Our Girl Scootaloo

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It was on this return flight from Oshkosh that the topic first came up; Kevin and I had taken one plane with two of Scootaloo's friends, and she was at the controls of the other aircraft along with three friends. After a solid week of airplanes this and flying that, the topic was soon focused on the upcoming school year.

Susan spoke up: “So, who else is going to try out for cheerleading in the fall?”

“I hope they pick me for the squad,” Melissa replied wistfully. “I've been practicing to be a cheerleader ever since my sister Christine got in last year. Its a lot of work, and you have to be so fast and strong, but the things they can do...”

“Yeah, and at least at our school it's not like the movies –the squad members all look out for each other.”

“You don't know the half of it! ...Does anyone remember last year when Silvia's boyfriend, well...”

“I heard about that,” Scootaloo chimed in. “She came to school with a black eye and we didn't see her for like a week after that. Who was her boyfriend anyway?”

“Wait, you mean that jerk Matt Ross who spent like a week in the hospital right after Silvia took that week off? He said 5 big black guys jumped him in the parking lot, but no one ever caught them...”

Melissa gave them a sly smile. “Well I don't know. Personally, I never thought Christine looked like a big black guy.”

Melissa shrugged and continued. “Maybe its just me; I never saw the resemblance.” Then, as the awed silence stretched on: “Hey, Scoot, shouldn't you be flying the plane?”

“Huh? Oh, its been on autopilot for the last half hour. But that sounds awesome! I've kind of wanted to be a cheerleader ever since the track coach told me I couldn't actually compete in the meets. I didn't know our squad was so hardcore!”

“Well duh, I'm like the biggest nerd in this group and even I know you don't mess with cheerleaders.” Josie spoke up from the back. “When they go to competitions the staff keep an ambulance waiting outside the building.”

“Really? You've all seen the squad throw the flyer girls up fifteen feet in the air. What did you think happened if they didn't make the catch?”

“Yeah, that was probably the hardest part for my sister. Mom was not happy with her playing such a dangerous sport. It took months to get permission for the try outs, but hopefully that means I shouldn't have as hard a time getting in,” Melissa finished.

“At least your Dad didn't object,” Susan replied. “You should have heard my Dad when I asked last year. 'I won't have my little girl on display for everyone, prancing about in a skimpy outfit in front of a stadium full of horny teenagers!'” she imitated her father's voice and mannerisms as the girls snickered. “I only got him to agree to let me try out this year by telling him exactly what your mother didn't want to hear.”

“No, he thinks if I can handle such a hardcore sport then I should be able to take on anything or anyone life throws at me. He might have a point...”

“It does sound cool,” Scootaloo replied thoughtfully. “But who's the coach? And will they actually let me compete?”

“Oh you know her! She's the guidance counselor who got your phone back from Brittany last year; Ms Chisholm.”

“She's a cheerleading coach? But she's so nice! Our track coach is always yelling at the team and driving us on. How could a guidance counselor be a coach?”

Melenie shook her head. “You haven't seen anything yet, Ms Chisholm may be the nicest guidance counselor you ever met, but on the field she's a whole different person. She says she has to be because if the squad makes a mistake it's so much worse in cheerleading then in any other sport.”

Josie spoke up from the back. “I know its risky, but I always wanted to be one of the flyers, the prestige, friends, not to mention the boys who come to drool over our meets and fetch us Gatorades, and carry our books...without their shirts... Me-ow!”

The conversation soon moved on to other topics, but any misgivings she had before were gone now. A hardcore sport she could compete in, and someone she knew and liked was the coach; Scootaloo wanted in, and as soon as they got home she would take it up with her Dads.

“You want to do what?!” I asked in much the same tone I would have used if she had just told us she wanted to take up competitive pole dancing.

“I want to try out for the cheerleading squad. On the track team I'm just a glorified mascot; I can't really compete. The squad could really use me.” She mentally added 'as the best flyer ever!'

“Cheerleading is so objectifying! And the jocks on the teams you would be cheering for...” I trailed off as I remembered all the abuses I had endured at the hands of high school jocks. “Kevin, talk some sense into her!”

