Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
THEN
“ L ayla!” my mother calls from somewhere downstairs.
I move toward my open doorway, shouting back in the general direction that her voice is coming from. “What?” I know she hates when I respond this way, that she’d much rather I make the effort to go find her than have us hollering back and forth through the house. But honestly, if she wanted a face-to-face conversation, she’s perfectly capable of coming up to my room.
I hear her sigh. “Are you going to make your lunch before you leave? You’re running late!”
“No,” I bellow back down, “I’m going to buy lunch today.”
Her response is only silence—I’m not sure if that was the answer she was looking for, but it’s my first day of high school and the last thing I want to do is lug around the dorky pink lunch box that I’ve carried since the sixth grade.
I return to the small vanity in my room, swiping my purple brush through my dark wavy hair. As I look at my reflection, I frown, wishing that my wild strands—a gift from my biological father, I’m told—were tamer. My mother’s hair is straight and glossy, and I’m endlessly envious that my little sister inherited it. But then again, her father’s hair is thin and balding, so maybe the jury’s still out on who won the game of DNA roulette.
I’m wearing my new eyelet-embroidered dress with a scalloped hem and rhinestone-dusted sandals that sink me deep into my girly side, and while they make me feel pretty, it feels . . . stuffy. I’d much rather throw on an old pair of cutoffs and a loose, airy tank to battle the heavy humidity that’s a nightmare this time of year. But the first day of high school only comes once, and I have a lot riding on it.
My mother’s approval, for starters.
At least in a big-world sense. As she likes to remind me, this is the first day of one of the most foundational and transitional seasons of my life. These next four years of school will shape the woman who comes out on the other side, and could be the difference between future Layla being valedictorian with a cheerleading scholarship or a mediocre graduate with a fancy admission to community college.
I’m honestly more curious about future Layla’s fashion sense and how many times she can get away with ditching class before she gets caught. But I know better than to try to harness Mom’s expectations—especially when they’re raging in full force—so I resign myself to being agreeable if not supportive of her vision.
“Layla,” I hear her yell again. “Five-minute warning!”
I let out an exhale and watch through the mirror as a strand of hair blows away from my face. I’ve swiped on mascara and a smidge of eyeliner, and my lips are glossed in a pouty pink that enhances the blush on my cheeks. I scrutinize my face for any signs of blemishes or obvious makeup lines, but I don’t see any. This is as good as it’s gonna get.
I stand, snaking my arm through the shoulder strap of the lilac backpack resting on my chair, and feel it thump against my ribs. There are more books and supplies in there than I know what to do with, and the weight of it all feels like an omen on this muggy Tuesday morning. I’m looking forward to getting my locker assignment so I can shove the monstrosity inside and lock it away.
My eyes sweep the room as I mentally process through my checklist before leaving for the day and, once content I haven’t missed anything, I hustle down the stairs where my mother’s waiting in the kitchen.
It’s only seven thirty in the morning and she’s already dressed to the nines in a formal, cream-colored pantsuit, her iron-curled hair framing her small but severe face. Her hazel eyes pop from smokey, brown-shadowed lids, diamonds glinting brightly from her ears. As usual, she’s dripping in tasteful luxury . . . and it makes my stomach roll with unease. She smiles when she notices me approaching from the hall. “Good morning, bug! You look darling in that dress.” Her eyes sparkle as they slide down my frame. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with the close-toed mules?”
My eyes drop down to my sandals, white-polished toes in formation across the top of each one.
“No?” I respond with a slight lilt of uncertainty.
She waves a hand to disregard the thought. “You look perfect, sweetheart. Do you have your cheer bag ready?”
I nod. “It’s by the door. ”
“And you’re sure you don’t want to bring lunch? I’m not sure the school’s options are the healthiest . . .”
“Mom,” I cut her off. “I’m going to be late.”
She presses her lips together and gives a curt nod. “You’re right. And I need to get to the office anyway. Let’s go.” She grabs her purse from the console table by the door and a small leather briefcase that I haven’t seen before—I roll my eyes.
My ever-so-charitable mother recently volunteered to run a new employee-retention program at my step-father’s company. She’s been driving herself down to his office in the city for the last week and a half to “work,” like she has some whole new career or something.
And now, it seems, she carries a briefcase.
“Okay,” she starts as she swings open the front door, looking back at me with a smile as I bend to pick up my cheer bag. “Don’t forget that Suzanne will collect you from school later. Your father and I should be home around dinnertime.” I instantly trip on her use of the word father , but after righting myself I decide to let it go.
For now.
“I need you to keep an eye on Annie until we get home—Miss Patsy will be here with her after school, but I know she’ll worry with me out of the house.” Annie’s had Miss Patsy as a nanny since she was three years old—she probably won’t even notice my mother is missing. But I won’t tell her that. “I already cannot wait to hear about your day,” she continues. “Make sure you use bobby pins to keep your hair out of your face during tryouts—those girls will be expecting your ponytail to be nice and tight.”
I groan, willing her to stop with the smothering. My mother is a great mom, but my transition into high school has unleashed something inside of her that makes me crazy. It’s almost as if she sees it as a chance to relive her own experience through me.
But I don’t want her experience—one that left her alone and pregnant at eighteen years old, stuck in the small town she’d been in all her life. I want to be free from this place someday. I want to escape the bounds of Saddlebrook Falls and make a life bigger than anything that can be found here.
Jumping into the front seat of her silver Mercedes, I stuff my backpack onto the floor in front of me and shove my cheer bag into the back seat. My mom turns the ignition as she glances at me. “Are you nervous?”
I shake my head. “No, not at all,” I assure her. But the truth is, I’m a little nervous. What if I don’t know how to find one of my classes, and I have to walk in late? What if I trip and make a fool out of myself in the middle of lunch where everyone can see?
