23. Abel

Staringat my reflection feels strange, the person looking back at me a mask of one I’ve never worn before.

My fingers curl around the ribbed edge of the skirt I’ve only just now put on for the first time. I think a part of me was afraid to put on something so… blatantly feminine. Something clearly not made for someone like me.

I press the pleated hem down over my exposed thighs, and the light blonde leg hairs that catch in the light make me cringe.

“You look amazing, but I think you already know that,” Sierra says to my right as she drags the sharpened end of a lip pencil over the line of her bottom lip again, for some reason. I follow the movement through the mirror, readily avoiding myself.

“I’m surprised Ms. B even let me get the skirt,” I reply instead.

Sierra shrugs, popping the lid back on and smacking her lips. “She’s all about equality and shit. You wanted to wear it, so it’s that simple.”

I smile. Ms. B is the shit. “I know. But aren’t there like… state regulations or something?” My brows furrow.

“Yeah, but I don’t think she cares,” Cassie says from somewhere behind me. “Or anyone else, really. It’s not that big of a deal. You’re still following their rules.”

My eyes catch on my legs again. Bruised and scarred and hairy. “It’s too late now, anyway.” I force a laugh, wishing I was at least buzzed to get through this. I’m pretty sure I’m going to forget every single fucking cheer I’ve spent the last couple of weeks learning. My head is empty for everything except hating what is staring back at me.

Each stall is filled with girls changing and touching up their hair and makeup. The chatter is loud, but the hum of it actually keeps it so I can’t spiral too hard because just as I start to sink in the vortex, Sierra bumps into me, knocking me into the reflective glass.

I shoot her a glare that has no heat as I tug on the hem of the short purple and white top that barely skims the high waist of the matching skirt. Ardent is written across my chest in white block letters with two downward triangular lines below.

“Here.” Something is shoved into my hand, and I grasp it before I even realize what it is. As I stare down at the pink, electric razor, I feel my cheeks bloom with warmth.

“What’s this for?” Stall doors slam shut, locks sliding into place. More bustle and chatter.

“You all have five minutes!” Ms. B calls from outside, garnering everyone’s attention.

Sierra’s eyes flash as she zips up her bag, eyes back on herself in the mirror. “It’s okay that it bothers you, and it’s okay if it doesn’t. Go—shave. Make it quick. You don’t wanna be late. Ms. B will be pissed.” With a kiss blown in the air, Sierra walks out of the bathroom, long, dark braids slapping against her back as she bobs her head.

Once she rounds the corner, my head drops to the razor in my hand with a small, albeit relieved smile. I’m not sure if I pissed off or pleased some god to have inadvertently made a friend of Sierra Jones.

Plopping down on the toilet in the handicap stall, I lift my foot to the silver handrail and hit the power button. A low buzzing fills the rapidly emptying room as I bring it to the skin just above the canvas of my pink shoes.

Pink shoes I’m not supposed to be wearing, but in all honesty, I totally fucking forgot it was a requirement to get white shoes. So, I’m sure Ms. B will be pissed, but my feet are way too fucking big to fit into anyone’s extras—not that there are many of those, either.

Shoulders tensed to my stretched earlobes, I slowly drag the razor up my shin. A few hairs catch, making me hiss, but I surprisingly make quick work of it with every pass.

By the time I’ve finished both legs, all the way up to the spanks covering my ass beneath my skirt, I’m sure it’s been well over five minutes. When I stand, I rub my legs together, smiling brightly at the new sensation of bare skin.

My eyes fill with a burning sensation that quickly travels to my nose as I stare at myself in the mirror, feeling like a completely different person. No blonde hairs catch in the light, only naked, mostly smooth skin. And when I lift my skirt, the scars on my thighs appear darker, newer without the occlusion of hair.

My lips twist into a smile reminiscent of the ones burned into my skin as I drag the tips of my fingers over them, up over the spandex of my spanks, and down when I fix the skirt back in place.

I blink through the tears on a deep breath I hold tight in my lungs, refusing to ruin my makeup. Leaning in, I smack my purple-painted lips, then smile brightly, loving the contrast of the color against my crooked, white teeth.

My eyeshadow is purple too but more subtle with just a few light strokes of powder to give color along with dark mascara. I told Sierra I thought glitter would be amazing, but I guess there are very strict rules about glitter during competitions. Something about slipping on it? I roll my eyes all over again. That shit doesn’t make sense but whatever.

“Abel, get your little ass out here!” Sierra’s voice echoes through the bathroom. I run my hands over my braids one last time, fixing a few wayward strands before running my fingers over the freshly shaved sides.

Today’s the day for change, it seems.

“It better fucking stop here,” I mutter to myself as I turn away from my reflection and grab my bag.

Sierra’s dark eyes are wide when I step out into the hall. “What part of five minutes did you not understand? Come on; let’s go.” She grabs my elbow and yanks me into a speed walk.

When we meet up in the hall with the rest of the squad, conversation bleeds into soft whispers and then nothing as we all face our coach, waiting for instruction. Her eyes rove over all of us, a small smile on her weathered face.

