Chapter 8
Serena
The first weeks of school finish in a blink of an eye, each day a blur of classes, assignments, and hurried conversations. It’s safe to say I handled my first two weeks back in public school well. Assignments are a breeze. I have great friends. I aced my pop quiz in AP Trigonometry the other day too. Life is fabulous.
I’m sitting in AP Environmental Science, watching a lecture by a world-renowned environmentalist that Mr. Cabello threw on. The lecture is so thrilling but I’m slowly zoning out.
“Serena, could you come to my desk?” Mr. Cabello says.
He greets me with an inviting smile once I walk up to his desk. “Serena,” He begins scribbling down on the paper, “You’re wanted in the guidance counselor’s office.” He tears off the paper and hands it over to me. “Take your things with you as well.”
In minutes, I’m entering the guidance counselor quarters, as most students call it. It’s a huge office space, with mini offices attached to the halls, each specific to different grade-level counselors. It’s the block before lunch starts, so there are only a few students around. I greet the student office worker whose desk sits to the left of the front door and hand her my hall pass. “I’m here to see Ms. Vaughn.”
The student takes my hall pass and juts her chin to the waiting area. “Cool, I’ll let her know you’re here. Take a seat and she’ll come grab you.”
Following her instructions, I take a seat in the waiting area along with a couple of other Skyline students. I grab my phone and check in my messages.
Jared: hey, i know we agreed on carpooling to and from school, but our practice schedule changed. i don’t want to make you wait so long on me or make you wake up early, so i think you’ll have to start driving yourself around.
Jared: i tried to convince coach for an exception to leave practice early but he’s not budging. i know you’re not a fan of driving constantly, so i’ll try my best to help you out, especially at night.
I stash my phone back in my bag and start popping the hair tie on my wrist. It’s a strange coping mechanism but it keeps me centered or else I’ll pull out my hair or pick at my split ends.
“Serena? ”
I turn my head and see Ms.Vaughn poking out of her office, gesturing for me to come in. I walk into her small but cozy office, being welcomed by her friendly spirit and the burning vanilla candle sitting at the corner of her desk.
This is my second time meeting Ms. Vaughn. I don’t know too much about her, but she seems like she cares about all her students. In my first email exchanges with her when I registered for Skyline, she helped me navigate what courses I could take here. Truth be told, I didn’t necessarily need them. I’ve fulfilled most of the credits needed to graduate, give or take a couple of courses. But I wanted the full high school experience, so I told Ms. Vaughn that I was down retaking courses just to fill up my schedule.
“Not sure why you’re here, correct?” Ms. Vaughn removes her tortoise glasses and places them on her desk.
I take a seat in the cozy armchair in front of her desk, setting my backpack down. I let out a nervous chuckle when she notices I’m getting anxious about being here. “Correct.”
She clasps her hands together and winks at me as a signal to relax. “At Skyline High, we provide many valuable resources for our seniors, like our tutoring center.”
I didn’t even know that was a thing anymore. Have they not heard of Kumon or Sylvan?
“Oh, that’s good to know. ”
Wait, are my grades slipping already? I haven’t been here that long. There’s no fucking way .
I lean forward, my sweaty palms rubbing on my thighs. “Are you saying I need to be tutored? I thought I was on track…”
“No, you’re not failing. I’m sorry, I should have led this better.” Ms. Vaughn raises a hand in an attempt to calm me down. “I’m wondering if you’re able to provide tutoring services in trigonometry.”
Huh ?
“Me?” I point a finger towards myself. “You want me to tutor?”
She happily nods, unwinding her hands, and leans back in her chair. “We’re lacking in math tutors since most of them have already graduated. You would receive extra credit in return, and,” she raises her eyebrows, “this can be added to your school records as academic volunteering. It would look good on your applications.”
I smile to myself with pursed lips. Though I’d been accepted early into UNC, Duke and Clemson, more references couldn’t hurt… plus, I’ve never hated math, so it can’t be that soul sucking.
