Chapter Two Ella
CHAPTER TWO
Ella
The skyline of Nashville sprawls out before me, a dazzling mix of Southern charm and big-city bustle. As we drive from the airport, there’s an immediate shift from wide open spaces to an intricate web of city streets lined with music venues, cafés, and country bars. All so lively and energetic.
It’s a far cry from the quaint, cobblestoned streets I left behind in Oxford. My heartbeat feels a bit lighter now, sort of fluttery, as the taxi weaves through the traffic and carries me towards this new chapter of my life.
I should be more excited. But the pang in my chest, the pressing ache that’s been following me since I left, refuses to fade. It’s like the part of me that was left behind doesn’t want to be forgotten, no matter how hard I try to focus on what’s ahead.
And no matter how fast the city moves around me, I can’t seem to outrun this heartbreak.
I ask the driver to take a detour through campus, even though it’s summer holidays and most students have already gone home. But there are still plenty of people milling about, drinking in the warmth of the early June air.
Eventually, we arrive at a grand brick building not far from the university. As I stumble out of the taxi, my suitcases in tow, I gaze up at the luxurious apartments. They’re towering and elegant, with large windows and ornate balconies. A sweep of modern design mixed with classic charm.
This is it—my new home for the next twelve months.
“Hey, you must be Ella!” A bright, cheerful voice breaks through my thoughts. I turn to find a girl bounding towards me, her dark hair bouncing with each graceful step. Her warm brown complexion glows, almond eyes sparkling. She has the kind of energy that could light up the entire street.
“That’s me,” I say with a tentative smile. “And you’re—”
“Gabi Martín, your new roommate.” She exudes an air of cheerleader perfection: gorgeous, bubbly, and radiant.
The kind of warmth that brings me instant relief.
She’s clearly strong too, effortlessly hoisting up my heaviest suitcase like it weighs nothing at all.
“Come on, let me show you inside. You’re gonna love it here! ”
As we make our way to the entrance, Gabi chatters non-stop about campus life, about Whitland, about the new squad I’ve joined. “You know, some of the girls are planning on hitting up the bars tonight. Just those of us who stayed near campus for the summer.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, you should definitely come along. They’ll be thrilled to meet you!”
I nod, an eager sort of something building inside my chest. It’s been a whirlwind since Jamie dropped his bombshell this morning, but I’m determined not to let it get to me tonight.
If I’d stayed in Oxford, the heartbreak would have consumed me.
The familiar streets, the memories—everything would have reminded me of what I lost.
But here, in America, I refuse to let it destroy me. I won’t allow him to put a damper on my first official night here in Nashville. And more than that, I won’t allow my life to be derailed by a man.
After our unexpected breakup, that lengthy flight from London, and the expensive taxi ride over, I certainly won’t be spending my evening crying all alone in our flat. Tempting, but I’ll pass.
I’m on holiday here. Hell, I’m a single woman now. And maybe a night out will be just the distraction I need.
We enter the building and Gabi leads me up to our fourth-floor flat, where I’m welcomed by a cozy living space. The TV is large and modern, and the sofas are plush and inviting. The kitchen is charming, with high-end appliances and a stylish four-seater dining table.
“This is fantastic,” I say, taking it all in. “I love it.”
Gabi grins. “I thought you would. And wait until you see your room.”
She leads me down a short hallway, opening a door at the end of it to reveal a simple furnished bedroom. There’s a double bed and a small desk in the corner, perfectly suited to my needs.
“It’s not much, but Jane added some fairy lights for ambiance,” she says, referring to her previous roommate. Jane’s subletting this place to me for the year while she completes her own study-abroad program. A perfect swap.
“It’s really nice,” I say sincerely, dropping a duffel bag onto my new bed.
“And look, this is the best part.” She guides me over to the large window, one hand on my shoulder, pulling open the curtains.
The view spreads out before us. Rows of ivy-covered buildings, their rooftops creating a patchwork of classic architecture.
In the distance, the spire of the W Tower, the tallest building on campus, rises against the sky. “Best view in town.”
“It’s gorgeous.”
“So, what do you think? I know it’s technically very late for you, but are you up for going out tonight?” Gabi asks. “A few of the girls asked to pre-game here.”
“Yes,” I say definitively, “count me in.”
