You would think that being cut from a school sport would not be such a big deal. You would that the person would try out, not make it, and simply go on with their lives. You would not think it would cause someone to become depressed.

But you thought wrong.

In my first year of middle school, sixth grade, I thought for sure that I would become a cheerleader come June. I would practice outside on my trampoline, stretching and going through routines and so on. Most of my friends were trying out, and I had high hopes for cheer.

The try-outs were during a humid almost-summer week of school, held in the gymnasium for about two hours. At first it was a little overwhelming seeing high school girls being thrown high into the air, having so much trust in their teammates. But as the week progressed and I learned more and more, my job as back-spot became fun for me. Of course, I would have liked it better to be the one being thrown out of others’ arms, but my height held me back.

But as I noticed the other stunt groups learning more than mine and being thrown higher and caught swifter, my hopes began to die down. And, eventually, my entire group did not make the cut. I cried and cried in front of everyone, but I never really cared that much throughout my seventh grade year.

Then came try-outs for the eighth grade squad.

When I walked into the high school gym for the second time in my life, seeing cheerleaders jumping and stunting and tumbling, I felt like I had come home. That week I had gained newfound hope. I had a new group (with a girl who had made it the previous season) and more experience. Plus, there had been rumors that seventh graders made the team more often than sixth graders. I was almost positive that I would make it that year. I even knew a few of the coaches!

But I again ended up being cut.

I still do not know why I had been so sad and angry about not making it. A lot of kids thought it was because I wanted the glamorous, popular, image of the almighty cheerleader. But it wasn’t. Even if cheerleaders were considered “nerds”, I would have fallen in love with the sport, anyway. To this day, I still question why I had not made it. But all I know is that I wish I had never gotten involved with the addicting, infamous cheer.