Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
THEN
A fter a long, torturous week of cheer tryouts, everyone gathers inside the gym and settles in the bleachers facing the head coach of the varsity team. I’m sitting between Regan and David, the only boy who’s trying out for the squad. He’s a sophomore and made the JV team last year, and I can tell he wants varsity just as much as I do.
Coach West is a tiny woman with bright blonde hair who isn’t afraid to tell it like it is. She’s an undeniable hard-ass, but with the ultimate say over which Saddlebrook Falls High cheer team I’m going to make, I’ve been working hard to impress her all week.
I’m not worried I won’t make a team, it just might not be varsity. Of the sixty students who tried out, sixteen will make each of the squad levels, which means only a dozen of us won’t make a team at all.
What becomes trickier is how hard it is for a freshman to make the varsity team. According to school policy, at least half of the varsity team must be made up of seniors, which leaves eight spots open for the rest of us—and there are plenty of juniors and sophomores like David who have paid their dues and are vying for one of those spots.
Twenty-five freshmen are trying out, and most will make the freshman team. A few will likely make JV . . . but making it on varsity despite the rest of the competition would be a serious feat. Still, though, I feel good about my performance this week—a lifetime of gymnastics training prepared me for all of the tumbling and choreography that we worked through together.
Flying is my only area of concern . . . it’s the one skill that we didn’t learn in middle school.
“Listen up,” Coach West booms. “I want to thank you all for showing an interest in making the Saddlebrook Falls High cheer squad. We have a tremendous cheer family here full of deeply rooted Mustang pride, and ours is a squad made up of incredible talent.” Her brows rise and it lifts the red visor she’s wearing over her face. “While we’re blown away by the talent this year, some of you won’t make the cut.”
Regan tenses, and I reach out to grab her hand as I scan the sea of faces around me. Most are bunched tight in concern.
“The other coaches and I will be convening this evening to make decisions for all three squad levels. On Monday, a final roster will be posted on the bulletin board in the cafeteria.” She takes a long pause to sweep her gaze across the bleachers. “Are there any questions?”
David sighs beside me, and Regan is shaking her head. “Hey,” I whisper, forcing her to look at me with those wide, nerve-filled eyes. “You had a great week, Regan, and you looked amazing on the mat. Don’t stress, okay?”
Her mouth pulls up slightly, but it does nothing to wipe the worry in her expression. “Yeah?”
I click my tongue, squeezing against her arm. “Would I lie to you?” The truth is Regan is good. She needs to work on her confidence, but she has a great technical foundation and hit her marks all week. She’s probably good enough to make the varsity team, but I have a hunch her lack of confidence will keep her on JV.
Her smile grows. “I guess we’ll know for sure on Monday.”
I nod. “Yeah—only three days of torture.”
She laughs. David leans over me, his eyes fastened on Regan. “You have nothing to worry about,” he says in a low voice just for us. “Trust me, based on the way Coach was watching you today, it’s obvious she’s impressed.”
My gaze snaps to him. I hadn’t noticed Coach West watching her . . . maybe she will make varsity. I suddenly wonder, if it were between her and me, who Coach would choose.
But then I snuff out the thought. Regan is a genuinely nice girl and I’m not going to let my nerves or competitive drive ruin a good thing between us.
If she makes varsity and I don’t, it simply means she deserves it more.
“Or she was trying to decide if I deserve a spot at all.” Regan cringes, gripping my hand tighter. The rest of the students are getting up—the coaches must have dismissed the group.
David shakes his head, clearly unhurried. “No, trust me,” he insists. “I know her looks; I was here last year. She likes you. I promise.”
That seems to settle some of Regan’s nerves, but now I’m feeling them. “Let’s get out of here,” I say from my place between them. “I need to get home to my sister anyway.”
David nods, and Regan stands. She pulls the strap of her gym bag over her shoulder and says, “Do you guys . . . maybe we can hang out? This weekend?”
I smile. “What do you have in mind?”
She shrugs.
“You guys wanna go to a party tonight?” David asks.
We both turn to look at him. “A party?” I repeat lamely. I’ve never been to a high school party before, and from the look on Regan’s face, I can tell she hasn’t either.
David smirks. “I keep forgetting you guys are freshmen. Yes, a party. It’s what happens when a few dozen kids congregate at someone’s house and, you know, party.”
I scoff. “Riveting.”
David rolls his eyes as he gives my arm a playful nudge. I look back at Regan to see what she thinks—I’m not going if she’s not going. She must be thinking the same thing because her eyes widen and she shrugs once like, Up to you, girl .
A grin slices across my face. “Let’s do it.”
It didn’t take much convincing for Mom to let me go out, though I didn’t exactly tell her the whole plan. Between bites of the fried catfish we ate at dinner, I casually slipped into the conversation that Regan and David wanted to hang out tonight. She looked at me with a spark of approval in her eye before practically shoving me out the door as soon as we finished our meal.
“Do you even know where she’s going?” I heard my stepfather ask from down the hall as I changed into a comfortable pink dress.
“Oh Barry,” she whined, “don’t start already. It’s her first weekend of the school year and she’s making new friends. We should be encouraging this!”
Normally Barry doesn’t have much to say about my comings and goings, taking more of a hands-off approach with his wife’s daughter from a previous relationship. It suits me just fine, so I wonder why he’s suddenly acting concerned. Luckily his hesitation does nothing to deter my mother, and when I hear a honk from the street I say quick goodbyes before launching myself out the front door.
