6. Sklyar
Skylar fumbled for the ringing phone on her nightstand, eyes still closed. A woman’s voice filtered through the speaker, and for one terrible moment she was twelve years old again.
‘Kate?’ The name escaped before she could stop it.
“Sky, it’s me. Poppy.”
“I’m at Maya’s. I never made it home last night.” Poppy sounded rough. “We think it’s food poisoning.” Someone coughed in the background. “We’ve been throwing up since three a.m. Guess my mother was actually right. You can’t eat cookie dough raw. We’re all—” A gagging sound. “Oh no. Hold on.”
The line went muffled. Skylar winced at the retching sound in the background.
When Poppy returned, Skylar barely heard the whisper. “I can’t do the photoshoot.”
Skylar flopped back on her pillow and internally groaned.
The photoshoot meant her first afternoon in the apartment alone.
She’d planned to spend every minute doing absolutely nothing.
Maybe she’d finally unpack the box of winter clothes Grams had mailed.
Maybe she’d catch up on the reading for her journalism lecture.
Maybe she’d just lie on the couch and stare at the ceiling until her brain stopped buzzing with shift schedules and assignment deadlines.
Poppy’s breath hitched. “Sky, I need you to take my place.”
“What?” Skylar sat up. “I can’t?”
“Please. You were a cheerleader, you told me—”
“For one year. In a town of eight hundred people.”
“All you have to do is smile for the camera. You know the basics. Please Sky, you’re my only hope.” Poppy’s words rushed out. “I will owe you forever. I’ll do the dishes until graduation. I’ll cover groceries until Christmas. I’ll—”
“Someone else can fill in.”
“Who? It’s Sunday. Everyone has plans or they’re out of town or—
“Poppy.” Skylar’s gaze found the photo of her as a child, handing a bag of food to an elderly man, Kate in the background.
Her mother had taken the photo after a flood hit Ironwood and those that weren’t underwater had come together to aid the displaced.
Helping your community was a tenet her mother lived by.
Poppy had been nothing but kind since the moment the college paired them together in freshman year. She’d respected Skylar’s work schedule, hadn’t pushed when Skylar declined invitations to parties and social events, had left snacks on Skylar’s desk when she noticed the fridge was running low.
Skylar had no choice but to help. “You’re doing the dishes until spring break.”
“Done. Absolutely done.”
The relief from Poppy twisted Skylar’s gut.
“Charlie’s picking you up in twenty minutes.”
Skylar’s stomach dropped. “What?”
“He was already on his way when I called him. My uniform is in my closet on the right-hand side. It’ll be a little short on you but you can pull it off.
” A little short? Poppy stood maybe five foot three at best. Skylar was five foot eight.
Another wave of nausea seemed to hit and Poppy gagged.
“I have to go. Thank you, Sky. Thank you.”
The line went dead.
Skylar stared at the phone in her hand. Twenty minutes. Charlie would be at her door in twenty minutes, and she had to squeeze into a cheerleading uniform. There went her one afternoon off.
After a five-minute shower she swept her hair into a ponytail and shimmied into Poppy’s too-short white skirt with gold-and-navy-blue stripes and a matching top baring a strip of skin above the waistband.
No strap over her shoulder, no lens to hide behind, just a hem that would have brushed Poppy’s knee and hit her mid-thigh instead.
The mirror gave her back a girl who belonged here, a girl dressed to be looked at instead of to look. Skylar pressed the hem flat and brushed her teeth.
Halfway through applying her mascara, her phone buzzed again.
Jake: Have your grandparents decided what to do about the inspection?
Skylar frowned at the screen, not at Jake’s name but at the question under it.
Her grandfather had taught him to rebuild an engine before either of them could drive, and two years after they stopped dating, he still helped out at Hartley Automotive more than she could manage from eight hours away.
She’d meant to call Grams yesterday but there hadn’t been time. She hit call.
“Morning, sweetheart.” Her grandmother sounded too cheery. “I thought you’d be sleeping in this morning.”
“Jake just texted me about a problem with the insurance inspection.” Skylar wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder, finishing her mascara.
“I didn’t want you to worry.” Grams sighed. “We didn’t pass. It’s the panel. The wiring might be faulty and doesn’t meet current standards.”
The mascara wand slipped, dragging a black streak toward her temple. Skylar caught herself on the edge of the sink.
