Chapter 23
Serena
I’m having a crappy day. You could blink at me and I think I might throw a tantrum. I love starting my mornings by getting yelled at… for eating the last blueberry muffin.
“The babies deserve a treat!” Aunt Lina yells at me from across the hallway, while I gather all my strength to not roll my eyes at her.
“I’m sorry!”
“Ugh!” she complains back as I leave for school.
As fast as summer ended, the semester is flying by now that we’re already in October. The gym is fueled with excitement as we run through our cheerleading routine, aiming for the perfect synchronization with the competition coming up. Coach Miller isn’t keen on smaller competitions; she insists we focus all our energy on preparing for State rather than diverting our attention to competing at smaller events along the way .
I go through the motions, and my mind replays the stupid day I had at school. I got my AP Environmental Science test back, and to my dismay, I failed. Well, technically not failed, but scoring an eighty is not acceptable in my book. I studied all night for that test, but the essay portion tripped me up.
Disappointment washes over me. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, eighty isn’t a failing grade by most standards. But anything below perfection feels like a failure to me.
The pressure to excel in everything is ingrained in me like a tattoo inked on a person’s body. Growing up in an Asian household, there’s this unspoken expectation to be perfect. It’s not that my dad was a tyrant about my studies and behavior to study all day and night; I chose that path because I was homeschooled and had nothing to do. But I’ve always had this drive to be flawless, to honor my dad’s sacrifices. My grandparents immigrated here with almost nothing and struggled to adapt with little money and hardly knew English, so I feel so much fucking weight on my shoulders to return the favor as a sign of gratitude for their sacrifices.
Shaking off my frustrations, I take a quick water break, and watch my teammates practice the new and complex stunts Coach Miller introduced a couple of weeks ago. These stunts are way beyond Cassie’s comfort zone (who’s currently struggling as we speak), but most of the senior girls can nail them, earning us extra points on the scoresheet .
The routine begins with the flyer executing a cartwheel, seamlessly transitioning into the base’s arms for a swift lift, hoisting her into a liberty position. Balancing on one leg with the base providing steady support, the flyer elevates, executing a flawless spin in mid-air before landing securely in the base’s arms. The routine then transitions into a series of basket tosses, building up to a challenging kick-full basket toss. In a nutshell, the flyer is lifted high by both bases, performing a spinning maneuver in the air before executing a precise descent and landing.
It’s making me anxious that we’ll get docked off at the state competition if she keeps performing like this. Should I be the bigger person and just offer her help? I mean, we had a slight run-in when I flicked her off that one practice, but maybe for the greater good of the team?
I keep watching my team practice the section while I take a quick stretch break. Right after this section, it’s the tumbling segment, where I throw my body across the mat about three times. As I’m stretching, I glance upwards to see Tyler leaning against the rails on the top level. Normally, he does his off-season training after school around the same time I practice, but today he’s hanging around.
He shoots me a smirk and salutes me with two fingers, causing me to shake my head. I return the hi with a quick wave of my fingers, which only makes him smile wider. Our tutoring sessions are anything but boring–we continue to ask each other random icebreaker questions, sneak glances when we think the other isn’t looking, and our hands manage to collide here and there. After our sessions, he’s a complete gentleman, walking me to practice while shuffling my bags.
We’re halfway through the routine, my teammates are jumping and tossing each other up for the basket tosses. My eyes zone in on Cassie, who is bickering with Grant over their group’s sloppy landing.
“Would it fucking kill you to catch me better than that?” Cassie spits out in between breaths.
“I’m literally doing the best I can with your chicken legs.”
“What the fuck is your problem?” she snaps back, hands on her hips.
Coach Miller overhears the heated argument between the two from the opposite end of the formation, yet she doesn’t make any moves to stop the fight, Alli does.
Alli wedges her body between the two, “Stop fighting, this isn’t helping us nail the routine.”
Grant runs a hand through his messy blonde hair, slightly damped with his sweat. “Alli, this stunt is impossible with her.”
“I can’t do this stunt with you either.” Cassie barks, rolling her eyes .
Coach Miller wedges between the three, both hands on her hips while holding her clipboard, “Cassie, you need to sit out.”
“What?” Cassie huffs in disbelief, “I didn’t mess up the stunt, Grant can’t catch me!”
