Melody

This story is about a small, blonde haired girl called Melody. She used to live in London but when her dad got a job offer he couldn't refuse they move to a small town called Thertin in the Rockies, America. Melody thinks her life is officially over Thertin was pretty much non-existent it didn't even have a Starbucks and it's nearest shopping centre is forty-six miles away. What she doesn't realise is that a certain boy-band has decided to take a break and thinks Thertin is the perfect location after all it is pretty much non-existent. They want to escape all the paparazzi, the fans, the fame. And lucky enough Melody isn't a fan but can they convince her otherwise?

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8. Chapter 8 - P.E Sucks

Being a stranger was horrible. I felt so conspicuous wandering the hallways, map in hand  completely at sea as to how the school functioned, though I guess the obviousness was all in my mind, the other students probably didn't pay any attention to tiny me.

   I drifted through school for the next few days, gradually filling in the blanks in my map and learning the way things where done. I had thought I had adjusted OK. So I was lulled into a false sense of security and was completely unprepared for my first gym lesson.

   Mrs Dove, our evil sports teacher, sprang a surprise on us girls early Wednesday morning. There should be a law against teachers doing that so we at least had time to fake a sick note.

   'Ladies as you should know, we've lost six of our best cheerleaders to collage, so I'm on the hunt for new recruits.'' I was not the only one to look crestfallen.

   'Come on, you need to show some team spirit! We can't have Melbruke High out-chanting us, can we?'

   Yes we can, I chanted quietly under my breath.

   She bounced across to where an ancient looking CD player was sitting and pressed play. Instantly Bruno Mars "Runaway Baby" blasted out of the speakers.

   'Brooklyn you know what to do. Show the girls the steps to the first sequence.'

   A lanky girl with long honey-blonde hair strutted up to the front and began what looked like an impossibly difficult routine.

   'See, it's easy,' declared Mrs Dove. 'Fall into line the rest of you.' 'Ok people' from the top- one and two and three, jump.' Even I'm not completely clueless and as the minute hand on the clock drew towards the end of the period. I began to hope that this wouldn't be so bad after all.

   That was until Mrs Dove announced that we where getting out the pompoms.

   No way am I shaking those ridiculous things about. Glancing to the side I could see some of the boys from our class already finished there run and where watching us from the side lines. Sniggering. Great.

   Alerted by the attention of some of the girls as to what was going on, Mrs Dove twigged that we had an audience. Like a Ninja, she swooped in and before the boys knew what had hit them they where being dragged to the front of the line and handed pairs of pink sparkly pompoms.

   Now it was our turn to laugh, as the boys shook there pompoms around uselessly.

   Mrs Dove stood at the front assessing our lack of skill. 'Hmm, not enough. I think we need to try a few tosses-Tom she pointed to a broad shouldered boy with a shaved head, 'you were in the squad last year, right? You know what to do.'

  Tossing sounded OK. Chucking pompoms around was better than shaking them.

   Mrs Dove tapped three more recruits on the shoulder. 'Gentlemen, I'd like four of you up front. Make a cradle with your arms yes, that's it. Now we need the smallest girl for this.'

   No, absolutely not. I slid behind  Olivia who loyally tried to look twice her width, pompoms on hips.

   'Where's she gone-that little English girl? She was here a moment ago.'

   Brooklyn spoilt my plan to hide she's behind Olivia, ma'am.'

   'Come here. dear. Now it's quite simple. Sit on their crossed hands and they'll throw you up in the air and catch you. Olivia and Brooklyn bring a crash mat over, just in case. I must of looked terrified because Mrs Dove gave me a pat on the back 'Don't worry, you just have to point you're hands and feat and look like you're enjoying yourself.'

   I eyed the boys with distrust; they where looking at me closely, estimating just how much weight I was carrying. Then Tom shrugged, making his mind up. 'Yeah we can do this.'

   'On the count of three!' bellowed the teacher.

   They grabbed me and tossed me and up I went. My scream could of probably been heard back in England. It certainly brought the basketball coach and the boys running in the belief that someone was being brutally murdered.

   I don't think Mrs Dove will be picking me for the squad.

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