Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

M y baby sister is at that age where she absolutely loves me, but she wants nothing to do with sitting still and watching me do what I love.

I’ve spotted my mom running the bleachers at Eastern College at least a dozen times in the last hour, either chasing my sister up and down the steps or scooting her off to the bathroom. Our squad is up next, and my mom is nowhere to be found. But someone else just showed up, and suddenly I’m sweating bullets.

I assumed when Wyatt said he would come to my cheer competition he was being nice, but when he confirmed the time with me early this morning, I realized he was serious. Still, he had film review today. And if his coach is anything like my dad, I can’t imagine they got through everything before ten. Yet here he is—ten-fifteen and fifty miles away from home.

“I take it things between you two are . . . progressing?” Tasha hugs me from behind and rests her pointy chin on my shoulder like a dart. I squirm and she only holds on tighter, her teased out ponytail mingling with mine.

“It’s all kind of overwhelming,” I admit to my friend.

“ Hmm , I see that. But still,” she pulls away and twists me to face her. “It must be nice. I mean, Bryce never shows up for competitions. Hell, none of our guys show up. Yet, look at that corner of the gym.”

She points up to the second-level seats above where Wyatt is standing, and it takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the sight. There are a dozen of them, maybe more, all wearing their Mustang jerseys. Some of them have signs covered in glitter.

“Did they make those themselves, you think?” I ask Tasha.

“My guess is yes. Did you see those bubble letters?”

I squint at the sign that reads GO LADY MUSTANGS and chuckle.

“It’s a little scrunched up at the end,” I say through my laughter.

“Peyt, it looks like they turned that shit on its side with the glue wet,” Tasha jokes.

I give it another inspection and nod.

“Yeah, but at least they showed up. We have to be at their game every single Friday, and yet they can’t bother to show up once.” My stomach sinks at my own words because that statement? It covers my dad, too.

We both look on as the group of bulky guys squeeze into the bleacher seats amid hundreds of cheer moms. A quick survey of the gym proves they’re the only football team to show up for their cheer squad. And my gut tells me the reason they’re here is because Wyatt convinced Coach and his teammates that they needed to show their support.

Tasha leaves me at the practice room doorway, and I linger for a few extra seconds until Wyatt spots me and lifts a hand. He nods up the stairs toward his teammates, and I shake my head with a silent laugh and a pang of jealousy that they all showed. He gives me a thumbs up, and I remind myself that at least one of them is here for me.

I return to my squad as he heads up the steps to join the rest of his team. The girls are all sitting in a circle, stretching and visualizing, when I step up behind two of the younger members.

“She’s only on the squad because her dad is who he is,” one of them says. I stop a few steps behind them and hold my breath.

They think they’re being quiet, covering their mouths with the fronts of their hoodies pulled up, like pitchers talking to catchers in the middle of a game. Only those guys? They’re plotting the best pitch to throw. These girls are just being mean. About me!

“I wonder if Coach will cut her ass when her dad finds out she’s hooking up with the Vista QB. I bet she’s doing that for attention, to make Daddy angry.” This one is named Stephanie, and she laughs like Cookie Monster as her mean-ass friend, Langley, spots me in her periphery. She turns ghost white in a blink, like, as in even her freckles vanish.

“Hey, ladies. Make some room?” I part my hands as if I’m parting the sea, and they quickly scoot in opposite directions. The pale one looks sick, but Stephanie, the one who thinks Coach will cut my ass? She seems up for a challenge.

I’ve been talked about most of my life. That’s part of the curse of having a famous dad. And when you’re a teenage girl, it’s like you instantly have a target on your back for bullies of all ages. In their eyes, nothing I get is ever because I earned it. It doesn’t help that cheer is so intertwined with football, so the leap that my dad is involved isn’t a big one. Sometimes I wish like hell I was drawn to anything else—figure skating, sculpting, the piano. Anything!

But I love tumbling. I love making my body strong and being part of a team. And if I’m honest with myself, I even love the goddamn Friday nights. What I don’t love, though, is overhearing people disparage me. It’s not only that their words hurt—which they do—it’s that I know they’ve said those things a lot, all of the times I wasn’t listening. Meanwhile, I’ve been nice to their faces. And when it came to these two, I cast the final vote to put them on varsity.

I hold all of that in and instead turn my attention to Stephanie when it comes time for me to lead us through stretches.

“Why don’t you take this one?”

Her eyes widen briefly before blinking a few times.

“You mean, lead?” She leans her head toward the inner circle.

I force my laugh to remain breathy and light—friendly.

“Yeah. You want to be captain one day, right? This will be good for you. Get us hyped. First big comp of the year. Take us out to mat.”

