I was about to get officially laid. Not that I had already been laid unofficially, but official is a pretty good word for this. Hotel suite, hunky football player, fancy dress. I'll bet you're thinking Prom. Hah!

It was early summer, a couple of weeks after school was over. It wasn't some generic hotel suite, but was in a boutique hotel and I had been assured that I would find the suite sumptuous. The hunky football player also qualified as dreamy, since I had been dreaming about him, sometimes even when I was asleep. I'd even met him, of sorts, when he performed his first (arguably) part of the process by asking me out for the Official Fuck. My clothing was expensive and elegant, and made me look very good. It was also easy to remove, which just means that the zipper went down past my hips. And it was free. My jewelry was really gorgeous and scary-expensive, and on loan. I was going to have to be very certain that I had it all when I left the hotel.

I'd picked the football player, with advice and consultation. He'd been sounded out in advance and agreed to have his name offered, and he'd responded with the required enthusiastic 'Yes' when he was actually recruited. 'Football player' is getting tedious, let's call him Brad. It occurs to me that, if this is an official fuck then Brad must have the official dick. I wonder if that would amuse him.

I'd been told that I'd be given an IQ test before and after and, if there wasn't at least a fifty-point drop, Brad would disappear and no one would admit to him ever having existed. I'm quite sure that the translation was that Brad was determined to make it wonderful for me, and would be seriously embarrassed if he failed.

I had been persuaded that this was a better than average way to lose my virginity. They'd also talked me into a minor surgical procedure that disposed of one of the technical aspects.

They'd been pretty damned persuasive about a lot of things, even before I was one of them.

It all started one day, about a month before the end of the term...

I am not the cheerleader type. I think of cheerleaders as beautiful, bubbly, busty, and brain-dead, and I'm none of those things. As of the end of my freshman year of high school, which would be about now, I'd classify myself as a brainy beanpole with a little geek mixed in (I'm somewhat prone to bouts of concentration during which I exist on another plane).

So, when Elizabeth Malden asked me if I had a couple of minutes, sat me down in a quiet corner of the quad, and said, "Jennifer, the Valkyries would like to recruit you," I was nonplussed, probably even significantly minused. I'm pretty sure my mouth dropped open. I think I turned around at some point to see if she was talking to someone behind me. I may have said, "Gawk." I'm quite certain I shook my head sharply to clear my mind.

Her smile broadened and she reached out, taking one of my hands in hers, and said, "Yes."

Now I have to insert some background. Elizabeth is a varsity Valkyrie, a Val in short. The other Valkyrie squads are not called Vals. If the freshman Valkyries had invited me to join them (fat chance), I would have just said, "No." If the junior-varsity Valkyries had offered me a slot (fatter chance), I might even have said, "Hell no!" Both those squads are comprised of stereotypical cheerleader types, attractive, air-headed, and arrogant. But the Vals are weird.

Vals are gracious and friendly and unfailingly polite. And they don't clump. Cheerleaders have got to be the clumpiest people around, except for the Vals. The other squads are practically joined at their hips, but the Vals don't even eat lunch together. I don't think I've ever seen two of them at the same table.

And it was well known that very few freshman or J-V Valkyries became Vals.

Gossip about the Vals ranged from the absurd, "They fuck the whole football team," or "They fuck the whole basketball team," to comments about where they'd been seen in one of their myriad uniforms, "Alicia Peal was having dinner with the chess club!" What we all knew was that any school-related event held locally would draw at least one Val. And, if there was more than one Val present, they were never together unless they were actually leading a cheer. At football and basketball games, you'd see them do a routine, and then promptly melt away. If you looked around, they'd be all over the place until their next routine. They even wore wires so they could do spontaneous cheers from wherever.

So, when Elizabeth hit me up, I wasn't actually sure what the Vals were. I was still pretty sure I didn't belong with them, they were all attractive and poised and self-confident and generally socially gifted, kind of not-me's. I took a deep breath, "Elizabeth, I'm flattered that you're inviting me to try out, but I don't think I'd really fit in. And I guess I'm not sure what you guys are anyway."