I may not carry the same expectations for my life that my mom does, but I do have some of my own. The next four years will be my chance to bloom, to expand so far out of myself that there’s no option but to leave this town. I refuse to accept the path that leads me right into the throes of marriage and motherhood—there’s no way I’m handing my life over to someone else like that.
“I remember my first day of high school,” my mom says softly as she watches the road in front of her. “There’s nothing like it. That feeling of new opportunity. Of having possession over the rest of your life.” Her words hit me right in the chest because she’s right. But it doesn’t make sense, because I know with near-certain confidence that the only thing she wants me to find is a captain spot on the cheer team and a future husband.
I want a captain spot too—I’ll give her that. But a husband?
I sigh again, willing the car to drive faster.
Luckily it doesn’t take us long to arrive at the large brick building, its bold red letters gleaming brightly in the morning sun: SADDLEbrOOK FALLS HIGH SCHOOL - HOME OF THE MUSTANGS. Instead of pulling the car through the drop-off line, my mom parks and turns off the engine.
I brace myself as I turn to look at her. Her gaze is fastened on the building, lost in thought as she takes it all in. She must notice the silence around us after a minute, because her eyes jump to me. “All right, kid, you ready?”
I nod once. “Yes ma’am.” I give her a small smile to ease any worry she might feel. “Thanks for driving me, Mom.”
A warm smile flashes across her face as she leans in to kiss me on my cheek. “Have a good day, honey.”
“See you later,” I say as I push open my door and get out, bags in hand. My mom honks once before she starts the car and backs out, and I wave her goodbye as she retreats out of the lot.
Turning around and taking in a deep breath, I make my way toward my new school.
My first day goes well for the most part. I only got a little lost on my way to the science wing for Biology, but my teacher was forgiving. The school is so much bigger than what I’m used to—there are two middle schools in Saddlebrook Falls, and both of them feed into the one high school in town. There are so many new faces, kids I’ve seen before at Mustang’s Pizza and the movie theater, and others that are unfamiliar.
In fourth period, I find my photography class full of upperclassmen. Most freshmen don’t have an opportunity to pick elective classes, but since I took a pre-algebra course over the summer, I had room in my schedule for something fun. The teacher assigns me to sit next to an older boy in a letterman jacket whose notebook has Jason scrawled on the cover in neat, blocky letters, and I have to fight hard to hide my blush.
He’s gorgeous and quiet, and the combination draws me in. I can feel him sneaking glances at me through most of the class and I’m tempted to introduce myself, but I chicken out every time I turn to find his eyes bouncing from me back to the front of the room. It’s only the first day of the whole school year; I don’t want to seem too eager, and I don’t want to make it obvious that he’s not great at hiding what he’s doing.
In my last class of the day, I wait patiently for the final bell to ring. Tryouts start right after school, and it’s all I can think about as our algebra teacher drones on about expectations for the year.
When the bell finally rings, I burst out of my seat and accidentally crash into the boy in front of me, my notebook falling to the ground between us. He turns to face me, a small scowl twisting his full lips, and my eyes widen in embarrassment. “Oh my gosh . . . I’m so sorry . . .” I sputter. He’s tall with unruly brown hair and deep chestnut eyes that eye me warily as he eventually bends down to pick up my fallen notebook. Without a word, he hands it to me before turning around and walking out of the room.
As soon as he’s out of sight, I let my shoulders slump.
That was awkward.
I make a mental note to smile out another apology tomorrow, then grab my backpack and hurry out of the room. I’m not sure who he is, but this is an advanced math class so he’s probably a sophomore or junior. He looked older—his chest wide and forearms strong and corded.
I hope he doesn’t take it personally.
I get to the locker room in five minutes, and spend another five changing into my cheer outfit—a simple white tank top and a pair of red Soffe cheer shorts to show my Mustang spirit. I realize after throwing my hair up into a tight ponytail that there are a ton of other girls in here, and it looks like they’re all getting ready for the same thing.
I shake out my fingers and accept that the competition will be fierce today, that I’m simply going to have to give it my very best. High school football is as significant as church around here—everything shuts down for Friday night home games as people pour in to watch the Mustangs dominate on the field.
Our team is good—they’ve always been good. Dozens of state championship banners hang around the stadium, proudly boasting the team’s mostly undefeated reign.
I don’t care much about football, really, but I love to cheer. And I think I have what it takes to at least make it onto the freshman or JV team—I’ve been tumbling since I knew how to walk, and I cheered all throughout middle school—but I want varsity.
I want it so bad.
I pull a long red ribbon out of my cheer bag and head for the bathrooms. Just as I’m pulling it into a bow, another girl walks in and smiles hesitantly at me through the mirror.
She looks nervous, so I decide to extend her a bit of kindness. “I love your shorts,” I say, eyeing the sparkly red spandex that wraps tightly around her thighs. They’re a little over-the-top for tryouts, but I do love them.
She hooks her thumbs into her waistband and juts out a hip. “Thanks, do you think they’re too much?”
“Not if your confidence can match them,” I tell her, smiling.
Determination sets deep in her brow, and my smile widens. “Thank you—I’ve been so nervous all day. I think I needed to hear that.” She grins. “I’m Regan.”
I stretch out my hand and she takes it in hers. “I’m Layla. Are you a freshman?”
“Yeah, is it that obvious?”
“Nah. I’m a freshman, too.” I wave a hand. “Stay close? Maybe we can partner up on some drills.”
Her eyes widen and she nods. “Yes!”
“Okay cool. I’ll see you out there!”
I sneak one last glance in the mirror and head back toward the lockers where my gym bag rests on a bench. I pull my bright white sneakers out and quickly pull them on before tucking both my things away and making my way out into the gym.