Chapter Thirteen
Serenity
Kathleen’s command echoes across the locker room. ‘Ladies! Get your poms and line up! Final checks!’
I’m all ready to go. In a quiet corner, poms at my feet, my back to the wall, I’m looking down at the small slip of paper concealed in my hand with Jake’s neat handwriting on it.
Staring at it makes my heart flutter, but the moment I hear Kathleen’s voice, I refold the note, retrieve my poms and walk over to my locker.
I secure it back inside my duffel bag and check that no one has seen me.
It’s Monday night. First game of the official season. The Danube Stadium is packed to the rafters. There’s a commotion as my squad mates have thrown down their makeup bags and hairbrushes, picked up their poms and lined up, side by side in one long line, which I join.
Kathleen raises her chin. We all follow her lead. As is customary, we stand with one leg out in front of the other, with our knees slightly bent.
She starts walking, hands behind her back. For a moment, I forget to breathe.
Further down the line, Kathleen stops. ‘Persia, I thought I told you to do away with the caterpillar eyes?’
‘The extra liner compliments my eye shape.’
‘It’s not regulation, sweetheart, go redo it, please. It makes your eyes look too dark.’
‘But, Kathleen—’
‘Better make it quick, Persia.’
Persia lets out a heavy sigh and stomps over to a mirror. I keep my smile fixed.
‘Shawny, that hair makes you look like somethin’ outta Back to the Future, sweetie, you’re gonna have to tie it back. Maybe rethink your choice of shampoo.’
‘Yes, Kathleen.’
Shawny moves.
‘Angel, you got lipstick on your teeth.’
‘Yes, Kathleen.’
‘Leona, there’re scuff marks on those boots. Either clean ’em off or get a new pair.’
‘Yes, Kathleen.’
Leona dives in front of me. ‘Okay, next. Serenity?’
‘Yes, Kathleen,’ I say, and my voice comes out shrill.
She looks me over. ‘Very nice, good effort.’
‘Thank you, Kathleen.’
She moves on and Jewel elbows me in my side, offering me an encouraging grin.
I swallow. We were at rehearsal all of Sunday afternoon, practicing our routines on the field. This morning, I headed to the diner for my usual early morning shift, only to be handed a sealed envelope with my name on it.
I sat down at a table just to open it, my fingers trembling, because I knew who it had to be from. Inside was Jake’s note.
If I died tomorrow, I’d die happy, because you let me kiss you.
You’re on my mind, all the time.
I can’t let this go, but I respect that you might have to.
But if there’s still a chance, meet me on Friday at 5 p.m. at:
Saltwood
10309 Parkland View
Canyon Rock
It’s a cabin. The picture online shows it has a red mailbox. There’s no driveway but it’s down a slope, behind a line of pine trees.
I’ll be waiting. Hope to see you. Jake x
Somewhere on the other side of this stadium, he’s getting ready in the players’ locker room. I haven’t seen him since I ran away from his pickup.
And now he says he wants to see me again.
A half hour later, we’re in the tunnel, in formation in two parallel lines, ready to make our entrance onto the field.
Mutineers’ staffers surround us with walkie-talkies.
We’re delayed, due to some kind of security issue; some wayward fan running onto the field.
All around I can hear the noise of the crowd echoing above us.
Kathleen is not happy, because our second number will overlap with the team’s entrance.
Maybe it’s because we’re running late, but when I hear a commotion behind us – a clacking sound against the smooth concrete at my feet – I realize the players are lining up behind us in the rear of the tunnel.
Their cleats hammer against the floor, each player holding onto his helmet, eye black on his face like war paint.
I glance back, my gaze searching. I crane my neck a little. I just want one glimpse of him.
Then he’s there, partway back, his smooth navy-and-white number fourteen jersey clinging to his broad chest, made bigger by the shoulder pads. And for a second, our eyes meet. I lean out of line to my right to get a better look before—
WHAM.
The Mutineers’ team mascot – a guy dressed from head to foot in this giant, ridiculous pirate-like outfit with stripes on the pants and a triangle hat – slams into the back of me and sends me sprawling to the floor.
The first thing I hear is dramatic gasps from all the girls. Ashlyn, a fifth-year veteran with long, wavy blonde hair with a pink hue, offers me her arm and tugs me back up.
‘Sorry!’ a voice shouts from inside the costume, as the mascot continues out of the tunnel onto the field.
‘Conor McGrath, you’re an asshole!’ Shawny hollers after him and both Harmony and Kathleen’s eyes flash in her direction.
‘You okay?’ Jewel asks me in a whisper.