Tasha leans forward from a few people down and meets my gaze. I drop my smile for a blip, my mouth a hard line as my eyes bore into her. We’ve been friends long enough for her to get a sense of what I’m doing. Also, this is not how my friend would handle this. She would call Stephanie out in front of everyone and probably threaten to punch her in the throat. Then there would be detentions involved, and we’d be down two girls for the next two weeks.

My way is better. This is how my mom taught me to handle things. By letting people have the floor and either rise to the occasion or dig their holes deeper.

“Are you sure?” Stephanie whispers.

“Uh huh.” My smile is Teflon.

“O-kay,” she says, her voice vibrating as she stands and moves to the middle.

“Girls, Stephanie is going to take us out today. Let’s give her our best,” I say, my palms flat on the floor between my legs as I prepare to stretch.

“I’m so sorry you heard that,” her friend mutters from next to me. I wondered how this would go when she was alone.

I tighten my lips and breathe in through my nose, following along as Stephanie leads us through our first stretches.

We all lean forward, stretching our palms to the center, and I maintain my focus on the small space between my two thumbs.

“Don’t be sorry,” I say. “I’m glad I heard it. It’s nice to know what people say when they don’t think you’re listening.”

While the spirit of that statement is true, it also sucks. It’s not that I wish I didn’t hear their words, though; I wish they never said them at all. That’s the difference.

“Can I teach you something, though, Langley?” I roll my head to the side and meet her waiting stare. She looks petrified, and her eyes are glossy. She may have just gotten caught up in things, which is good. It means this lesson will be good for her. Good to her. In the long run.

“People who say things behind other people’s backs . . . are probably also talking about you that way when you aren’t around to hear it.” I sit up slowly, sliding my hands along the floor as Langley does the same. She swallows hard.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks.

And all I can seem to say is, “Okay.”

We finish our stretches and Stephanie pulls us all into a tight cluster to start our hype cheer. I keep my promise and let her run the show, though she’s not as good as I am. It’s good enough for today. And maybe she’ll walk away with a better perspective on things. Or maybe not.

The Chandler High team finishes their routine to massive cheers, which I can tell intimidates some of my teammates. They need more than the hype session Stephanie left them with, but they also deserve my entire heart in it. And right now, I need to go somewhere and cry.

There are ten minutes between routines, time for the judges to tally scores, and for the inspectors to check the mats and set up our props. I mumble something about going to the restroom as I move toward the hallway and deep into the bathroom. I step into the far stall and pull the door shut just as my eyes begin raining tears. But as I close the door behind me, someone tugs it the other way.

I gulp with fear at first, not wanting to get caught, but then I see it’s Tasha and let everything I’ve been holding on to so tightly go.

“Hey, come on. Step in there,” she says, ushering me toward the toilet so she can squeeze in with me and shut the door.

I laugh at how absurd this is, but the tears are still welling up. I fan my face with my hands and blow out through my mouth like my mom does with her hot flashes.

“My mascara?—”

“Oh, babe, that’s toast. Don’t save it. Just let it go,” Tasha says, pulling me into a hug. She still has her sweatshirt on, thank goodness, so I sink against her and let my tears run down my cheeks, destroying the glitter bear paw print Lexi spent an hour perfecting this morning.

“Those girls are bitches. I told you we shouldn’t have taken them on varsity,” she says.

I quake with sad, pathetic laughter because she was so mad when I fought to save them. Irony. Sad fucking irony.

“They aren’t bitches. They’re young,” I say, trying to be what I preach.

She steps back and holds me at arm’s length, hands on my shoulders, and I meet her hard stare.

“Peyton. I love that you want to believe women are inherently good, because yes, we are so much better than males. But some of us? Just plain bitches.”

This time, my laugh is genuine and a little louder.

“I fucked up Lexi’s paw, didn’t I?” I blabber.

Tasha shakes her head but proceeds to nudge flecks of gold and glue on my face with the sharp tip of her fingernail. I still don’t know how she tumbles in those.

We breathe together for nearly a minute, and when my emotions are finally in check, I unlock the stall door and check my friend’s handiwork in the mirror. The paw print is missing a toe, but I doubt anyone will notice. Even Lexi.

I follow my strong best friend to the exit, touching her spine before she pushes the door open. She glances to me over her shoulder and I mouth, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” she says.

Her faith in me is enough to push me to be the leader my team deserves.

With five minutes to mat, I gather everyone behind the set and prepare the new team members with what to expect.

“There will be fog when you run through the balloon arches and it will smell terrible, like burnt popcorn. Smile anyway,” I say. “The bases will run out first and set our spots, the rest of you will work around us. It’s imperative that we leave our tumblers enough room to really stretch. We don’t want a repeat of last year’s championship.”

A few of my teammates nod while others scan their faces, not entirely sure what I’m talking about. Lexi knows since she’s the one who tumbled right off the stage.

