldn’t stop talking about it as her mom drove us back to our neighborhood. I was sure she got in; there’s no way anyone worked harder at it than she did.

There was no news until our Friday homeroom class, when the coach knocked on our door with a clipboard in the middle of the class. I looked up from the calculations I was doing for my Novell short that I was initiating next week.

“Catherine Janski,” she called out as Catherine raised her hand. “Congratulations, you’re on the cheerleading team!”

I immediately hugged her as the rest of our friends circled and congratulated her as well. Catherine had the biggest smile on her face and I saw little droplets of tears form. I returned to my seat, happy for her, and went back to my calculations as I usually did during homeroom to pass the time. Catherine was on her way to the varsity squad, just as it should be.

“Oh! Also,” the coach called out, checking the clipboard again. “Maya Brown?” I was snapped back to life by the sound of my name.

“Uh…yes?”

“Congratulations, you’re also on the team!”

The blood drained from my face as I felt Catherine hug me in turn and the warm wishes of my friends filled my ears. They all congratulated me, surprised that I had tried out as well but happy for me regardless. I couldn’t say the same.

Oh, fuck, I thought to myself. What have I done?