I nod, dust myself off then glance back again for barely a second. Jake Walsh has a face like thunder, all his ire directed toward the opening of the tunnel, where Conor McGrath’s waving mascot is being met by cheers from the crowd.
It’s at that moment, I don’t know if I can hold out. I don’t know if I can continue to resist him.
Kathleen is given the green light. That’s our cue. The sound from the crowd raises up a notch. The atmosphere thrums under the floodlights as we emerge into a packed stadium, to begin our opening number.
Monday Night Football. It feels like the whole of America is watching.
I want to look back at Jake. But I resist.
Girls Girls Girls begins over the sound system.
My heart beats fast. The Danube has a natural grass pitch, rather than artificial turf.
We use the full-length of the field for our routine, forming one line by linking arms over our shoulders so that the duration of the chorus is made up of synchronized high kicks.
We bend and wind for the remainder, shaking our poms, so that the crowd is well and truly entertained.
I see Kathleen to one side of the field, wearing a mic. She indicates to Harmony that we’re going straight into our second number, Guns N’ Roses Welcome to the Jungle, and we’re still dancing to the track when the players are announced over the sound system.
I’m facing the direction of the tunnel. I get a good view of Jake, emerging through dry ice, his image beamed onto the jumbotron above his head. He doesn’t look at me, not for one second. He pulls on his helmet and runs right past me, his eyes steely, focused solely on the game.
It stays that way, for the duration.
And when it’s over, the team walks away with the win.
Watching him, mud-splattered yet victorious, I know I can’t hold out anymore.
Friday night, it’s almost dark. In the car, I lean forward, one hand on my steering wheel, the other holding onto my phone and Jake’s note. The way through Canyon Rock is winding, narrow and treacherous. Tall trees rise up on both sides.
Am I taking the right road?
The week has dragged. Every shift at The Bounty. Every dance on stage at Surly’s, since Monday night. All building up to this moment. My request for a night off from the club was turned down by Kale.
I’m late. Jake’s note said 5 p.m. but it’s almost six now. I definitely took a wrong turn back there somewhere when I lost navigation, due to no signal.
I slow down when I see a crooked green-and-white sign pointing to the left. It reads ‘Parkland View’. I hold my breath and switch on my indicators. This is the one.
There are no streetlamps out here. I slow right down and squint through the windshield because the trees cover the sky. The ground is uneven, making my C-Max rock from side to side.
Then I see light up ahead.
A cabin.
Just as he described.
There’s no driveway, just a clearing, a steep incline beside a red mailbox. The cabin has a porch, and I recognize his pickup parked up outside the garage.
We’re thirty miles north of central Canyon. Nobody is gonna see us out here.
I kill the engine and wait in the driver’s seat. I exhale. There’s no going back now.
I swallow when I see the front door open and Jake Walsh comes out onto the porch. He’s wearing a fitted pale green T-shirt and grey flannel shorts and there’s a smile of surprise on his face. He’s had a haircut since Monday night’s win.
My heart flutters. I shouldn’t be here. I can’t even stay that long.
I open my car door. I changed at the diner into jeans, boots and a red top. The top is like a corset, except a little more demure than something I would wear for a shift at Surly’s. From the way his eyes roam over my body, I can tell that he likes it. I’m nervous, so I clasp my fingers together.
‘Hey,’ he says softly.
‘Hey,’ I say back, glancing around to double check that we’re alone. There’s more light further up the road, perhaps more cabins nestled in amongst the trees.
He walks down the porch steps, hands inside his pockets. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show.’
I force my fingers apart and point behind me. ‘Sorry. I got lost somewhere back there. Took a wrong turn.’
‘So… you got my note?’
I nod my head once. I’m not sure I should confess how many times I’ve read it. ‘I got it.’
He looks more nervous than I do. ‘Would you like to come inside?’
‘Sure.’
My phone is switched off, hidden away in the glove. I close and lock my car door and my lips twitch when I try not to smile.
‘After you,’ he says, holding out one hand.
I go ahead and climb the porch steps, walk through the open door. Inside, the cabin has wood floor, walls and beams. The décor is pretty, yet sparse, a set of deer horns mounted above a fireplace. There’s a large brown couch with pillows.
‘How did you find this place?’ I ask.
‘Oh. Uh. It’s a rental. I paid up front. Got the keys for a couple’ months.’
I can’t conceal my surprise, because that says to me that he plans on making this a regular interlude. Unless he plans on inviting anybody else up here.
‘Uh, are you hungry?’ Jake asks. He clears his throat as he closes the front door behind us. ‘I brought Chinese food. Do you like Chinese food?’