The silence between us lasts longer than I would’ve wanted. Ms. Vaughn shoots me a convincing smile, her version of puppy dog eyes I’m sure of it .
I offer a tight smile, reluctantly about to regret this. “I’ll do it.”
Ms. Vaughn claps her hands, obviously happy I fell into her trap. “Perfect!” She begins typing away on her computer all while writing down something on a piece of paper, which I assume is for me.
The bell rings, signaling it’s time for lunch. She wraps up her work on the computer and slides the paper, revealing her cursive handwriting highlighting all the important details for me. “To recap, you’ll head to the library which doubles as our tutoring center. The librarian will guide you to the study tables and you’ll meet your student.” She taps on the piece of paper on her desk before I take it in my possession. “Hand this to the librarian so she knows you’re a tutor.”
“Is that all?” I rise to a standing position, reaching down for my backpack.
Ms. Vaughn nods. “Thanks again, Serena. I really appreciate this.”
I offer her a smile before excusing myself for lunch. I slink down to the empty chair at my usual lunch table and begin pulling at my hair tie.
“Hey, you okay?” Priya glances over. “You look stressed. ”
I heave out a heavy sigh, blowing my bangs out of my frame. “When I said I wanted to join a club or something, I wasn’t talking about tutoring.”
My friends sneak glances at each other.
“You signed up for tutoring?” Priya questions, laying her palm on my shoulder. “Oh no, why?”
“Ms. Vaughn somehow convinced me.” I shrug my shoulders, taking out my sandwich from my lunch bag. “Whatever, I’ve committed already.”
I take an angry bite of my sandwich and look back at my friends. Priya looks worried for me, but Alli and Grant are exchanging looks, almost as if they’re communicating through these glances. “What’s with you two? You’re looking at each other all weird and creepy…”
Grant nudges Alli’s elbow, making her yelp. “Ow, bitch.”
“Tell her.” Grant replies, tipping his water bottle at me.
“Tell me what?” I look at Grant and Alli.
Alli pushes her lunch away slightly and turns to me, holding both of my hands. “Please join cheer.”
This bitch is crazy . But I don’t say that out loud. Instead, I laugh maniacally in her face, thinking she’s joking. That’s what this is, a joke. It has to be .
“You’re crazy. Good one, Alli.” I release my hands from her grasp, but she reconnects them again.
“I’m serious.” Alli gives me a stern look, one that she doesn’t share often unless she needs to be taken seriously. Most people think she’s joking. Once, she told her uncle at their family union that she wanted to be a chef. She literally cannot cook to save her life. Yeah, she can roll a mean egg roll, but Allison Castillo can burn water. “I need you.”
Grant adds his hand to the pile. “We need you.”
I give them both a what-the-fuck look. “I’m not following, still.” I look back at Alli. “Didn’t you have tryouts in the summer? Why are you trying to recruit me?”
Alli lets go of my hands and buries her face with her hands. “We did have tryouts.”
I could barely understand her, so I leaned forward, trying to move her hands off her face. “And?”
Alli looks to Grant and waves at him to continue. Geez, she looks stressed.
“Alli’s being Alli. Look,” Grant turns to me, the playful Grant no longer there. “We did have tryouts but one of our girls, Imogen, broke her leg. She literally did everything in our routine!”
I wince at that explanation. “Jesus. ”
“Yeah, I know.” Grant replies after seeing my twisted expression. “We’re fucking screwed. We don’t have anyone else that can do everything that Imogen did. So Alli and Coach Miller have been dividing parts but–”
“But we need a badass tumbler, so I said I knew someone.” Alli blurts out. She turns to me with pleading eyes and hands together in a praying motion. “Please Serena, I need you.”
