Chapter 6
“What are the chances we’ll win tonight?” Juliet asks as she plops down on the grass beside me to stretch her hamstrings.
The ground is damp and cool, the sun sinking behind the barrier of the full bleachers. It’s starting to feel like fall.
I exhale, then lean over my left leg. “Does it make me a bad captain and a terrible girlfriend if I tell you we have no chance?”
“Probably.”
I roll my eyes before glancing at the field where the two teams are warming up. Fernwood High’s green jerseys stand at one end. Thompson High’s blue ones at the other. Thompson finished last season, ranked third in the state. We finished … a lot lower than that.
“I mean, we could win. Miracles happen.”
Juliet laughs. “You’re a bad captain and a terrible girlfriend.”
“I know.”
Juliet hears the shift in my tone from sarcastic to serious. She raises one eyebrow as she lifts her arms over her head and rolls her neck from side to side. “Something happen with Archer?”
Ryder James came back.
I chew on the inside of my cheek as I pull one foot up against my thigh and lean forward. Ryder’s not the only reason I’ve felt restless this week. But he’s a … reminder. Proof I once did what I wanted, not what was expected or easy.
“I just … it kinda hit me that this is senior year. And I’m sick of so much staying the same. Of my life being so … predictable.”
“Is this about cheer?” she asks. “Or about Archer?”
“Both,” I reply.
“The season is only a couple of months. You’ve gotten through three of them. Only one to go. And Archer … you guys have only been dating since May. That’s, like, four months, Elle. Not that long.”
I nod. It feels like a lot longer than four months—and not in a good way.
Juliet is studying me closely, so I force a smile before switching legs. I lean farther forward this time, so my ponytail falls to cover most of my face.
I lie all the time, but rarely to Juliet or Keira.
Everything I told Juliet is technically true.
I’ve never liked cheerleading that much. Rose cheered, so everyone always assumed I would too. My older sister has been gone for five years, and sometimes, it feels like I’ll never escape her shadow.
Ghosts set an impossible, memorialized standard, one I’m sick of striving toward. Rose was fifteen when she died. Each year I outlive her, it feels like the pressure increases. Like I’m responsible for living her life too. For making the choices she would have.
Archer isn’t a bad guy. He’s self-centered, but he can be sensitive too. I’ve known him my entire life. I assumed he’d grow up and my feelings would grow with him.
And then Ryder James had to return and blow that theory to smithereens. To prove what I’d suspected all along—I haven’t developed feelings for any guy in the past two years because I’m in love with Ryder. Still.
It wasn’t teenage hormones. It wasn’t a childish crush. It wasn’t the thrill of sneaking around. We were the real damn thing.
“Sorry I’m late.” Keira drops her cheer bag down, then plops onto the grass beside me.
“No worries,” I say.
Keira laughs once. “No worries? Are you feeling okay, girl?”
“She’s having an identity crisis,” Juliet supplies.
“Ooh. About what?” Keira asks, pulling her hair out of its bun and starting to braid it.
“Archer and cheerleading,” Juliet replies.
“Oh. That’s easy.” Keira shrugs a shoulder carelessly. “Dump the guy and quit the team. I would love to have my afternoons and Friday nights back. No offense, Captain.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not quitting the team. The season just started, and I am the captain. I can’t screw the squad over like that.”
Keira sighs, then ties her braid off and starts stretching. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.”
“What about Archer?” Juliet asks.
“I’m going to end it.” It feels good to say the words, like a powerful form of relief. A weight lifted. Salve on a stinging wound. A decision I’ve been dreading made.
Keira’s head whips up, her eyes wide.
Juliet looks just as surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah. Why do you look so shocked?”
“I just … honestly? I kinda thought you two would end up married someday. Maybe break up during college, and then he’d show up at your graduation with a five-carat ring and beg for a second chance.”
I snort. “You’ve obviously been spending way too much time at my house, around my mother.”
“Hey, if you want to break up with him, break up with him. I’m just saying, he’s hot and rich, and he obviously adores you. Don’t end it on a random whim.”
I stare at Juliet, totally taken aback. Archer obviously adores me? “I think you’re confusing adoration with he wants to sleep with me.”
Juliet shrugs. “Maybe. But he cares. He’s the one who planned your whole birthday party. Keira and I barely did anything.”
I glance at Keira, who nods.
“It’s true.”
“He just wanted an excuse to keep partying after the Fourth,” I say.
My birthday is July 5, so it usually gets lost in the inevitable, hungover letdown following the national holiday.
A whistle on the field signals the end of warm-ups. I climb to my feet, brushing a few errant blades of grass off my bare thighs before walking over to the bench.
Thompson wins the coin toss and takes the kickoff, starting the game. I move into formation on the sideline with the rest of the squad even though I doubt we’ll have much to do until our halftime performance.
Sure enough, Thompson scores three touchdowns in the first half. Green jerseys trudge off the field with slumped shoulders.
“Rough start,” Maddie Peterson mutters under her breath as we walk out onto the field.
“No kidding,” I whisper back.
The Fernwood fans in the crowd perk up as we start our routine. That energy quickly fizzles as play resumes. Fernwood improves, only allowing one more touchdown during the remainder of the game. But the zero on the scoreboard for our side doesn’t suggest much to celebrate.