She was still smiling, "Well ... A, please call me Becky. B, we don't do try-outs. This is a full invitation. C, could you just trust me on that for the moment? And D, one of my jobs is to tell you all about us." She adopted a thick German accent, "Vee must have fully informed consent."

I turned my eyes away from hers and leaned back, hugging myself. After a moment I brought my eyes back, "I still have a real problem with C."

She looked pensive, "Hmmm, you're unwilling to trust me huh?" She smiled again, "Look Rudy ... Is it okay if I call you Rudy?"

I gave a bark of laughter, "It most certainly is not." I'd had a problem with allergies in third grade and had picked up the nick-name Rudolph, soon shortened to Rudy. I only managed to dump it when we moved to Milton when I was ten. Which, of course, is the message she was sending me. They knew a lot about me. "Okay, you know all my secrets. But I'm not a secret babe."

"Well, your ass seems to have a fan club."

I blushed. This was my only vanity. My butt seemed to be maturing faster than the rest of me and, although not large, it stuck out pretty good. I had several pairs of slacks that were kind of snug there and I enjoyed catching boys checking me out. It's not a world-class butt, but it is the first part of me that I ever noticed boys looking at.

I tried to figure out why she said that. It was consistent with having checked me out thoroughly, but she'd already made that point. Her observation was in response, in argument really, to my assertion that I didn't have the looks to be a Val. I was very happy to allow one conclusion, I could reasonably upgrade my self-image to one of having a cute ass. Although I liked that, it didn't negate my assertion, "Elizabeth, I frankly don't understand. I simply do not look like a Val."

"Our computer projections have you reaching a C cup next March."

I must have gaped.

"Just kidding. Although there just might be some people around here who do that sort of thing. And please call me Becky."

"Okay, Becky. And please call me Jenny, particularly when we're talking about my ass and my tits. Are you saying that you guys think I'm going to grow into Val material?"

"Thank you, Jenny. No, that was a complete non-sequitur. I believe, we all believe, that you have all the requisite qualities right now. May I explain?"

"Of course."

"Jenny, am I a babe?"

"Yes."

"Okay, that establishes my credentials. Are the rest of the Vals babes?"

"Yes again. I'll stipulate institutional credentials." I wondered if she was going to claim that if they said I was a babe then it must be true. I didn't think I'd be able to buy that.

"Thank you, but I'd like to emphasize that I'm invoking the full historical wisdom of the Vals when I claim that I know what I'm talking about. Being a babe is a matter of attitude, effort, and lack of disqualifying characteristics. And the last does not include blindness, or deafness, or missing limbs, or even necessarily cancer."

That served to remind me that there was a Val with a prosthetic leg who still managed to carry the aura. And I had to presume that there had been Vals with the others. So the message for me was attitude and effort, which seemed worth thinking about, but I had to ask, "Tell me about 'disqualifying characteristics'?"

Becky smiled sadly, "You can't be fat or ugly. We can't do our jobs unless we're attractive. The Vals have a history of social experimentation, and once tried to take that out of the equation. It ended up high on the list of our more spectacular failures. It almost killed us. Some have likened it to having to be smart to be a physicist."

I wanted to ask a whole bunch of questions but all I came up with was, "Becky, I'm not pretty." I felt a little shallower than I like to think of myself as being, but she was claiming that attitude and effort would make me look like a Val, and I hadn't had any time to think about that yet.

Becky's smile was now cheerful, "So you want to fight about that, do you? You want to put your puny freshman opinion up against the collective judgment of the Vals?" She didn't let me respond. "Mostly kidding. Jennifer, you are at least above average for a Val. As a hypothetical, I feel absolutely certain that if we were to go play makeover, you would be forced to admit that you looked like a babe. And I'm not even very good at that, we use experts. What I ask is that, when you get home tonight, you spend some time looking in the mirror and thinking about the practical aspects of what you'd do if you wanted to look like a babe. Or, more specifically, like a Val. Focus on little things, there are no major ones. And I ask that you set that subject aside for the moment, perhaps even give us the benefit of a little doubt, until you've had some time to think. Would you do that?"

