3. 3 Mae
3: Mae
O ne condition. There was one condition to me returning home. I had to join my mom’s fucking cheerleading squad. And I, being as desperate as I’d been, had agreed.
I’m seriously debating whether I’ve made the right choice, though. Granted, I’m only going to be a fallback, but I’m still required to attend every practice and learn every routine.
Apparently, the fallback had a family emergency and had to leave the state. I’m hoping there are no more issues with anyone, which means I can hang out on the sidelines instead of performing in front of everyone.
The thought of that makes me want to be sick.
My mom has been coaching the Missarali Storks cheerleaders for the past five years. I was an enthusiastic dancer when I was younger, but I gave it up when I reached the age of fourteen, and that didn’t bode well with her.
Our relationship has always been rocky. We’ve never seen eye-to-eye—with her being a very materialistic and uptight person—but over the past few years, her dislike for me has grown.
Cam, my brother, is her favourite. He’s a physiotherapist for the Storks—a job he managed to get because of her. In her opinion, he’s making the most of his life, heading down the right path. He has his ducks in a row.
I have ducks. They’re just in an unorganised huddle right now.
Safe to say, she didn’t appreciate the wine as a gift. I’d scratched off the price tag—since the cost is very much a deciding factor on whether she likes a present or not—but her face had told me immediately that I’d made the wrong call.
“Red wine gives me headaches,” she’d said before setting it down and reviewing the house rules.
My mind was somewhere else, though.
I’d vaguely recognised the man from the wine store, but I couldn’t pinpoint who he was. His olive-coloured eyes had caused my heart to skip a beat, the noise around me having faded to a distant hum for a few seconds. I couldn’t quite focus on what the worker had been telling me about his extensive wine selection.
The clothing of the mystery man had fitted him well. A little too well. He was muscular, but not in an overdone way. Lean. Athletic. And all I could do was imagine myself running my hands down his—what I assume would be—chiselled abs.
But then reality set in and wine was suddenly all over the floor.
It seems the Gods above refuse to give me a day when nothing goes wrong.
All I want is a day, and then they can go back to wreaking havoc.
The mystery man had paid for my wine. It was a kind gesture that had caused me to click my teeth shut with surprise, but when he owned up to my mistake and walked out without another word, my tummy did that strange flip-flop thing where it feels like it’s taken up gymnastics.
I also hate to admit that my eyes had been glued to his ass as he made his escape.
The walls of my mother’s house are painted a dull beige, the furniture bright white and uninspiring. She prefers simplicity and it shows in her taste of decor.
“Practice starts tomorrow,” she tells me as I fold a pair of black workout shorts and stuff them in the dresser. I didn’t bring much—just a large suitcase and Chump—which cost me an arm and a leg to transport.
Greg obviously wouldn’t let me keep my furniture in the apartment back in Colorado, so my mom paid for it to be moved into storage as part of our deal.
“It’s going to take me a little while to get my fitness level back up,” I warn her, mentally berating myself for not keeping up with my running regime. It was hard with the little time I had. That, and curling up on the couch with a creamy hot chocolate, was always a whole lot more tempting than pulling on a pair of tight-as-fuck leggings and running until my lungs gave out.
“Well, you better find your feet quickly. I don’t want to introduce you as my daughter and then have you bring the team down. That wouldn’t look good on me.”
I give her a blank look. When I was younger, I used to speak back to her. I wasn’t afraid of challenging her behaviour, but I’ve learned that doing so only spurs her on. She feeds off it, loving a challenge.
“I’m speaking to everyone after practice tomorrow. There’s something very important happening this season.” My mother’s tone is bitter.
She looks bothered, but I don’t ask her what’s wrong. I know better than to do that because she always finds a way to spin the problem around and make it my fault.
“Met any hot football players yet?” Flo asks me through the phone, and I laugh as I wait outside the Missarali City stadium, where the cheerleaders and football players train.
“No, it’s my first day, Flo.” My smile flattens as I see my mom pull up, parking her gleaming Porsche right beside my thousand-year-old rental one. I’d scraped the bottom of the barrel to get it yesterday, but it seemed I was doing the garage a favour by taking it off their hands for the time being. Nobody wanted it, and their faces were a picture when I’d stopped by last night and enquired about it. “Flo, I need to go, but we’ll meet soon, okay? I miss you.”