“Oh sweetie,” Kevin said as he held me. Then, to Scootaloo: “We both had a rough time in high school. The problems you had last year? Imagine getting that from half the school, for years, without let-up. We lost a lot of friends, and some of them... some left to avoid us, but some couldn't take it, and unlike Britney, no one tried to stop them.” He paused to find the words. “I never really knew hate until I watched a group of football jocks cracking jokes at the funeral of... of someone I cared about very much.” He wiped his eyes remembering that awful time. “So beyond any concerns about objectification, when you say you want to associate with the same groups whose members made our lives hell for years, yes, we are going to worry.”

“Oh Papa, I'm sorry, I didn't think...” Kevin pulled her over and we all just held each other while I fought back tears.

“Scootaloo, I don't think this is a good time to talk about this. Give us a day to think it over and we can talk again tomorrow.”

That evening after Scootaloo went to bed we sat up and talked it out.
“She's having an easier time in school as an equine then we ever did as gay teens, and her participation on the track team hasn't led to disaster... maybe it will be okay. She has some differences to work through, no doubt, but she also outweighs 95% of the people in her school and is much stronger than any of them. Remember when you needed help lifting the car for engine access and she just got underneath and lifted the front half like it was no big deal? She could put a hoof through a brick wall and everyone knows it.”

I nodded “She can take care of herself, and being an minor celebrity doesn't hurt either.”

“On the other hand, her grades still aren't back to where they used to be. All the drama and extracurriculars can't be helping. We know she's smart enough to make straight A's without a lot of effort, and she's only a few years from graduation now. Pony or not, she'll need to get into college soon, or at least have the skills for a day job.”

“It's easy to forget, but she is growing up so fast. And you're right, she's not living up to her potential academically...”

The next night, we took it up with Scootaloo at dinner. “We talked it over, and we are okay with you trying out for cheerleading on one condition.”

“All right!... Wait, is this about cleaning my room?” she asked. “Because I don't mind stepping on Legos an' junk in bare hooves.”

I grimaced remembering the last time I tried to wade into her room without shoes. “No, I was thinking about your schooling. Kevin and I have been teaching you since you were a little filly, and I have seen your class work for middle school; you are smarter than the work they're giving you and you're not being challenged.”

She opened her mouth to protest, thought about it... “Well... school has been pretty boring for quite awhile now...”

“I've often wondered how you could stay awake in class,” I added dryly. “If you are willing to work at your home schooling this summer you would have no trouble making it into 9th grade. Work with us on the academics, and we'll support you on cheerleading.”

She thought about it. “Well... I wouldn't mind skipping a grade and leaving certain girls behind... And if you'll let try out for cheerleading...”

“I'll even help you make the uniform,” Kevin smiled. “I know it still seems a long way off, but in only three or four years you'll be looking for colleges. Extracurriculars do make a difference on your application, and you never know, maybe you might win a scholarship!”

The rest of the summer was a blur of work, study and play as Scootaloo put away one textbook after another in the evenings and spent the days hanging out with friends. Kevin and I found a project aircraft, hauled it home on a trailer and Scootaloo helped us with engine installation.

I also took the opportunity to teach her how auto engines worked, and after an afternoon struggling and cursing as we worked on a inaccessible water pump buried deep in our car's engine bay, we had an idea.

It all started as I was cursing the idiots who designed the vehicle.
We had lifted the car up onto jack-stands and I was wedged in up to the shoulder under the front bumper trying to reach the bolts holding the pump in place. Scootaloo had removed the top engine mount and was prying on the engine so I would have any room to work at all.

Between curses I related a description of the mechanic that GM apparently thought would be working on their cars: “He would have one huge left arm, bigger around than his leg. #$&@ bolts! That would be used for your job.” I gestured up to where Scootaloo was prying on the engine and sweating considerably at the effort. “He would have a small right arm for delicate work, and a couple of &^%# tentacles to use tools in tiny spots like this!”

With a peal of laughter, she lost her grip on the bar, and the socket driver was hopelessly pinned by the weight of the engine. I managed to extricate myself from under the car, and we took a break to wash off the engine grease from our arms, hooves and faces. Over lunch she brought up the idea my joke had made her think of. While GM might never get their ideal mechanic, that didn't mean she couldn't fill the role.
“Think about it, Dad. My arms are designed to imitate normal human arms, but I bet if we asked, the engineers would build me a mechanical tentacle. It could even have different ends to do different tasks.”