"Sure, in fact I have to."

Becky raised an eyebrow.

I smiled at her for the first time, "I'm really curious to hear what else you have to say and I've done all the whining I can until I've considered what you've said, and thought about it some more."

Becky's face lit, "Thank you Jenny. If you say yes, I'll be your sponsor and I think I'll enjoy it." She leaned in for a hug and I found myself returning it with considerable enthusiasm. Getting a personally friendly hug from Elizabeth Malden had not been in my set of possibilities and I felt embarrassingly flattered that she was declaring that she liked me. The idea that I could be a Val if I wanted to, was just plain exciting, even if I still had trouble imagining that I would want it.

Becky leaned back and held her skirt down while she brought her legs up and tucked them across and under her, "May I begin my spiel?"

"Please," I compared what she'd done to my own ungainly sprawls that often involved one or more legs hanging over the arms or back of whatever I was sprawling on. I carefully crossed my legs at the ankles, keeping my knees together, and then crossed my hands on my lap. I couldn't suppress a small giggle at the thought that I would have to become a 'lady'.

Becky had observed my performance and read my mind. She laughed, "Yes, but only in public and it really isn't very hard, and there are a zillion exceptions."

I replied somberly, "I always knew the day would come."

"Jenny, you're making this fun already, which it's supposed to be. I was very nervous because you are my very first."

That gave me another impossible concept to chew on.

"Jennifer, I have to be serious for a moment or two. I alluded earlier to fully informed consent. That is a strict and serious requirement that is our obligation to you. It would be a huge institutional embarrassment if we signed a girl up who subsequently learned something about us that made her uncomfortable. If you decide to say 'yes, ' I cannot accept it until I have met that requirement."

"Wow!"

"That's it for serious, at least for now. I have an official checklist but the process is very personal. We talk and periodically I review the checklist and cross off items. But I have to get to know you better in order to make little decisions like what you'd most like to know next, how much detail to provide for individual items, and to form an opinion as to what sorts of things might make you uncomfortable so that I'm certain that I've covered them. The process should take a couple of weeks or so, no rush."

I must have looked dazed. I thought that I ought to be asking questions like crazy, but it seemed certain that Becky would answer most of them without being asked. She thought I would make a good Val, and she thought I would like it. But apparently it took two weeks to describe what being a Val was. How much time would I be willing to commit just so I could be a babe?

Becky continued, "Some quick things. We collect all of the information we can about candidates in lieu of having an application or try-out process. Part of our credo is to try to avoid hurting people's feelings, but it also has the effect of getting us a chance with people who wouldn't apply or try-out. How would I be doing if I was trying to get you to apply?"

I grinned.

"See, we're smarter than people think. We ask people to commit to a nominal six hours of assigned activity a week. As a practical matter that's one evening or a chunk of a Saturday or Sunday, or two smaller things. There are thirty-two Vals right now and only ten are assigned for a football game and five for a basketball game. It is very important to us that being a Val does not suck up our lives. At any given time there are at least a couple of Vals off of the assignment roster because of more important things they have going on. It is very important to us that Vals can do that, that being a Val helps to open doors without closing any.

"We can't quite achieve that. Girls who have made defining commitments in other areas cannot be Vals. If you were in training to be an Olympic swimmer, I wouldn't be talking to you. If you join us and then decide you want to make that sort of commitment, you would have to resign.

"If you join us and something outside of your control happens that prevents you from serving, you can retire. If you give us a full year and then decide to make one of those defining commitments, you can retire."

She paused and looked sour, "I didn't like having to talk about resignation and retirement. Those are often sad things. This is supposed to be upbeat and cheerful. I'm supposed to be sinking the hook in you, at least lightly. Could I have left those out?"