“Alli, you know how I feel about cheering again. I’m not sure if that’s what I want–”
“Please. I’ll get on my knees right here, right now.” And she follows through. Allison Castillo gets on her knees. The students nearby can’t help but glance over, some stifling giggles and some furrowing their brows. “I realize you quit years ago, but consider it a massive favor for your best friend. It’s my final year as captain, and I’m in desperate need of your help.”
“Allison Marie Castillo, get up.” I grit through my teeth with pleading eyes. “You’re making a scene.”
“Join the team and I’ll owe you for life.”
Oh, God, she’s losing it. Should I slap her ?
“Don’t make me serenade you, because I’ll do it.”
Maybe I should slap her .
I sneak a glance at Grant and Priya, looking for backup, but they’re “too busy” hiding in their textbooks. Frustration bubbles up, and I release a sigh of exasperation, reaching over to haul Alli up. “You owe me big time for this.”
Alli springs up, clapping her hands happily. “Name it, I got you. Thanks, chica.”
I sink my teeth into my sandwich before replying. “So, what exactly am I doing?”
Grant and Priya lower their textbooks, realizing the attention has shifted. I shoot them a glare for abandoning me with Alli’s pleading antics.
“Tumbling,” Alli answers.
I tilt my head, remembering Alli mentioning the flashy stunts and tosses she’d added to their routine over the summer. “You mentioned all those fancy basket tosses and stunts. Who’s handling those?”
Alli’s happy and excited face evaporates and she slams her head on the tabletop, groaning as if my question burned her mood.
Puzzled, I poke her head. “What? I thought you were happy just now.”
Alli groans, shaking her head. “It’s not you.”
I turn to Grant with a raised brow. “Care to explain what she’s talking about? ”
Grant sighs and puts down his lunch. “Alli isn’t a fan of the girl who’s on basket toss.”
“I fucking hate her.”
“Not very captain like of you.” Priya chimes in, which makes Alli flick her off.
Grant cuts a hand in the air to stop the two from bickering. “The girl who’s doing basket tosses isn’t the best.”
“She’s horrible, stop sugar coating it. You hate her too.”
Grant leans back and shrugs. “Okay, she’s pretty bad.”
Alli gathers herself after her mini breakdown. She switches to a neutral face, what I’ve learned to call her team leader aura. “Cassidy Belmont is a hard worker, but she lacks basic skills in cheer.”
I wave my hand, motioning for her to complete her thoughts. Alli pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a quiet sigh. “She’s not a flyer, nor a tumbler.”
“Then why is she on your squad?”
High school cheerleading in Charlotte is tough as nails. Most club cheerleaders move up to their school’s varsity squads. And, well, it’s clear that if you’re not a top notch flyer or tumbler, your chances of making varsity aren’t exactly in your favor .
“Coach Miller loves hard workers. She believes Cassidy can do it in due time as long as she puts in hundred and ten percent effort.”
Ah, Coach Miller. In other words, my dear godmother, Tanya.
I nod, understanding Alli’s frustration wholeheartedly. It’s her senior year and her last year of captain after two years. I’m sure she wants to end her reign with a bang. If her top girl is out for the season and she’s recruiting me of all people, I can’t turn my back on her. “Well, I’m sure you and the coach can train her to do the basket tosses. When’s the first competition?”
“In the next couple of months.”
“That’s not a bad timeline. We can do it.”
Alli’s eyes twinkle. “Thanks, chica. It’s just stressful this year.”
I wave a hand. “No problem, I’m here to toss my body across the mat. Just let me know when.”
Alli slaps her hands against Grant’s shoulders, completely ecstatic. “Practice on Monday, after school. I’ll email you our practice video before Imogen broke her leg so you can see the formations.”
The topic shifts afterwards, and I’m half-listening to Grant’s animated stories about the cute guy he met over summer break. I absentmindedly pick at my sad turkey sandwich, my thoughts consumed by the fact I’m back into cheer. There’s a part of me that questions if I made the right call walking away years ago, and now I’m wrestling with the possibility of regret.