“The most important thing of all is that we are one. We do this together. If one of us falls, we pick that person up. If one of us nails it, we celebrate them loud. We smile through everything. We are proud of every stunt. We wait until tomorrow to pick apart skills. Today—right now? We rule. Are we ready?”

“Yes we are!” the upperclassmen shout.

“I said are we ready? ” My voice almost sounds hoarse, but it’s worth it when every single member of our squad joins in. I don’t have to look to know we’re turning heads. I feel it.

It’s exactly twenty seconds from the time our school is announced to the first beat of our music. And for the next two minutes and fifteen seconds, we are precise and loud. My legs buzz with energy, partly in thanks to adrenaline but mostly thanks to the energy drink I pounded before I saw Wyatt was here.

I throw and catch with confidence, and when it’s time for me to do my standing back tuck, I’ve mostly forgotten that the girl flipping next to me hurt me at all. Our hands link for the final stunt, and we catch our flyer together, setting her on the floor and falling into splits just as the music ends.

“We are Coolidge! C - H - S!”

We’re a bigger squad, so we’re usually louder than most of the teams we compete against in the state. But we sound twice our size today. And the reaction from the crowd fills my chest with warmth, like everyone is somehow hugging me from the inside.

We scurry off the mat, and the usual post-show energy takes over. Everyone loves everyone right now, but there’s a nagging burn in the center of my chest when Stephanie pulls me into a hug. I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, to believe she’ll be a better person now that she’s been taught a lesson. But that ache in my heart tilts me otherwise. Tasha is right. Some girls are just bitches.

“You have a fan,” Tasha says, nodding over my shoulder.

I spin around and find Wyatt waiting near the hallway that leads to the restrooms and the small lounge with the vending machines. I jog over to him, but slow before I reach him, nervously balling my hands into fists at my sides. All I want to do is throw my arms around him and let him tell me he’s proud, but I can feel the eyes on my back. The knives at my back. Maybe they’re imagined, and perhaps if I hadn’t heard those terrible things, I wouldn’t be so afraid right now. But I did. And I am.

Wyatt scans the group behind me and drops his hands into his pockets, seeming to be all right with playing it cool about us too.

“That was bitchin’,” he says, and I spit out a hard laugh.

“I’m sorry, but the eighties called, and my grandma wants her word back,” I tease.

His neck turtles a bit, but not for long.

“I’m bringing it back. I’ve been using it all day. Just ask Whiskey. I’ve got him on board.

“Uh, do you think it’s smart to teach Whiskey new words?” I joke.

We both laugh, but it dies out in seconds, leaving an awkward quiet in its place.

“For real, though. You guys were awesome. You’re going to take first or whatever at this. Is it gold? How do they rate these things?”

“It’s first. Sometimes it’s gold, though. And sometimes it’s Superior, or points.”

His eyes flutter as he shakes his head.

“I think I’ll stick with touchdowns and extra points.”

“Fair enough,” I say. I glance behind me and catch a few people still looking in our direction.

“I’d take you home today, but I sort of turned this into a thing so now my truck is full.” He shrugs and gives me a crooked smile.

“You know, Tasha was pretty impressed to see you all show up like this. Our team doesn’t turn out for cheer comps.” I don’t mention my dad and his lack of presence in that statement, but the way Wyatt winces makes me believe it’s silently understood.

“They’re missing out,” he says, his eyes softening a touch. Your dad’s missing out. I hear what isn’t said.

His gaze lingers on mine, and my lips buzz with nervous energy.

“You really turned this into a team activity just so you could watch me?” Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions and the guys decided to tag along on their own. Maybe they finished film early. Maybe?—

“I’d walk through hell to watch you shine,” he says, cutting me off mid-thought.

And suddenly, the eyes fixed on the back of my head matter so very little. I’m wrapped around him in a blink, and my mouth covers his before either of us can take a breath. My lips cover the small scar forming on his upper lip as he holds my thighs, my legs wrapped around his waist. He turns me slowly, and I can feel his smile stretch along my mouth as some of my teammates whistle. A few of the girls from other squads catcall, and my neck and cheeks burn from the attention. But his smile keeps growing, and I kiss it until it stretches so wide it's impossible for me not to reciprocate.

“That was . . . unexpected,” he says, setting my feet back down on the floor.

“You were unexpected,” I reply.

It’s cheesy, and I suck in my bottom lip, a little embarrassed that I’m being so soft and mushy. But I needed that kiss. I needed this boy. I needed him to show up today, and he did.

“I’d like to see you tomorrow,” he says.

“I’m working at Jack’s. Building character and all that.”

“Good, because I’ll be hungry. For two, maybe three meals. I hear the pancakes are amazing.” He backs away with a wink, that same fucking wink that pierced my tough exterior almost a month ago. And when I finally face the girls who made me cry, I decide that Tasha is on to something, but so am I.

People will surprise you in so many ways.