The First Dream

Luckily, I had a whole other world outside of school. The acting thing was only a small part of my life then. I had started doing competitive cheerleading when I was six and for a long time it really was my everything.
My mum got me into it. We lived on a big farm, which was incredible, but there was no neighbours nearby, no kids around for us to play with besides each other. Which wasn't bad, in my mind. I loved the animals and I loved hanging out with my cool big brother, Trace (I call him Trazz), my amazing big sister, Brandi, my little brother, Braison (I call him Brazz) and my baby sister, Noah - when she came along. But my mum wanted me to have some friends besides horses, chickens and my brothers and sisters. Not in that order. (Okay, maybe in that order.) Since Mum had loved cheerleading as a kid, she wanted me to give it a try.
The first day I was supposed to go practise, I was not happy. I begged: Please don't make me go! What's wrong with having horses and chickens and little brothers as my only friends? They won't let me down, they won't laugh at me - sure, they smell a little (sorry, Brazz) -- but that's okay. I'm not shallow.
It may not be obvious from my life today, but being around new people makes me anxious. Just the idea of walking into a room of strangers keeps me up at night. Anyway, I knew that my dad was on my side about the whole not going to cheerleading thing. He travelled so much that he just wanted us kids around whenever he was home. But my mum stuck to her guns and I went. And because mums are right way too much of the time, I loved it instantly.
Cheerleading took a lot of time. A lot. I was at the gym every day. We worked out. We tumbled. We practised two-and-a-half-minute routines over and over and over again. I became best friends with Lesley and the other girls on the team and my mum became friends with their mums. We travelled together to competitions, stayed in motels, swam, goofed around, did our hair and makeup with out mums and had instense, incredibly hard-core competitions. I was really into it.
Sometimes I was too into it. One time I got really sick right before a competition in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. I could not stop throwing up. You know, one of those stomach things where even if you take a sip of water, you retch? Yeah, it was bad. But how long could it last? I was sure I'd be better in time for the competition. So I made my mum take me and I spent the whole four-and-a-half-hour drive lying down in the backseat with a garbage can next to me, sleeping, throwing up, and sleeping some more. We got to the hotel in Gatlinburg and I was no better, but I still wanted to compete. My coach said there was no way I could do it. She tried to stop me, but I insisted. I knew I could do it if I pushed myself.
Thirty minutes before we were supposed to go on, I pulled myself out of bed, showered and we drove to the meet. I went out, did the routine, walked off the stage and threw up into a trash can. But I did it. And that was what mattered to me.
When we would get in the car after every competition, even if we lost, my mum would say "Here's your trophy!" and hand me a gleaming trophy with my name on it. Growing up, my room was full of trophies. All from my mum, the biggest and best fan a girl could have. I may not have deserved every single one of those trophies, but the Gatlinburg trophy - that one I know I earned.