Coach Miller puts a hand up to stop her from continuing, “Enough! I’ve already switched your base groups twice.”
Cassie looks shocked and her eyes start to well, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying ,” Coach Miller glances around the gym, taking in the team’s attention on them, “you are out of the stunts and baskets.”
“But Coach, I’m trying really hard–”
A lifted hand stops her mid-sentence, “Cassie, I love your effort and drive. But we’ve spent too much time practicing this section each practice.”
She’s not wrong. Our practices last around two hours three times a week and we’ve spent a full hour on this section every practice, leaving very little time for the other groups to run through their sections.
Coach Miller surveys the room, her emerald eyes landing on me. The moment she sees me, I know what’s thinking and I don’t know if I should run or hide. Or both. “Serena, get in here. ”
Reluctantly, I make my way over to the group, feeling like I’m under the spotlight at a spelling bee and my word is “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”
“Yeah, coach?”
Coach Miller nods her head towards Cassie’s old base group, consisting of Grant and a junior named Thom. “Try the stunt and the basket toss.”
Remember when I said I was anxious earlier about losing points? Yeah, double that anxiety now. I’m not a flyer or a stunt girl by any means. Maybe when I was younger and only weighed 90 pounds, but I’ve grown since then.
“Did I stutter?” Coach Miller’s voice cuts through the air, reminding me that I’m being put on the spot.
“But I don’t know the counts,” I protest.
Alli steps forward, slipping into captain mode. “I can teach you, it’s not hard.”
Damn, maybe I should have ran for it.
I inhale deeply, and my gaze accidentally drifts upward where I lock eyes with Tyler, who’s still watching me from above. I can’t tell if our conversations are reaching his ears, but I can tell he knows the gist of what’s happening when his expression reflects concern, mirroring my own. He offers me a reassuring nod: You got it .
“Okay.” I walk over to the group and let Alli teach me the counts of the section. We go through a few practice runs to help me grasp the rhythm.
Twenty minutes pass and Coach Miller claps her hands. “Alright, let’s see this.”
Alli shoots me a comforting smile, “You got it.”
Grant clasps a hand on my shoulders, “You can do this. You’re the best on the team. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”
I nod, letting my group know I’m ready. Alli and Coach Miller count us off as I prepare for the lift to get me up in the air, which I execute messily but works for my first time. Nailing the mid-air spin, we smoothly transition into the basket toss section. Despite my nerves, I execute the kick-full basket toss, accepting any imperfections as part of the learning process. I see Coach Miller from the corner of my eye nodding her head in approval, a sign that I’ve impressed her.
“Cassie, you’re out of the stunt and basket toss.” She looks at me, “Serena, you’re in.”
“But Coach–”
“I don’t want to hear it, Cassie.”
“You’re seriously making her top girl? I’ve been on the team for two years and it took me forever to even get here. You can’t just swap me out with a newbie. ”
“I can, and I did. You’re still in other important parts of the routine. We need to hit zero, and in order to do that, I need Serena in this part. I’m sorry,” Coach Miller asserts, her decision final. She then turns her attention to me and my new base group. “Keep practicing,” she instructs before addressing Alli, “keep an eye on them.”
In a weird twist of events, we spend time working to perfect our part so it’s clean and not a hot ass mess.
“One more time,” Alli commands after we’ve been practicing the same section for the past thirty minutes.
My hands are on my hips as I take a deep breath and get into position. I manage the stunt decently, spinning in the air with a bit more style. But when it comes to the basket toss, I don’t brace myself enough. The landing isn’t as perfect as I want it to be. Instead of landing securely in Grant and Thom’s arms, I tumble weirdly into the group, which results in my body thudding against the ground.
The gym falls silent at the loud smack. All eyes are on me, and I struggle to hide my embarrassment, the weight of failure hitting me just as horribly. Pushing myself up, I shake it off as best as I can, “I’m good, I’m good,” I assure the concerned faces surrounding me.
Grant hovers over me, “Serena, are you alright? ”
“Yeah, just a little bump,” I reply, forcing a smile as I try to get up on my own. “Ah,” I wince, I consciously cradle my right arm, which took most of the impact.
“Serena!” Tyler appears next to me, concern written all over his face.