As soon as the final whistle is blown, I gather up my gear, stuff it in my cheer bag, and then follow Keira toward the parking lot. She’s driving me home to get ready for the party tonight—our stereotypical Friday nights.
“See you soon!” Maddie calls out, skipping by with Fleur Williamson.
Maddie is hosting tonight’s party. She lives a couple of streets over from me, and her parents travel out of town a lot. Both make her place an ideal location.
I pull my phone out of my pocket as I cross the parking lot, gnawing on my bottom lip as I debate what to text Archer. Good game doesn’t work. Sorry you lost isn’t great either.
A few seconds later, my phone gets pushed back into my pocket. I’ll decide on a message in the car.
The parking lot is crowded, everyone eager to leave. Not much socializing is happening. Mostly just headshakes or shoulder shrugs as people pass each other.
Fernwood is used to being the best at everything. It’s the wealthiest town in the state. The football team’s terrible record is an ongoing source of embarrassment. A reminder that talent is something you can’t buy.
I glance around, looking for Keira’s Jeep since I’ve lost sight of her. My steps slow as soon as I spot the sedan parked in one corner of the parking lot.
Ryder is sitting on the trunk, talking to a guy who has his back turned to me. Based on what I can see of the guy’s profile, I don’t recognize him. Ryder’s left leg is blocking the insignia, but the car he’s perched on appears to be brand-new. I’ve never seen Ryder hang out around Ones before, but maybe he’s branched out and made some new friends in my zip code this week.
He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt, which is all I’ve seen him wear since his return to town. Plus a backward baseball cap. I watch as Ryder tugs it off and scrubs a palm across the top of his head before tugging the hat back down into place. He glances this way, like he’s attuned to my attention, and our eyes connect.
My stomach flips when he holds my stare. Over and over and over again, like I’m bouncing on a trampoline.
Ryder’s eyes drop to the striped skirt I’m wearing. I feel his gaze trail down my bare legs, all the way to the white sneakers that are part of the uniform. I’m too far away to tell for sure, but I think one corner of his mouth curves up. One of those devastating not-really-a-smiles that makes my blood swim with forbidden heat.
I’d pay the contents of my trust fund to know what he’s thinking right now. The curiosity is so acute that it burns.
“Elle! Come on!”
My head jerks away from Ryder toward Keira. She’s leaning out the window of her car, which is parked two rows up, waving.
I hurry in that direction, trying to escape the flush crawling steadily across my skin.
Juliet has already claimed shotgun, so I crawl in the cramped back with the bags, tossing my legs over the pile of canvas and tipping my head back to enjoy the breeze as Keira joins the line of cars waiting to exit the parking lot.
Finally, I text Archer.
ELLE: Headed home to change, then to Maddie’s.
ELLE: See you there!
No response. I’m sure he’s having a shitty Friday night. This was the first game of the season. Everyone was hoping it would go a lot better than it did. That things would finally turn around for the team.
Impulsively, I open a new message. The fact that I never deleted his number is not something I planned on letting Ryder know.
I’m mad at him. Hurt. Angry he strolled back into town with no explanation and a lackluster apology.
But beneath all that … I want to talk to him. I’m pissed off about that too. At myself and my lack of willpower.
ELLE: Enjoy the game?
He replies instantly, which doesn’t really surprise me. Ryder was never the type of guy to play games, which made his disappearing act all the weirder.
RYDER: Nope.
RYDER: You?
I stare at his name on the screen. I was too proud—too heartbroken—to continue texting him after the messages started to go unanswered. But there’s this warmth expanding in my chest, seeing the two new texts from him after all this time. I don’t think normal crushes survive two years of not seeing or talking to someone, but that’s the giddiness Ryder elicits in me. Then. Now.
ELLE: Not really.
I stare at the short exchange as Juliet and Keira sing along to a Taylor Swift song. His lack of a who is this makes me think Ryder never deleted my number, and I’m not sure what that means. It doesn’t fit with taking off without warning and ceasing all contact. He’s avoided me since our conversation in the parking lot. The only times I’ve seen him since were in our one shared class.
I shut my phone off and toss it on the piled bags, relaxing against the seat until Keira stops in front of my house.
“See you guys there,” I say, gathering up all my cheer stuff and grabbing my phone.
“You’re not going to do it tonight, are you?” Juliet asks I climb out of the car.
“Break up with Archer?”
She nods.
“No.” My phone feels heavier all of a sudden, the texts I just sent—answered and unanswered—weighing it down.
I’m dreading the conversation, and it must be obvious on my face because Juliet and Keira both aim sympathetic smiles at me.
But I’m buoyed by the prospect of fighting, unfamiliar energy thrumming through me. I thought not challenging anything was easier, but it’s draining in its own way. Debilitating.
Keira drives off, and I head inside. My parents are at a fundraiser in the city tonight, so I have the house to myself. I flip on lights as I walk through the silent, massive house, heading upstairs to my bedroom.
After debating for a few minutes, I slip on the blue dress I bought for the first day of school. I touch up my makeup, curl my hair, and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I look poised and put together, no sign of the turmoil I’m experiencing obvious in my expression.
I blow out a long breath, then head downstairs.