I admit, I was startled. It was so easy to forget that the arms our daughter used so effortlessly were artificial. “You would want that?”

She gave me a look. “Well, not for daily use obviously, but there's no reason we couldn't keep it in the tool chest with the rest of the wrenches. Wouldn't it be nice if I could just...” and she tapped her rear hooves together and her arms folded out of the way, “plug in the new arms and just get to anything we needed, quickly and easily? You said yourself that this would be a ten minute repair with good access. Dad, we've been out here fighting with it for three hours.”

We let Scootaloo explain the idea to the engineers at the prosthetic design company, and I swear, their eyes lit up with glee. We had a set of prototypes in under a month, and with all the adapters, she was soon able to do in moments what would take me hours. To be fair, some of the interchangeable ends the engineers came up with were a little much, and I wondered for awhile what our girl would think of to do with a high-speed rotary tool, a torque driver and a rapid-tap probe that looked a bit like a tattoo gun. (You can't give engineers open-ended requests unless you are prepared for them to build a system that they would like.)

The amusing thing was that Scootaloo did eventually find uses for each of them. The rotary tool helped her complete some little soapstone sculptures for the art appreciation class she and Kevin took together at the community college learning annex, the torque driver let her help me with the car and build some alarmingly complex devices with her friends Josie and Melissa and poor Josie's little brother's Erector set, plus the rapid-tap probe was fairly easily adapted into a kind of hand-held sewing machine that let her help Kevin touch up hems.

It was mid July when Scootaloo got a got an unexpected call from an old friend of ours – Gerald. After his family rescued our daughter we had kept in touch, and though we didn't share a lot of interests, we made it a point to stay of friendly terms. Now Scootaloo had a chance to return the favor after a fashion.

Like most farms, Gerald's was large enough that the fleet of tractors and machinery needed a steady supply of fuel, and that meant keeping a tank containing hundreds of gallons diesel fuel. He had recently gone to refuel a combine, only to find someone had drained the whole tank, stealing thousands of dollars of fuel in a single night.

“No. Ya see, I set up a game camera, but they wore masks and took the plates off that busted old truck. Cops can't do anything about it, and I can't sit out there waiting for a month, hoping they come back. The tank's way out in the south fields, and that's a long drive...”

Scootaloo smiled to herself. “But not a very long flight. I see where you're going with this. You put in an alarm but you can't get there fast enough. How does your daughter feel about a sleepover?”

We talked it over and she promised to stay high and out of sight. She would use the cell phone capacity of her pilot/Google glass interface to call for help and keep the thieves in sight until law enforcement arrived.

Josie and Susan asked to tag along, and they spent the first week getting the feel for the farm, an environment none of them were used to. Gerald's family farm was primarily a grain and corn farming operation, but his neighbors did keep some livestock, and the girls used the opportunity to take horseback riding lessons. When we asked her about it over the video link on her second night on the farm her reaction was less than positive.

“I don't see why any little girl would want a horse. Real horses smell, and they crap everywhere!”

Between her pouty expression and her tone it took Kevin and I some time to stop laughing. “Well, most little girls don't know that, sweetie. Was it any fun to ride them?”

“Ugg, don't get me started. They are sooo dumb! It was like trying to ride a rabbit on a sugar buzz! The slightest sound or even something moving and the dumb thing would take off running! And they're not low to the ground like my bicycle, so if feels like riding a bicycle on stilts! Do you know how many times I got thrown off?”

She replied in exasperated tones. “Yeeesss. I can fly remember? Josie is going to have some bruises for a while though. And after a day of riding we had to spend two hours shoveling out the pen! I swear, they do nothing but eat and crap and run away. Miss Vita Bohème was right, internal combustion really is the ultimate accessory!”