That evening, the sound of laughter fills our flat as the girls arrive. There’s an array of personalities, each as bright and bold as their chosen bar attire. Subtly matching color schemes. Tube tops and high-waisted skirts, denim shorts paired with creamy satin, and little bows in their hair.
I’m wearing a silk top and shorts, not quite coordinated but close enough to fit in. My usual make-up has been glammed up by Gabi’s expert hands; she’s added a hint of shimmer to my eyelids and a bold red lip to complete the look.
The girls greet me with warm smiles and excited chatter.
They ask me about my journey here and my first impressions of Nashville.
They rush to tell me everything they can about campus life—the best spots to hang out, the dodgy areas to avoid—in the span of five minutes.
It all makes me feel more welcome, more at ease, than I ever expected.
Well, all of them except for one.
She stands slightly apart, her posture exuding an air of authority.
She’s beautiful but daunting; tall and lean with golden-blonde curls falling on poised shoulders.
Claire, as I learn, is the captain of our team.
Her green eyes meet mine from across the room, holding my gaze for a moment longer than necessary.
There’s a sort of fierceness about her, a sense of someone who measures twice and cuts once. Her smile is polite, yet there’s a sharpness to it, like she’s used to being the one who sets the standards.
Instead of cowering in the corner, I decide to approach her with all the confidence I can muster. The self-assurance of a girl who wasn’t brutally dumped by her childhood sweetheart this morning.
“I’m Ella,” I say, standing in front of her, extending a hand. “You’re our captain, right?”
“Claire,” she says dismissively, ignoring my attempt at a handshake. “So, England, huh? Cheerleading isn’t much of a thing over there, or so I hear.”
I force a smile, the weight of her judgment pushing in. “It’s growing, but yes, it’s not as big as it is in the States. I’m excited to learn from the best, though.”
Her saccharine smile doesn’t waver, but her eyes narrow ever so slightly. “You’ll find the routines at Whitland quite different from what you’re used to, I’d imagine. We prioritize athleticism. It’s not just about the performance; it’s about the discipline.”
“I get that,” I say, my voice steady despite the churning in my stomach. “And I’m here to give it my all. I would never want to waste your time.”
“Hey, you two,” Gabi cuts in as she makes her way over to us, bumping me casually on the hip when she reaches me. “Let’s not talk shop tonight, shall we? Claire, you’re obviously ready, but I still need to finish this one’s make-up.”
Claire gives me one last paper smile, then waves a dismissive hand at both of us. “Go on, then.”
Gabi, protector of peace, places one hand on my shoulder and steers me back to the dressing table in her room.
Fussing with my hair, she adds a little white bow.
Then she leans in and whispers, “Claire’s brilliant but intense.
Led us to win the national title last year.
Just, you know, don’t take her scrutiny personally.
She does that to everyone. It’s kind of her thing. ”
“I get it,” I say in a hushed tone. “I’ve been there, done that, with the Sirens.”
“And now you’re here with us.”
“She knows that I came to Whitland to be here , right? I’m not trying to swoop in and be the star of someone else’s show.”
“She’ll figure it out soon enough.” Gabi taps me affectionately on the nose and tilts her head to one side. “Yep, more highlighter. That’s exactly what you need.”
Gabi says the weekends always bring Nashville’s streets to life. And, true to her word, the atmosphere here at the Sidetrack—a great little place near campus—captures that spirit. The music is loud and infectious. Some sort of pop country that mingles with the buzz of animated conversations.
It’s packed with students tonight. The bar has a line of patrons that wraps from one end to the other as soon as we walk in. Groups of friends laugh and chat, couples dance to the music, and men challenge each other at the pool tables dotted around the space. Men that are undeniably attractive.
Men that I wouldn’t mind using as a distraction, if only for tonight.
I sip on my second drink courtesy of my lovely roommate. She offered to smuggle me inside and then pass her drinks along. Although technically illegal, it sure doesn’t feel like it.
It’s been ages since I’ve had to worry about ID, but there are only a few months until my twenty-first birthday. So, once the term officially starts—note to self: Americans say fall , not autumn —I can go back to ordering my own drinks, sans the schnapps.
But I’m not complaining. This drink is sweet, the flavors of peach and bourbon mingling nicely on my tongue. And I can physically feel myself relaxing, the tension in my shoulders finally at ease.