I thought about it, "I can't form an opinion. They could certainly have waited but that would seem to have the potential to accumulate and I don't imagine that you want this to be a rollercoaster. I found those things sobering, but not disturbingly so." I smiled, "You have me hooked, at least in that I feel like I'm looking at some great mystery that you're slowly revealing."

"Thank you. This is harder than I had anticipated. I don't remember as much detail from when my sponsor was recruiting me as I would like. It seemed to come so fast."

I smiled and nodded.

"The guidelines are that incomplete information must be for practical reasons rather than tactical and must not mislead." Becky leaned back, looked up, and frowned in concentration. "Who, what, and where."

She faced me again, "Officially we are simply the Varsity Cheerleading Squad. Our mission statement says that we promote and support activities and people who represent the school in public. That's shorter than the other squads' in that it doesn't include the word 'athletics' and doesn't refer to 'school spirit', deliberately so that we could interpret it in the broadest possible way. We try to do something for everyone who represents the school even in non-sanctioned activities. Except when it's religious or harmful or impractical. Want to do some guessing?"

"Sure," I offered. "The first one's easy; church and State." There were Vals who attended my church.

She smiled, "Bingo. Plus it's a minefield."

I was having a hard time with harmful. I could only come up with one thing, "Cheerleading?"

Becky guffawed and broke into laughter. She reached out to me with one hand and I held it while she got herself back under control. I was kind of embarrassingly proud of myself.

"Jenny, that was marvelous. You definitely have the right idea. It's not on the list but I'm going to propose it. Do you mind if I share it?"

I blushed but shook my head.

Becky pulled her phone out and started texting, she chuckled from time to time and seemed to be creating a large message. She looked up, "There aren't a lot of abbreviations for this. I just want to share it with the Vals because I know everybody's going to be tickled."

My blush got deeper.

She finished and sent it off. "Thank you Jenny, you just brightened the day for thirty-two people."

She turned serious, "There are just two school-sanctioned groups on our list. One is political and has, in our opinion, become racist while no longer tolerating debate in the area. The other is environmental and has gotten caught up in a kind of power struggle between two factions that are each trying to out-radical the other. We have some sympathy, because the same sort of thing has happened to us in the past, but that doesn't alter where they are and which way they're headed.

"As for unsanctioned, we try to look at anything that might qualify. We show up for skateboard competitions and we'll support a garage band if there's so much as a hint that they might ever consider coming out of the garage."

Something caught her eye behind me. She looked over my shoulder and smiled.

I turned around and found five Vals approaching and looking straight at me. They started clapping.

Why is there never a hole when you need one? My face assumed a sheepish smile and actually looked at each of them in turn. When they got close, my head bowed briefly and then my mouth silently formed the words "Thank you." This was all completely involuntary and well beyond my capabilities. It scared the shit out of me.

They stopped a few feet away from me, or perhaps I should say halted, as they'd been casually in step, and the one in the middle assumed the spokesperson role by grinning and taking a stutter step forward. I actually knew her, indirectly, as her parents were friends of my parents. Her name was Connie, short for Consuela, and she was a standout even amongst Vals. If I hadn't been on my best behavior I would have described her as pretty enough to make me gag. And her body had quite a bit of that which mine was short on, although I couldn't help thinking that the margin against my ass might be less than I would have thought an hour ago. She was a senior and I knew that she was an absolute fixture on the top of the Dean's List and she was going to Cal. Tech. in the fall which was enough to make me gag regardless of the state of my behavior.

The Goddess spoke, "Brava, dear Jennifer. That was delightful. We regret interrupting, but we felt that props should be delivered in person when someone earns an entry in the archives during their first chat." She walked around to the side of the chair and extended her arms to me.

I rose from the chair without tripping or falling, which established clearly that I still was not myself. I smiled right at her while I stepped into the hug, "Thank you Connie. That was very nice, but it was just something that popped out."

"It was a wizard pop, Jenny," she stepped back and began to introduce the first of the demigoddesses for my next hug.

