Cheerleader Kait Dredd Today

"Miss Dredd?" Coach Henderson frowned. "You're up."

Coach Henderson’s face reddened. "You have ten seconds to start, or you're off the squad."

She launched into a back handspring that turned into a layout, but mid-air, she twisted into a combat roll and landed in a low, feral crouch, her eyes scanning the empty bleachers as if looking for an enemy. cheerleader kait dredd

She plucked the varsity letterman jacket off the bench—the one reserved for the squad captain—and put it on. No one stopped her. No one could.

Then she smiled—her real smile—and walked home to sharpen her poms. "Miss Dredd

Kait pushed off the bleachers and walked to the center of the mat. She didn't skip. She didn't wave. She just walked. Then she turned to face the panel of judges, popped her gum, and said, "Change the track."

There was nothing "bouncy" about it. It was a martial art disguised as a cheer routine. Each "Hey!" was a percussive, guttural shout. Her jumps weren't toe-touches; they were airborne scissor kicks that could take a man’s head off. Her arm motions were sharp, angular, brutal—like she was shattering invisible glass with her forearms. She chanted, but the words were wrong. She plucked the varsity letterman jacket off the

"I know," Kait said quietly. "It's better."