“I miss you more.”
My clammy hands slide my phone back into my bag.
I’ve never struggled when meeting new people. I’m not shy, but there’s something about walking into a tight-knit girl group that causes my stomach to twist in the most uncomfortable way. Being a newbie is never fun, and I feel like I’m about to plunge headfirst into shark-infested waters.
Taking a deep inhale, I step through the doors. I’m sure my mom doesn’t want to walk in with me.
The stadium is stunning, surpassing all expectations.
Bright grass is laid out, with white spray paint marking it. Rows of seats climb so high they look like a gigantic wave about to storm over me. Enormous jumbotrons hang in every corner, most likely bigger than my old apartment’s living room.
Chatter fills the air, female voices, all excited and eager, and once they spot me, their delicate eyebrows raise, glossy lips parting.
Fuck, they’re obviously all gorgeous.
“Girls,” my mom starts from behind me, “because of Gwen’s sudden family emergency, I’ve found us a new member of the team. This is my daughter, Mae. You’ll make her feel welcome, I’m sure.”
A tall brunette rushes over to me, wrapping my hand in hers in a bone-crushing handshake. She even smells amazing. “Hey, I’m Sophia—the team Captain.”
“Mae,” I introduce myself.
“She’s only here temporarily, so there’s not much of a need for pleasantries,” my mother says with a heavy sigh. “We’re eating into crucial practice time. Let’s get started.”
I’m walking on eggshells here. I can feel my mother’s disapproval hanging in the air, worried I’ll taint the perfect cheerleaders she’s moulded.
I don’t push it though—I can mingle later—so I drop my bag down and join the girls, trying my hardest to wear as genuine of a a smile as I can. However, it’s hard when everyone’s looking at me like I’m fresh meat.
Is staring at the newbie until she’s unbelievably uncomfortable some kind of initiation process or something?
Safe to say, I’m not nearly as fit as I thought I was. I knew it was going to be a struggle, but fuck me. After an hour of practice, my heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest. I almost fell to my knees with gratitude when my mom announced we’d finished for the evening.
I grip my water bottle with sweaty palms, chugging down as much of it as possible.
“You get used to it,” comes a confident voice from beside me, and I put a stop to the tsunami of water streaming into my mouth to take a look at the tall blonde. “I remember my first class. I couldn’t walk the next day.”
I chuckle. “Great. I’m looking forward to that.”
“Ice and stretching are going to be your best friends.” She smiles—bright and welcoming, her face gleeful. “I’m Poppy.”
“Mae.”
“So, what’s it like being the cheerleading coach’s daughter?”
I shrug. I don’t want to insult my mother, especially because all the women here probably like and look up to her. You’d have to be an idiot not to realise how much she enjoys working with these girls.
Her eyes were gleaming the entire time they were dancing, and then, they’d flicker over to me, and she’d roll them, reprimanding me for not kicking high enough or for having a bent elbow.
Her standards have always been high. Sky-high. It’s one of the reasons I gave up dance. I hated how much of a perfectionist she was. No performance was ever right.
“It’s a new experience, for sure. I’m not that much of a football fiend.”
Poppy nods, eyes rolling. “Oh, trust me, I know. My brother’s—”
“Alright, girls,” my mother calls, waving everyone over, “I have something I need to talk to you about, but we’re going to need to wait until the football fools get here.”
“Fools?” I whisper, sensing the animosity in the air.
“She hates them,” Poppy says as we join the crowd of women sitting on the scratchy grass. “This is so weird. We don’t usually have meetings with the guys.”
Everybody quietly babbles beside us as we sit with our knees hugged to our chests, my sweaty blue sports bra and shorts uncomfortable against the hot flush of my skin.
My mother picks at her nails, a tell-tale sign she’s agitated. She flicks her golden hair over her shoulder with dismissal as a capped man—who I assume is the coach of the football players—strolls through the tunnel leading to the field. He’s followed by a group of athletic men.
I take in their varying heights and builds, some tall and lean while others are stocky and powerful, all of their eyebrows furrowed as they glance down at us, clearly just as confused as we are.
But my eyes bulge out of my head as they land on the man who’s been at the forefront of my thoughts since the incident at the wine store yesterday.