As you and Holly continue walking down the path away from the gym and towards the clearing where the next activity was being held, you continued happily talking about all sorts of different techniques and stories about competitions you’d been a part of. It was funny; even though you were making everything up, the more you talked about it, the more vivid the “memories” seemed to become in your mind. You could almost really picture everything you were describing; the feel of the various cheerleading outfits, the flashes of light at the football games and the roar of the crowd, the excitement of waving the trophy at the competition hall.....
The other funny thing was that your head was starting to feel kind of...well, fuzzy. You’d never been the best at school—-it wasn’t that it was hard, but you just didn’t really care all that much about it when you could be doing so much more interesting stuff, like coming up with new strategies for your favorite games. But now you couldn’t seem to remember much of anything beyond the basics from school. It almost seemed like information was being replaced or overridden by your new feminine memories and behaviors the longer you stayed like this.
If someone had asked you before you arrived at this camp to describe anything to do with fashion, you’d have given them a blank stare and mumbled something about shirts or the sweaters your grandparents send you every holiday season. It was even more of a surprise, therefore, that you and Holly drifted from cheerleading onto the subject of clothes you owned, or had seen at the store back home and really wanted to buy when you got back....and found yourself actually interested. It took skill to look your best every day after all, you thought...and then wondered where THAT thought had come from. After all, you barely combed your hair in the morning before you’d come here.
Finally, after about ten minutes of walking, you and Holly reached the next area. A small volleyball court—a net, with a square “floor” made out mattresses laid out across the clearing—had been set up, and there were about a dozen or so girls already standing around waiting.
The counselor was a Asian woman with bright orange sunglasses perched at a stylish angle. She smiled at you all and waved.
“Hey, my name is Lisa, and this is the volleyball station! Anyone who needs to change can go in the cabins back there”—she points to a building situated in the back of the clearing—“and use the changing rooms. The camp took the liberty of supplying you all with spare uniforms—after all, we don’t want those pretty cheerleading outfits getting dirty, right?” She adds with a wink. You had to admit you really didn’t want your cheer uniform to get dirty, and so trooped into the changing room alongside the other cheerleaders.
The spare clothing the camp had provided was a hot pink t-shirt with “Camp Ravenwood” written on it in black lettering, as well as a pair of black shorts. The changing room was divided up by numerous stalls, which offered a lot of privacy; even had you wanted to check out the “other” girls, it wouldn’t have been possible. Changing quickly, you stashed your cheerleading outfit by the door and, along with everyone else, made your way out to the volleyball court.