“You all look wonderful. Though, Abel, don’t think I didn’t clock the pink shoes.” Her subtle call-out makes me blush. My head drops between my shoulders as I toe the ground.

“Sorry, I forgot, and no extras fit me.”

“It’s okay for today. Just try to get some before the next game, all right?” I nod without looking up. “Excellent. How’s everyone feeling? Confident? Nervous?”

An array of responses flutter around, a mixed review but mostly just excitement. The squad is almost entirely made up of seniors, so it’s their last year of cheering before they’re off to college or whatever the fuck they plan to do after the illusion of high school ends.

As the chatter persists, I pull my phone out of my bag and swipe through the few notifications on my screen. I click on the texts from Elise with a smile that hurts.

Elise:

Hey, you! I’m so excited to see you cheer tonight! Look for me in the bleachers. I’ll be wearing purple (distinctive, I know) but I’ll be cheering the loudest for both my boys! Go Wolves! 3

Tears clog the back of my throat, and it’s not until a few drops splatter across my screen that I realize I’m crying. Sucking it back, I blink rapidly, keeping my head straight down so I don’t smear it as I wait for the last of the tears to drop.

With the sides of both index fingers, I run them along both lashes, clearing the wetness with another sniffle. For fucks sake, Elise. Why do you have to be so good?

Why do I have to be so rotten?

With a shuddering sigh, I lock my phone and shove it back in my bag. I can’t respond to that—not without already feeling like the biggest piece of shit.

Elise and I have breakfast together every morning. When she gets home from work, she knocks to make sure I’m up, and then, after working all fucking night, proceeds to cook me food. Eggs, pancakes, french toast, whatever. We sit and eat together. She asks about school, how I’m doing. If I need anything.

Sometimes Peris joins, but more often than not, he grabs something to go and is out the door, leaving me to walk the ten minutes to school. It hurts a little watching Elise’s face as she watches her son leave but more so because I know it’s my own fault.

Life has never been so fucking good to me. And I tried not to fall for it—Elise’s kindness and the comfort she brings—but it was impossible, and I know that now.

Feeling secure, feeling safe for the first time in my life is everything I didn’t know I could have, even with the voice in my head telling me it can never last. I haven’t earned it, so it will disappear—and it’s right. I know it is because it’s never been wrong before, but it can’t hurt to be just… be.

At least for a little while.

I’ll legally be eighteen in a couple of months, and then, it’ll all be over.

I just hope I can make it till then.

But if Elise finds out about me, about what I’ve done to Peris… If he runs his mouth, it’ll all be over.

The only question is: is it worth it? To know Peris, to be with him this way.

My eyes lose focusas I stare out at the massive crowds filing into the bleachers. It doesn’t even look like there’s any room left, and yet, people just keep coming.

“Is it always this…” I twirl my hands in the hair in front of me before tugging on the metal in my ears.

“It’s against Southview Prep.” At my blank stare, Sierra rolls her eyes. “I keep forgetting you’re new here. They’re basically our rival school. Peris and Jordan are, like, the two best point guards in the state.”

I blink. “So…”

“It’s senior year. Both of them want scholarships to the same school. For the same position, and only one of them will get it. And it’s probably gonna be whoever wins this game and takes their team to state.”

“Oh.” I keep forgetting people actually care about this shit.

Sierra’s eyebrow arches, amusement twitching her lips. “Yep.”

“Explains all the… stuff,” I mumble. She laughs and pats my shoulder.

“It does. I know it’s a lot, but if you need a break, just say so. We can work around the formation, no problem.”

“I’m in the back anyway; it’s not like people will notice.”

She shrugs but doesn’t comment as she stares out at the people filing in. I probably said something offensive, but fuck if I know what it was.

I glance down at the purple and white pom poms in my lap and finger the plastic strands as I readily ignore the eyes on the side of my face, far used to it by now. Though they seem to have multiplied since I walked out in a skirt.

A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s almost game time, so I pull my gaze from the cold, hard floor beneath my numb ass to the teams practicing side-by-side, basketballs flying this way and that.

I get lost in the chaos trying to follow them, so I focus on Peris and his best friend, Gabriel. They work well beside each other, always seeming to know where the other is at. Peris continuously opens up scoring opportunities, and I watch in growing amazement with every swish of the ball through the net.

One of the refs walks across the court, his striped shirt a sharp contrast to the sea of purple and blue. A guy with a buzzed head turns around with a ball between his fingers and strides across the court.

When it’s clear what his intent is, it’s like the entire fucking gym catches the walk of both team captains toward one another. Once they’re within speaking distance, a low-running buzz permeates the room. And for the first time since I stepped foot on the court, I let myself look at him.

Peris’s shoulders are broad in his purple jersey, the color only bringing out the tan in his skin. His thick hair is slicked back from his face with what is probably some sort of gel. Dark brows are furrowed, creating a deep crevice between them as he stands in front of who I assume is Jordan with my scratches on full display.