David’s driving an old golden minivan, and I have to do my best not to poke fun at it—I don’t know him well enough to rag on what’s probably a hand-me-down from his family. At least he has a car to drive. Regan waves from the front seat, rolling down her window to shout, “Get in here, bitch!”
I laugh, shaking my head as I pull the handle of the back door and slide in. The van smells like the black ice air freshener hanging from the rearview with a hint of stale french fries, and I suddenly find myself thankful for new experiences. Thankful to have two new friends who cared enough to pick me up and spend time together.
“You ready to party, freshy?” David smirks as he looks over his shoulder at me.
I smile. “Freshy?”
He dips his head. “You know: freshman, fresh meat, freshy.”
I laugh. “If you say so.”
The side of David’s mouth rises higher. “Just be cool and blend in. Freshmen usually aren’t allowed at these parties, but you’re both girls and, well, you’re both hot.” Regan shifts in her seat, obviously pleased by the compliment. “Just don’t draw too much attention, and try to have a little fun, yeah?”
Regan and I both eagerly nod before we all burst out into laughter.
Ten minutes later, we’re pulling onto a curb where over half a dozen cars flank a two-story house. It looms over us, dark and stately and not at all like what I imagined when David mentioned a house party.
“Some party,” Regan whispers as we all stare up at it.
David snorts. “Just wait.”
We spill out into the balmy night air as the sounds of music and muffled chatter reach around from the backyard of the dark house. David leads us toward the side gate where a sharpie-written note on a piece of ripped notebook paper reads: DON’T COME BACK HERE UNLESS YOU brOUGHT BEER.
I look up at David as concern ripples through me. “We don’t have any beer.” How can a trio of underage teenagers be expected to get their hands on beer? It’s already nearly eight, and I have to be home by ten thirty—a curfew that Barry implemented just before I made it out the door.
David shakes his head. “Connor’s just fucking around. Come on.” He nods toward the back of the house as he opens the gate, ignoring the sign. As if we should know who Connor is. I catch Regan’s eyes but she just shrugs and follows behind.
We take the narrow pathway into the full backyard to find a couple dozen people, all obviously juniors and seniors. My eyes skim across the congregation of faces—most don’t spare us a glance.
A tall dark-haired guy steps out of the house and immediately spots us, his face twisting into a wry grin as he makes his way over. “Never thought I’d see the day when you’d show up with chicks,” he quips.
David sighs. “I have no problem pulling chicks, Sanders. But these girls are cool—be nice, okay?”
The guy looks me up and down before his eyes flit to Regan. His grin grows wider. “Fresh meat? You dog.”
“Shut up, Connor. They’re friends.”
Connor throws his hands up. “All good here, bro. But keep an eye on them—some of the guys from the football team are already rowdy.”
“What else is new?” David chides under his breath.
Connor laughs before he looks back at us. “There’s some liquor in the kitchen—if anyone asks, tell ’em I said it was okay. Bathroom is down the hall to the right, but otherwise, everyone stays out here. My parents come home tomorrow morning, you know how it goes.”
Regan and I both nod, and Connor sets off into the crowd with a dip of his chin.
“Do either of you want a drink?” David asks.
I shake my head—no way in hell am I drinking anything when I have to be home in a little over two hours. I don’t trust myself to hide something like that without some experience.
“I’m okay too, thank you,” Regan says, and I feel my shoulders drop in relief.
“Layla?” someone calls out from my right, and I turn to find Jason Moore—the boy who sits next to me in photography class—walking toward me with a curious look on his face. His golden-brown hair is styled to wavy perfection, and a dimple blooms from the corner of his mouth when his smile widens .
Nerves squeeze at my chest. “Oh . . . you’re here,” I stammer. Regan sucks in a breath next to me.
“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m here. And you’re here, too.”
His smile is infectious, and I can’t help but return it. He’s been quiet in class this week, but his personality has cracked through his soft and shy exterior once or twice. I’ve learned he was on the varsity football team last year and he’s hoping to make it again. I also happen to know from cafeteria gossip that he and his year-long girlfriend recently broke up. Both of them have been really quiet about what happened, so naturally the rumors are running rampant.
David looks back and forth between us. “You two know each other?”
“We sit next to each other in photography,” Jason confirms. And then his eyes slide to David. “How do you know Layla?” There’s something in the way he asks that I can’t put my finger on.
David must hear it too because he hesitates before answering. “Uh . . . Layla and Regan were both in tryouts this week.”
Jason looks back at me, his dark blue eyes catching mine. “You’re a cheerleader?”
I nod. “Technically we don’t find out until Monday, but . . . yeah. I hope so.”
“Hm,” he hums, that hint of a smile still teasing. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been working up the courage all week to ask you something.”
Curiosity flares brightly inside of me. “You have?”
He nods, eyes pinned to mine. “I have. I—I was hoping I could maybe take you out sometime?”
Oh. I’m shocked. “You were?” I feel Regan look at me, and my cheeks burn hot.
Jason’s smile turns soft and warm. “Very much so.”
I stare at him for a long moment before answering, trying to understand how it’s possible that this gorgeous specimen is interested in me. “Okay,” I finally say. “That . . . would be nice.”