After three days with no sign of trouble from the thieves, the girls got another taste of farm life when thunderstorms came on suddenly and began flooding the barn where the machinery was kept. Gerald woke the whole family at three in the morning, and they all pulled on clothes and rushed out into the pouring rain to fill sand bags and help dig drainage ditches as the thunder rolled. It took several hours to get things under control, but the faulty sump pump was eventually repaired, and the battle against the encroaching tide was turned. As Scootaloo brought another wheelbarrow full of sand for bagging around to the low side of the barn, thinking some very unladylike thoughts about the whole mess, Gerald caught sight of her.

“Nice work lass, you're pretty strong for as young as you are.” He complemented with a grin before squelching off through the mud to help his wife with the backhoe. It wasn't much, but being appreciated made it easier to put up with being soaked to the skin and ankle deep in mud at four in the morning.

By six they finally had things under control, and with the tools packed up, they all came back inside to dry off and devour a huge breakfast of pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage and hash browns. Scootaloo couldn't eat the meat, but the warm feeling of comradely and belonging seemed to make everything okay.

When the alarm went off on her sixth day at the farm, she tumbled out of bed, suited up and was out the window in under a minute- sleeping in her prosthetic was uncomfortable, but possible when necessary. She soon reached the tank in that distant field, and made her call to the state police as the thieves continued to unload the tank. Unfortunately, it took the dispatcher quite some time to understand what was going on, and where he needed to send help to. By the time anyone was on the way, the thieves were too, and Scootaloo orbited high overhead, following them and providing turn by turn directions as best she could, thankful for the monochrome FLIR camera that let her see them at all. After what seemed like forever, she finally picked out a cruiser moving to intercept, and before long the truck was pulled over and the chase ended.
The thieves actually had the gall to claim they owned the fuel, and demanded to know who was accusing them. Scootaloo sent the video recording she had made down to the officers, and that put an end to that as they were unceremoniously packed off to jail, complaining all the while about illegal drone aircraft.

With the problem solved and the danger over, Scootaloo and her friends were reluctant to go, but after an extra two nights 'just to make sure', Kevin came to bring them home.

That summer we also taught her to drive, admittedly a bit of an anticlimax after learning to fly. When she asked why, the response was simply: “Do you know what a DD is?”

She gave us a blank look. “Designated Driver. When you and your friends go out drinking in a few years, someone sober has to drive them home, and this way you can do so safely.”

I agreed. “And don't forget – if you ever get into trouble, if you ever need help, we are always here to come pick you up if you need it. You never need to drive, or fly, drunk.”

“Don't worry, Dad,” she agreed. “Twelve hours bottle-to-throttle. I know the rules!”

When school resumed in the fall, Scootaloo easily tested out of 8th grade in nearly every subject, and into 9th or 10th in the rest. The administration grumbled, but were ultimately overruled by her test scores and the recommendation of the remarkable Ms. Chisholm. Our daughter officially started the 9th grade.

Tryouts soon came, and Scootaloo made the squad, quit the track team, and began spending her after-school hours training with the other girls. While everyone else ordered their uniform, if fell to Kevin and Scootaloo to make hers. Kevin had purchased all the purple and white fabric ahead of time, so she brought home Christina and Steve, a new friend from the football team, and using Christina's uniform as a template, they copied the design and created a new uniform.

I soon learned to carry ear plugs when I went to pick her up after school – while cheers on the field may not sound like much, they were deafening in a gymnasium, and by her third practice session I made sure she had a set that fit her too -not so good as to completely muffle the sound of the cheers, but enough to damp them down and protect her hearing. The other girls were soon persuaded to follow suit, which had one positive effect...their cheers actually got louder.

As they got into more complicated patterns and gymnastics Ms. Chisholm delivered the news; While Scootaloo had been an obvious choice for flyer, it wasn't clear if the competitions would permit self propelled flight by a cheerleader, so they needed to practice drills with and without her flying.

“But I'm the best flyer ever. I can actually fly! And now they're saying I'm not allowed to fly in competition?!”

“Its not that simple” Ms Chisholm responded, “they haven't come back with a answer yet. If our squad doesn't do well it might not matter, but if we make it to state or nationals, you can bet that your flights will be used as an excuse to disqualify us.”

There was a murmur of surprise and anger from the girls and Christina spoke up “That's not fair, Scootaloo shouldn't have to give up flying just because some other team wants to better their chances!”