I watch the exchange, fascinated in the minute shifts in his expressions. To most, he remains utterly stoic, but I catch the twitch of his left brow, the way his fingers flutter against his crossed forearms. The smallest hook to his top lip—a clear indication of his utter disgust.

It’s a face I’m particularly intimate with.

Gabe comes up behind him and lays a hand on Peris’s shoulder. He doesn’t even acknowledge it, lips still moving in an unheard conversation with Jordan. The other guy’s hands ball at his sides, shoulders hiking toward his ears.

With a self-satisfied smirk—another expression I know well—Peris turns toward Gabe with a smile on his face. His confidence is palpable, and I can feel the way it radiates onto his teammates. They’re all smirking as Peris joins the throng, gathered in a lopsided circle around their coach.

“Damn, talk about a silver fox,” I huff as my gaze rakes over him. He’s older with salt and pepper hair, a thick, dark beard, and corded forearms.

“I know,” Sierra and Laken both gush beside me.

“How have I never seen him before?” I muse, mostly to myself. “I don’t know. Maybe I have…”

They shrug. “You probably just don’t pay attention. Only ever have eyes for Peris.”

I scoff loudly. “That’s not fucking true.”

Both girls exchange a look before turning it onto me. My eyes flicker between them, skin growing tight with every passing second. “What?” I finally blurt.

“Dude, you are so hot for him; it’s obvious.”

“What the fuck do you mean, it’s obvious?” Shit. If Peris finds out other people know, he’s gonna break it off. He’ll cut me off for good, and then, I’ll really be alone again. I just got him to fall for me, and if it ends now, it’ll all be for nothing?—

“I mean, maybe not to other people, but you don’t exactly hide the fact you flirt with him,” Laken says.

My sigh of relief is loud and palpable. “Well, obviously. But that doesn’t mean he returns the sentiment.” I clear the frog in my throat, eyes dropping to my lap once more.

Why am I lying for him? Isn’t this what I wanted—for people to know who he really is?

The thought sits uncomfortably in my gut, bringing a furrow to my brows.

Maybe I just wanted him—someone so pretty and perfect—to want someone like me. Trashy and ruined and… and worthless.

“No,” Sierra concurs. “But the way he’s staring at you right now certainly speaks volumes.”

My head jerks up, finding my favorite color pinned on me. As I stare back, it’s like the rest of the crowded room falls away, all the noise and vibration of bodies slipping into a flickering distortion. The sharp pinging of Peris’s eyes tells me he’s scanning my face, even from across the gym.

“Hello,” I mouth with a small grin just for him, despite the queasiness in my gut. I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. I’m not this person. I don’t put on a fucking outfit and cheer for my school’s team. I don’t dress up in something I’ve always wanted to wear just to see if a fucking boy will like it.

This isn’t me.

But it’s who I’ve always wanted to be. Someone capable of caring about such trivial things, like homework and high school basketball teams and college. Like cheering with a squad, hoping the man I like will notice me. How I dressed pretty for him—but for me, too.

Standing with the rest of the squad, I tug on the end of my skirt again, exposing a sliver of my midriff. Peris’s eyes drop automatically, and I can’t fight back the rush of warmth to my cheeks. I drag my painted fingertips over the flush, up to the bridge of my nose to adjust the barbell, because I know he likes it.

The narrowing of his eyes makes my stomach flip, but the widening of my smile ensues when he rakes them over the full length of my body. I feel exposed, almost more so than the night in the bathroom when he stared at me fresh out of the shower, having just had my fingers up my ass.

When he threw me around and demanded I show him my—I cut the thought off at the flare of heat in my face. It pierces my skin with sharp pinpricks, making me shift on my feet, pom poms brushing against my thighs.

Peris’s gaze drops to my shoes, tied all the way to the top for once with tight, stained white shoelaces in lopsided bows. I push up on my tiptoes, balancing precariously before dropping back and rocking to my heels and shimmying my pom poms.

With his undivided attention, I check him out myself. I’ve never seen him in his basketball stuff before. He looks so cute in purple, with the large, white “3” in the center of his torso beneath “Wolves”. The material of his jersey is loose, gaping around his neck and arms, exposing a lot of tanned skin.

It’s impossible to miss the vivid pink marks around his neck and down his chest where they disappear beneath his shirt. Swallowing is difficult, seeing them in the harsh, fluorescent lights. For everyone to see.

For his fucking mom to see.

The deafening blare of a whistle makes me jump out of my skin, eyes wide as I sweat, knowing she’s sitting out there somewhere, probably looking at us.

Peris jolts, too, rocking back when Gabe slaps his shoulder. He shakes his head, dislodging a sticky strand from the rest of his hair. It hangs in front of his bowed head, tilted slightly to the right as he listens to whatever Gabe is whispering in his ear.

With one last lingering glance in my direction, he mutters something too jumbled for me to make out, and then, his back is turned, feeling as punishing as I’m sure he meant it to.