Six very personal hugs from Vals in one day. I figured I might need therapy.

When they left ... I'm sorry, when they excused themselves, I just dropped onto the arm of the chair and took a deep breath. Soft clapping started behind me so I looked and found Becky with a broad smile on her face. I pushed myself back and flopped in the chair sideways. I gave her my best mulishly defiant look.

Becky grinned, "Most of the time it's just being aware of what's expected of you."

I thought that I was going to have to do some serious eyebrow tweezing and move beyond my two-second ponytail but I just stuck out my tongue at Becky.

"Jenny, people do say 'no' to us. It's almost always because they can't serve. We very deliberately do not collect information on, nor consider a candidate's family in any way, so we may not know about an impending move or a seriously ill family member. And we can just plain miss things. But some people do decide they don't want to. That happens about once every two or three years.

"So, Jenny, I'd like to take advantage of what I perceive to be a period of vulnerability, and ask you if you could serve if you decided that you wanted to?"

I thought that was pretty sneaky, but I swung myself around and assumed the ladylike posture; I blushed furiously and nodded.

Becky reached out and took my hand, "Jenny, a month ago a band whose name at the moment was 'Belted Radicals' was practicing in a garage for their first club date. Our vast intelligence apparatus had reported that they were pretty nervous about it. I was in charge of the Val activity. While they were playing, Conrad Walsh and I walked into the driveway and started to dance. A minute later two more couples joined us and then four more. I had five Vals and about fifteen other couples. The band just loved it, but can you imagine how I felt?" She was beaming.

Oh crap; it looked like with some padded bras and a lot of makeup, I was going to be a Val.

Except that I didn't think I could do it. I could imagine the rush she must have felt, and I wanted to be able to do something that would make me feel it, but I just could not imagine myself walking onto that driveway the way I knew Becky had. I couldn't imagine myself leading a boy like Conrad onto that driveway. I couldn't imagine myself smiling confidently at the band. I couldn't imagine myself just starting to dance in front of the band. There was Becky, holding my hand and beaming; I started to cry.

Instantly she was out of her chair and kneeling in front of me. I used my free hand to try to cover my face. She held my other hand in both of hers, "Jenny, what did I say?"

I whispered, "Becky, I could never do that."

She gripped my hand fiercely, "Jenny, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you but I should have known. I deeply regret what I did."

"It's not your fault."

"Jenny, may I talk? Can you listen to me for a little while? You don't have to look at me; it doesn't matter how you're sitting. Would you just listen to me?"

I didn't want to. What could she possibly say? But it wasn't her fault, "Okay."

"Jenny, I have to tell you about the bad things as well as the good ones. I thought of a bad thing earlier and I want to tell you about it now. May I?"

I nodded.

"Jenny, I am a complete expert at turning off boys, and men, who I don't want to turn on. It's a conditioned response now; I don't have to think about it at all. Every gradation from a tiny frown to calling 911, is programmed in. But most of them are sincere. I'm attractive and they're attracted. It bothers me that I don't have to think about it. It makes me feel cold. But there are so many of them that I cannot give them the individual attention that they deserve; I just apply the techniques that I've learned.

"Jenny, whether you join us or not, you're going to have to learn those techniques and I know that it's going to bother you."

Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw! I was still crying but I guffawed. And I was still crying when I started to laugh. I crudely wiped the tears out of my eyes and lowered my hand. Becky had a very solemn expression on her face. I guffawed again.

She held the expression while she reached into her bag and pulled out a tissue for me, "It's true."

I wiped my eyes, and my nose and my cheeks and my chin. I had no trouble imagining that Becky had intended to say that at some point, and it would have been completely serious. I had accepted, for the sake of continuing the conversation, that it might be possible for me to look attractive. I had come to believe that the Vals were confident of that, and I had felt a growing hope that they were right. But that didn't add up to being able to imagine myself as attractive.

In context, Becky had just scoffed at the very heart of my insecurities, in a rather oblique way.

