step, puffing out her chest. “Problem?”
“Yeah, actually I do have a problem. With you.”
“I don’t know why you have a problem. I’m the one who has to make all the changes around here.” She took another step toward me. “I’m the one who has to get a makeover for this mission. ”
“Oh, would you grow up? Training and getting made over isn’t that difficult. Just deal with it.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot. This is your third mission .”
“Girls,” TL interjected, walking toward us. “Enough. You are going to have to work with each other on this mission to make it successful. So I suggest you suck it up, get over yourselves, and focus on the task at hand.”
Beaker and I eyed each other for couple of long, threatening seconds. Then gradually, without turning our backs on each other, moved back to our spaces.
“Again,” Coach Capri commanded, as TL returned to his viewing spot.
I brought my arms up, trying pop and lock, and noticed Beaker’s arms took on a snappier technique.
Coach Capri backed away. “Now to the music.”
Doing my best to ignore Beaker, I listened intently. I heard the thump, but I couldn’t seem to pop my arms to the rhythm. I either snapped a second too early or a second too late.
Coach tapped her ear. “Listen to the beat.” She went to the stereo and started the music over.
Tuning everything out, I listened and tried again. I popped too early. I tried again. I locked too late.
Pushing out a sigh, I shook my arms out and cut a sideways glance to Beaker. She didn’t seem to be having a problem staying in rhythm, and her smirk said she knew she was better than me.
Coach Capri came toward me. "GiGi, concentrate.”
“I am.” I thought about telling her I had no coordination. Instead, I looked over to TL, and he gave me an encouraging nod.
I tried again. I popped too early. Again. I locked too late.
Dropping my arms, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
My brain zoned in, as focused as when I keyed code. I tuned into the music, absorbing it, feeling it pulse through my body. Letters, numbers, and symbols took form, merging together to the beat. GSLK computer code linked in my mind in the same steady rhythm of the techno’s bass.
<6E 74 3E 20 78 66 72 6D> Pop.
<3B 0D 0A 69 6E 74 20 6A> Lock.
<3B 0D 0A 66 6F 72 28 6A> Pop.
<3D 30 3B 20 6A 3C 31 30> Lock.
“Good, GiGi,” TL complimented.
Opening my eyes, I smiled and snapped my arms into their next position. I would get through this training . . . and deal with Beaker.
Every day for The next week, Beaker and I woke up early to do homework, went to school, came home, and immediately began cheer training. We were now masters at pop and lock as well as handstands, clapping, and shouting cheers at the top of our lungs. It never would have occurred to me that people needed to practice clapping and shouting.
At night, David and I would meet in the lab to review things for the mission, run budget numbers, and complete any of the dozens of minute details involved. He’d update me on the tasks he was doing to help the mission run smoothly, like completing the enormous America’s Cheer registration pack.
And while Beaker still held no excitement about the upcoming mission, today she was downright pissed. Leaning back against the bathroom vanity, I eyed a very snarly-looking Beaker staring at a very eager Coach Capri. Today was makeover day and, clearly, Beaker was not happy about it. Then again, she was never really happy about anything.
Coach Capri dabbed a cotton ball with makeup remover and came toward her. “I don’t know how you can see through all that black gunk on your eyes.”
Beaker slapped her hand away. “I like my black gunk .”
“I take it
“Yeah, actually I do have a problem. With you.”
“I don’t know why you have a problem. I’m the one who has to make all the changes around here.” She took another step toward me. “I’m the one who has to get a makeover for this mission. ”
“Oh, would you grow up? Training and getting made over isn’t that difficult. Just deal with it.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot. This is your third mission .”
“Girls,” TL interjected, walking toward us. “Enough. You are going to have to work with each other on this mission to make it successful. So I suggest you suck it up, get over yourselves, and focus on the task at hand.”
Beaker and I eyed each other for couple of long, threatening seconds. Then gradually, without turning our backs on each other, moved back to our spaces.
“Again,” Coach Capri commanded, as TL returned to his viewing spot.
I brought my arms up, trying pop and lock, and noticed Beaker’s arms took on a snappier technique.
Coach Capri backed away. “Now to the music.”
Doing my best to ignore Beaker, I listened intently. I heard the thump, but I couldn’t seem to pop my arms to the rhythm. I either snapped a second too early or a second too late.
Coach tapped her ear. “Listen to the beat.” She went to the stereo and started the music over.
Tuning everything out, I listened and tried again. I popped too early. I tried again. I locked too late.
Pushing out a sigh, I shook my arms out and cut a sideways glance to Beaker. She didn’t seem to be having a problem staying in rhythm, and her smirk said she knew she was better than me.
Coach Capri came toward me. "GiGi, concentrate.”
“I am.” I thought about telling her I had no coordination. Instead, I looked over to TL, and he gave me an encouraging nod.
I tried again. I popped too early. Again. I locked too late.
Dropping my arms, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
My brain zoned in, as focused as when I keyed code. I tuned into the music, absorbing it, feeling it pulse through my body. Letters, numbers, and symbols took form, merging together to the beat. GSLK computer code linked in my mind in the same steady rhythm of the techno’s bass.
<6E 74 3E 20 78 66 72 6D> Pop.
<3B 0D 0A 69 6E 74 20 6A> Lock.
<3B 0D 0A 66 6F 72 28 6A> Pop.
<3D 30 3B 20 6A 3C 31 30> Lock.
“Good, GiGi,” TL complimented.
Opening my eyes, I smiled and snapped my arms into their next position. I would get through this training . . . and deal with Beaker.
Every day for The next week, Beaker and I woke up early to do homework, went to school, came home, and immediately began cheer training. We were now masters at pop and lock as well as handstands, clapping, and shouting cheers at the top of our lungs. It never would have occurred to me that people needed to practice clapping and shouting.
At night, David and I would meet in the lab to review things for the mission, run budget numbers, and complete any of the dozens of minute details involved. He’d update me on the tasks he was doing to help the mission run smoothly, like completing the enormous America’s Cheer registration pack.
And while Beaker still held no excitement about the upcoming mission, today she was downright pissed. Leaning back against the bathroom vanity, I eyed a very snarly-looking Beaker staring at a very eager Coach Capri. Today was makeover day and, clearly, Beaker was not happy about it. Then again, she was never really happy about anything.
Coach Capri dabbed a cotton ball with makeup remover and came toward her. “I don’t know how you can see through all that black gunk on your eyes.”
Beaker slapped her hand away. “I like my black gunk .”
“I take it
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