Faulty wiring were the same words the fire marshal had used nine years ago, standing in her grandmother’s kitchen, explaining why three people had died in their beds.
A knock on the front door made Skylar jump. She jogged through the living room and flung open the front door.
Charlie stood on the porch, car keys in hand, wearing tight white pants and a Thorndale jersey, the yellow seven stretched across his chest. His eyes swept over her wet ponytail, hastily applied makeup, the ill-fitting uniform, down to her bare feet and back up, pausing on the exposed skin at her waist.
When his eyes met hers again, his pupils had gone dark.
“What?” She tugged at the hem of the skirt. “Does it look wrong?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “You look great.”
“Skylar? Are you there?”
Her grandmother pulled her back to the conversation. Skylar gestured for Charlie to enter and turned back to the bathroom. “I’m here, Grams.”
“This isn’t like your home. We’ve identified the problem. It can be fixed.”
She knew her grandmother’s tone. There was more. “And?”
A long pause. “We can’t renew our license until the violations are fixed. We have until December thirty-first but if we don’t pass inspection before then . . .”
“The shop closes.” Skylar gripped the sink.
Hartley Automotive had been in the family for three generations.
Her grandfather had learned the trade from his father, had taught her own father everything he knew.
After the fire, after everything, the shop was all that remained. “How much to fix the panel?”
“Not something you need to worry about.”
“How much?”
“The electrician quoted us four thousand dollars.”
Four thousand. A number that might as well have been four million. Skylar had maybe three hundred in her savings account. Her next paycheck would cover rent and groceries, nothing more.
“I can pick up extra shifts—” Skylar stuffed a change of clothes and Poppy’s pom-poms into a satchel.
“Absolutely not. You’re there to get an education, not to work yourself into the ground.” Her grandmother’s tone sharpened. “We didn’t sacrifice everything to watch you burn out before you even graduate.”
The words landed in the center of Skylar’s body. She knew Grams didn’t mean them that way, but the guilt coiled tight in her chest anyway. She was eight hours away while her grandparents faced losing everything.
“I want to help.”
“You help by finishing your degree. By making something of yourself.” Grams softened. “That’s all we’ve ever wanted, sweetheart.”
A thump came from the living room. “I have to go.” She straightened her shoulders. “I’ll call you tonight and we’ll talk more.”
Skylar hung up and pressed her palms against her collarbone. Four thousand dollars by December. It was impossible.
When she emerged, Charlie stood in the kitchen, his palms flat on the counter.
“You okay?” His brow furrowed, his gaze searching her face with an intensity that made her want to look away. “You seem . . .”
“I’m fine.” She hiked up her bag and headed for the door. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Skylar slid into the passenger seat of the black Audi and busied herself with the seatbelt, conscious of every inch between his shoulder and hers. The car smelled like leather and fresh-cut grass, and she hated how familiar that scent was becoming.
“What? Is the McLaren in the shop?”
Charlie’s fingers gripped the steering wheel. “This is more practical.”
The drive to the stadium passed in silence. When they arrived, a cluster of cheerleaders had gathered near the fifty-yard line. Their eyes tracked her as she climbed out of the Audi, following her emergence from the quarterback’s car with undisguised curiosity.
A redhead broke away from the group and approached.
“You’re the substitute?” She looked Skylar up and down. “Poppy’s roommate?”
“Skylar.”
“Chloe.” The redhead’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Just follow my lead and try to look peppy.”
Peppy. Right.
The photographer was a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses and an impatient energy that set Skylar’s teeth on edge. He clapped his hands twice, loud and sharp. “Cheerleaders on the left, football players on the right. I want energy, people. Spirit. You’re selling the Thorndale experience.”
Skylar took her place among the nine other cheerleaders, most of whom she didn’t recognize. Across the field, the football players assembled in a wall of muscle and tight jerseys. Grant stood behind Seb, who was flexing for an imaginary audience. Booker and Wyatt looked vaguely terrified.
And Charlie.
He stood at the center of the group, helmet tucked under his arm, golden hair catching the afternoon light.
The tension she’d noticed in the car had melted away.
His shoulders hung loose, his stance easy, his laugh carrying across the fifty yards between them as Seb said something that made Grant roll his eyes.
He is beautiful. The thought surfaced before she could stop it. Not just handsome in the generic way of athletes and rich boys, but genuinely, arrestingly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made her fingers itch for her camera.
She looked away, tugging on the hem of her shirt.