“We don't know if you have to or not, but we have to plan for the worst. What would happen if we used your flight in every major drill and then lost all our best material because you weren't allowed to fly?” Ms Chisholm shook her head “No, we will still practice some drills with you airborne, but the bulk of it must be without your... talents.”

“No, of course not. I've seen you in gym class and you can lift more than anyone else on the squad; we'll just train you as a base.”

Scootaloo had the good sense not to complain in front of the squad, but afterwards when she got home and was alone with Christina and Steven she let fly. 'It wasn't fair, she should be able to fly' and on and on about the unfairness of it all. Christina was supportive, and pointed out this wasn't the end of the world; she was a base herself, and no one could fly without a good base to catch them. “Well, almost no one...”

Steve backed her up too, and although he wasn't clear on what a 'base' was, he helpfully told stories of the bad coaches he had worked with and speculated about Ms Chisholm's motives. As Scootaloo kept complaining, Steve put an arm around her, and soon Christina excused herself and left. While Scootaloo eventually warmed up to her new role on the squad, she also saw more of Steven.

Her progress in school was much better, and as the year wore on she settled into a comfortable routine of cheerleading practice, school, homework and friends. She also brought home her first boyfriend for us to meet: Steve Brown.

They had met when she skipped into the 9th grade; he'd been over several times before, and somewhere along the way they had moved up to dating. We had our reservations about the young man, but after an initial FYI about our concerns, we kept our peace and let her figure it out. It lasted almost a month before she broke it off without explanation, at least to us. Kevin was cooking dinner and Scootaloo was out on the front porch with her friends when he overheard them discussing what happened though the open window.

“Oh, I'd been having second thoughts for a while.. it was like he wanted to be seen with me, like I was some kind of trophy. And I was beginning to think that was the only reason he was into me when...”

“Yea, how did he really get that broken rib? He didn't actually fall off a dirt bike did he?”

“Well... we were hanging out at his house and his parents weren't due back till late. He was coming on to me, and... he said he wanted to try something.”

“... You have got to be kidding me!” Josie said “He had you all to himself, and that's what he wanted to do?!”

“Well, instead of... getting on with it, he jumped on my back and tried to ride me around the house!”

After a silence it was Josie who spoke up “Wow, I knew Steve was a dumbass, but Damn what a dumbass!”

“Yea, after all the buildup that was the last straw. I told him to get off, and he didn't, so I... helped him off... into a table.”

“So after that I put my arms back on, which took way longer with that bit buckled on, and no help from Steve. After that I unbuckled the bit, and told him it was over; as if the table wasn't enough of a clue.”

“Well, it wasn't that bad. He just turned out to be kind of a... starter boyfriend.”

Further conversation was interrupted at that point as the burning meat on the stove set off the smoke alarm.

The first pep rally came soon enough, and though they were all nervous, the squad put on a good show with Scootaloo serving as both flyer and base. On one of the last drills Melissa slipped and lost her footing with her flyer still tumbling overhead, but with a dive, Scootaloo got underneath and caught her. I found out about her heroism when she called me at work right after a meeting.

“Hey Dad, um there was an accident at the pep rally today.” She hastily added “We're all okay, I just, kind of broke my arm.”

“Yea, its my left... Do you still have the drawings for it? We're going to have to make a new segment, and probably ship it back to the lab to have the broken drive motors replaced...”

“Don't scare me like that Scootaloo! I'm just glad you're okay. We can work on your arm tonight, and in the mean time you can use the... automotive right arm.”

That accident was the last time Scootaloo used her prosthetic on the squad – Ms Chisholm took one look at the broken shards of carbon fiber and put her foot down. Scootaloo grumbled, but eventually learned to drill without it, though she sometimes referred to chearleading practice as her personal shibari practice when she was feeling grumpy. (Knowing what our own teenage years were like, our policy was that if it didn't involve meeting someone from online or Nigerian princes, Scootaloo's computer was her own business.)
And during the week she used her automotive arm, she did manage to absolutely win the heart of her shop teacher, as well as the contest for best birdhouse.
Junior high was going well for our little girl.

Our girl Scootaloo 1 of 3

by Cozy Mark IV

Ch 6: That Poor Table