“Just a bad landing,” I mutter through clenched teeth, trying to hide the discomfort. But the throbbing in my arm is undeniable. Glancing down, I notice a bruise already starting to form.
Tyler looks down at my cradled arm, brows furrowing. “Let me help you up.” Tyler gently supports me as I try to stand, wincing with every movement. “We should get this checked out.”
“I’m fine,” I huff out, “It was just a bad landing.”
Coach Miller hurries over, she’s no longer my coach as she switches into godmother mode. “Oh my god, Serena. What happened?”
“I didn’t tighten my core enough for the landing, but I’m fine, I swear.”
Coach Miller doesn’t believe my words enough that she checks out my arm herself .
Tyler stands close, his eyes fixated on my arm as Coach Miller examines it. With a worried expression, he asks, “Is it bad? Should we go to the hospital?”
Coach Miller eyes him briefly, amusement flickering in her eyes before refocusing her attention on me. “It doesn’t look bad, I think you’ll just have a bruise. Take it easy until our next practice. You’re done for the day.”
As she walks away to continue practice with the team, Tyler hovers over me like he’s a moth attracted to light, his brows furrowed in concern. He crouches down in front of me and holds up his right hand, “How many fingers am I holding?”
I let out a mix of a scoff and a stifled laugh at his absurd question. “I fell on my arm , not my head . You’re not serious, right?” I swat his hand away from me, only for him to keep his hand in my face.
“I’m dead serious. Now, answer the question.”
“You have blue eyes that look like a summer day. You have a dimple that only shows up on your left side when you smile.” I look at his arm where his tattoo is no longer hidden. I nudge my chin towards it and continue, “You have a tattoo on your arm.” A smile creeps on my lips, lighting up his face like he’s coming home after a long day. “Oh, and you’re holding three fingers up.”
“Does that help?” I ask, standing up to grab my bag .
A faint blush spreads on his face. Tyler Westman is blushing in front of me. Because of me. He stands up straighter and reaches for my bag, letting out a relieved breath. “You’re okay.”
I notice the tattoo on his arm and pause, a flicker of surprise crosses his face. “Faith,” I murmur, my gaze still lingering on the ink. “I’ve noticed it since the day I met you but never knew what it said.”
Tyler’s lips quirk into a half-smile, his eyes holding a hint of amusement. “Taking notes on me?” He teases, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “You scared me shitless when I saw you fall.”
We walk towards the exit of the gym and stand in the empty hallway. “A little fall won’t hurt me.”
I glance over at him again. His encouraging grin lights up his face and I can’t ignore the irony in my answer. One fall from a stunt won’t hinder me from continuing on, yet I’ve been holding myself back from admitting my feelings for him, just because I’m afraid of getting hurt.
“Do you have a ride home?” he asks, popping my imaginary thinking bubble.
“Jared’s still stuck in the media room for films. I’ll just wait here,” I tell Tyler, glancing at the time on my phone.
“Let me, then. ”
“It’s fine,” I say, forcing a grin that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. The mental consequences of my fall are weighing on me and it’s starting to affect my mood. It’s not just about the fall; my head’s a big mess right now. I hate messing up routines in practice, and on top of that, I’m dealing with this whole feelings thing for Tyler, which is, well, a lot in itself.
“Did I do something?” Tyler asks, his voice tinged with concern, a hint of hurt visible in his deep blue eyes.
I shake my head and cross my arms. “No, I just need to be alone right now.”
“What’s going on?”
I muster up the courage to smile, a fake smile that is to hide all my feelings and frustrations. “I’m having a shitty day and I just need to be alone. You’re not helping me.”
He clicks his lips and breathes in to speak again, but I interrupt him.
“Can you just drop it?” I snap. “The day is really getting to me, and I just need some time.”
Tyler nods slowly, leaning against the nearby wall. He extends a hand tentatively, as if he wants to reach out to me, but it falls back to his side, as if he’s reconsidered. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I say, brushing off the turmoil inside, trying to maintain a facade of nonchalance .
He gives me a nod and heads off, leaving me with my chaotic thoughts. It’s like trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube with half the colors missing: sorting out my emotions, the weight of perfection, and finding space for how I feel about him… just intimidating and unsettling.
Great, now I feel like an asshole.