"Becky, I'm sorry. That was childish." With my heart in my throat I continued, "You shouldn't waste your time with me."

"Honey, if emotions and insecurity were disqualifying factors, there wouldn't be any Vals at all. If you want me to withdraw the invitation, you're going to have to commit a major felony before we finish the checklist. It would have to include bloodshed. Besides, it was my fault. If I had just chosen an example that didn't involve being in charge, it wouldn't have done that to you. I'm supposed to anticipate that sort of thing."

"Becky, thank you. I hate to imagine what your IQ must be to have come up with that response so fast. But the whole thing did serve to bring me back to reality. I have some serious thinking to do." I hoped that she'd be willing to call it a day so that I could figure out if there was any point to this.

"I'm not feeling as smart as I did a few minutes ago. I wanted to make sure that I got you open to the idea that you might really enjoy being a Val. Our cheerleading doesn't win a lot of football games, or at least not in a way that any other squad couldn't; but we love to jump in when we're not expected, in ways where we can have a real effect. I wanted to show you the joy that's part of being a Val.

"But I let my enthusiasm get out of hand, and the most that can be said for it is that I didn't end up pregnant."

I couldn't help laughing.

"I knew that you were insecure about your looks and that it was the second worst kind; that you avoided thinking about it. But I also knew that you were pretty despite your best efforts to hide it through neglect, so when you agreed to set it aside, I did too. I did it without thinking or I wouldn't have. I still want to try to make that right; may I propose something?"

"Becky, you've already given me an awful lot to think about. I think I should do that." My eyes slid away from her while I was speaking.

"Please?"

"Okay." I hate it when people use that word on me; I'm not very good at saying 'no'.

"I mentioned that we use experts for things like makeovers. Would you go for a ride with me tonight to go visit one? It'll just be a casual thing at her home. You two can chat and she'll offer an opinion. Experience says that these things should be gradual, so she'll probably just recommend a couple of things. She can even show you what you'd look like. She's a real expert and an alumni Val, and she would really enjoy meeting you and doing this."

I still wanted to think, despite the attractiveness of some expert advice. But I focused on one thing that I didn't like, "Did she evaluate me as part of the selection process?"

Becky looked taken aback, "Oh no! Alumni play no part. All of the responsibility for everything rests on the serving Vals. She has never heard of you." She smiled, "As a general rule, any alumni would cream her undies at the chance to meet a candidate, it brings back pleasant memories. But this one has done it before, so I know how she feels about it. You'll have to remember that she doesn't have a checklist, so you shouldn't consider anything she says about the Vals to be the whole truth."

She looked me straight in the eyes and used that damned word again, "Please?"

When I got home, I went up to my room as soon as I could, took all my clothes off, and stood in front of the mirror. I looked myself up and down, and still saw a beanpole. I closed my eyes and told myself to look hard and think about what I was seeing. I reached back and released the clasp that was restraining my ponytail. I shook my hair out.

I thought about my hair and blinked, just opening my eyes long enough to capture an image.

Yuck, mousy brown and just hanging there, to about four inches below my shoulders.

Blink. If I thought about them in just the right way, my eyebrows were funny. Any other way, the most I could say about them is that they were not the least bit feminine. I had neuter eyebrows.

Blink ... Blink. I had to blink twice to capture my eyes without the eyebrows. Hazel is not a bad eye color and mine were on the light side. I had eyelashes although no two appeared to be the same length or thickness.

Blink. Nose is okay. On the small side, but not small enough to be cute.

Blink. I still had lips, neither thin nor full.

Blink. Face moderately heart shaped, but fortunately with a round rather than pointed chin.

Blink. Skin was blah. Nothing really wrong with it but it was neither fair nor rosy nor exotically dark.

I stopped for a few moments. It was time to go back to the beanpole. I'd been encouraged by my face, there were obviously things that could be done. I thought about stopping while I was ahead.

Blink. Little surprise. My shoulders were wider than I remembered and my torso definitely tapered inward below them.