So it isn’t until a few minutes after everyone else that my sights land on Everett Brock, standing on the sideline with a Brentwick hat covering his sandy blond hair and a whistle dangling from those full, red lips.
“What is he doing here?” I hiss to Rachel, who is close enough to me that no one else hears.
“I have no clue,” she mutters. “He might be watching practice?”
That one’s loud enough for the other squad members to hear, and one of our fliers, Georgia, volunteers an answer. “My dad is like, b-f-f’s with Coach Rott, and he said that Everett Brock is going to be an assistant coach this season.”
Panic fills my chest cavity, and I think my stomach just dropped into the balls of my feet.
Bianca rushes over, not so subtly, and presses a hand to my arm. “You okay?”
It takes me a minute to collect myself, but I steel my spine and tip my chin up. “Yeah, let’s warm up.”
Rachel eyes me for another second, and I give a slight shake of my head, warning her off. I promised myself, and them, that I was done with this school girl crush. But the urge to turn and stare at him, when he’s this close, is so difficult to stave off.
“Just focus on Logan.” Bianca wiggles her eyebrows.
Since I told them I’d be open to talking to other guys a couple of days ago, my two besties have been hard at work selecting the perfect candidate. Logan Myers is a senior on the football team, tall with the perfect athlete’s body and a head full of dark curls. He’s supposedly pretty nice, and though we haven’t been in the same classes, he’s smart enough to be in the same AP level as I am.
And apparently, Rachel has already found out he’s interested in me, if I’m game.
Turning to look at him, I do have to admire how well he fills out the practice uniform. A moment later, as if he feels me staring at him, he turns and smiles, offering up a little wave. I smile shyly.
“Myers! Get back to work. What do you think this is, fucking Daydream Land?” Everett barks at the top of his lungs.
I can feel the ire of his tone all the way across the field, and when my mouth falls open slightly, he returns my shocked gaze with a stony grimace.
“Well, if he wasn’t trying to pee all over his territory …” Rachel snorts.
“Yeah, Kenny, I don’t think you need to worry whether he likes you or not.” Bianca pats me on the shoulder.
Shaking my head, because I need to lead my team right now, I instruct my squad to stretch, and start working on their tumbling skills for the first half of practice.
As the afternoon sun twinkles into early dusk, it’s hard not to feel his presence. To feel my skin prickle every time my vision turns his way. There is an electric current running across the stadium, connecting the two of us like poles on opposite ends of the earth. I wonder if Everett feels this, too.
From tumbling, we move into cheer work, and then stunt work. One of the girls almost falls out of her liberty pose, and we can’t seem to get our basket tosses right today. But we are getting stronger in terms of having four girls on the team who can do full twisting back flips, so there is a plus.
Before I know it, practice is over, and most of the athletes are heading to the locker room to shower and change. Here’s the thing about being a cheerleader, we don’t get a designated locker room space. I, and a rotation of the other girls on the squad, have to unload and load a tiny closet designated for our things before and after every practice.
I’m sweating and panting by the time I make it back out to the turf to collect my things and finally head home.
“Kennedy.” His shadow falls over me as I hurry to collect my things.
I haven’t spoken to him since the night of the barn party. He hasn’t apologized, hasn’t even bothered to peek out of his curtains, and hasn’t shown up in town anywhere. And even though I told Rachel and Bianca I was done being hung up on my Everett fantasies, it’s hard to stick to that resolve when he’s standing in front of me, on my turf. Technically, I guess this was his turf first. And he doesn’t even know that I’m peeved, well, not that I’ve explicitly told him. But still, I can be angry in my mind.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, standing as I strap my backpack over one shoulder, an equipment bag over the other, and juggle the Bluetooth speaker and choreography binder in my arms.
As if he hasn’t verbally accosted me, told me off, and generally wanted nothing to do with his next-door neighbor, Everett slides the equipment bag off my shoulder and onto his while transferring the items in my arms to his own.
He’s wearing a ball cap, which is so hometown sexy I can’t help but bite my lip. Those green eyes look a little more lively than I’ve seen them, and somehow in October, his cheekbones are still dusted with a healthy tan. He looks like everything you hear in a country song, and I want to melt into him.
“You don’t have to do that.” My tone is all snotty annoyance.
“I know I don’t.” No other explanation than that, those eyes searing into mine.
We awkwardly stand there, because I know I’m supposed to direct him to my car where he can drop my things. But I don’t know if I actually want him too. Or maybe I want him to do that too much, and that’s why I hesitate.
“Just tell me where your car is, Kennedy.” He rolls his eyes as he uses my full name.
I walk a fraction of a step in front of him as we both turn in the familiar direction of the parking lot. “So, why are you here?”
“I’m going to be a volunteer coach this season.” Everett confirms what the other girls told me before practice.
It’s the practical answer, but my question was deeper. Why even come over to me at all? Why are you carrying my things to the car?
Why hasn’t my heartbeat returned to a normal rate since the moment I glimpsed you across the turf?
Homecoming is next weekend. The idea pops into my head as we walk under the banner hanging outside the stadium and our feet hit the parking lot pavement.
Now, I know he’ll be at the game, that he’ll watch as I walk out onto the field on the arm of one of the boys in the court. I found out three days ago that the voting swayed my way, that I am one of the four girls up for the honor of senior homecoming queen. I’m not modest enough to say I don’t want it; deep down, every little girl dreams of wearing that tiara on her head.
Part of me foolishly hopes, is clinging to the idea, that he might ask me. No matter that Everett isn’t even a student anymore, or that he’s told me he basically wants nothing to do with me. I’ve dreamed for a long time about Everett Brock taking me to a school dance as his date. It never happened when he attended school here, and I spent both his junior and senior prom nights crying into my pillow. Like a moron.
Guess I’m still that same moron, because there’s a lump in my throat imagining him slipping a corsage around my wrist. Of all the things I could be thinking right now, why does it have to be this?
“Homecoming seems like a fitting game for you to come home for. Local football legend back to coach our boys to victory?” The awkward giggle passes my lips before I can stop it. “I’m sure everyone will love having you back.”
We brush up alongside my car, and I awkwardly fumble my keys out of my backpack. I can’t make out the furrow in his brow as I turn to face him.