“It hurts, Brady. It hurts so bad.”
“I know. We’re going to go make it better.”
I GIGGLE, APPLAUDING AS he throws a cheeseball up in the air and catches it in his mouth. The thirty-six that he missed lie scattered across the studio floor. After finding me at the park, Brady brought me back here and called for reinforcements. Twenty minutes later, we had all the junk food Jacob could grab in a quick trip to the grocery store, and the most comfortable sweats I’ve ever worn in my life.
“All right, turn the music up,” I tell him, watching as he grabs the remote and raises the volume.
The sounds of “Haunted” by Taylor Swift fill the room, the perfect melody for what I’m feeling right now. It’s loud and irate, exactly the feelings I need. I start a pirouette and spin until I’m dizzy. The moves are messy but firm as I take out my anger, and by the time I’m done, my labored breathing feels like healing.
Brady switches the song to Shake It Off, and the two of us dance around the room like idiots, laughing hysterically and not giving a shit if people are watching through the window. Sometimes, what you need is just to let go for a bit, and a friend to let go with.
WE’RE JUST FINISHING OUR duet to Señorita when Brady shuts off the music and turns to me. The look in his eyes shows he’s in “big brother knows best” mode instead of the supportive friend mode he just spent half the day in.
“All right, Sav. Time to go,” he tells me.
My brows furrow. “What do you mean? Go where?”
“It’s Monday. You have cheer practice.”
With my jaw practically on the floor, all the air leaves my lungs. “Have you lost your ever-living mind? I can’t go there.”
He sighs and grabs his sweatshirt. “You have to. If you don’t, it’s like you’re handing over captain to Kinsley without putting up a fight.”
“They’re going to vote me out anyway.”
“Then they vote you out,” he counters. “At least then you know you didn’t just give it to her.”
A low whine emits from my throat. “Haven’t I been humiliated enough for one week?”
“Almost.” Brady jokes. “Let’s go, you’ll thank me later.”
AS I WALK INTO the gymnasium, all eyes focus on me. Kinsley is running them through stunts that are far more dangerous than their skill level allows, but when she realizes they’ve all stopped, she turns around to see what they’re looking at.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she sneers.
I look around at my team, finding only Emma staring back at me with something other than disgust on her face. It’s obvious where I stand, but Brady was right, I can’t just hand it over.
“Last time I checked, I’m still captain.”
The irritating laugh she lets out goes right through me. “Weren’t you listening this morning? No one wants you here.”
I stand strong and square my shoulders, refusing to let her get to me. “I really don’t care what you say, Kinsley. You can’t just waltz in here and demand captain. That’s not how it works.”
She narrows her eyes at me before smirking. “Fine, we’ll put it to a vote then.” Turning to the rest of the team, my chest tightens. “All those in favor of overthrowing Savannah and making me captain?” Everyone raises their hand except Emma, and Kinsley focuses back on me with a devilish grin on her face. “There, now it’s settled, and the first action I’m taking as captain is kicking your fake ass off this team.”
It’s a very formative experience, seeing everyone I thought was my friend turn against me so easily—though I brought this on myself. I give them a sad smile before nodding once. If I didn’t think it would make me look worse, I’d smack the smug look right off Kinsley’s face.
“Now let’s go,” she announces. “Practice is ending early today. I have plans with my boyfriend.”
The word doesn’t fail to sting, and I know that was her intention. As they all walk toward the locker room, Emma stands there, watching me sadly.
“Em, come on, or you can join her,” Kinsley calls.
Mouthing a silent apology, she goes with them. I don’t blame her. Cheer is that girl’s whole life, and she’s good at it. No part of me would want her to give that up.
I send Brady a text and walk out to the football field, sitting on the bleachers as I stare at the empty turf. I spent almost four full years on this field and put all my energy into cheering on the football team. It’s upsetting to know I won’t finish out the season for my senior year.
Memories of the games we’ve played this year flash through my mind. When Jace kicked a field goal from sixty yards away. Hayden intercepting a throw and weaving his way all the way down to score a touchdown. Grayson running a Hail Mary play at the end of a game, and Carter catching in the end zone,—continuing their undefeated streak. It’s all bittersweet.
The ruffling of my hair grabs my attention, and I turn my head to see Wyatt smiling at me. Carter kisses the top of my head while Jace sits down and pulls me into his arms. Even Hayden stands there with his arm around Emma, grinning as he shakes his head at me.
“You don’t hate me?”
Carter sighs, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. “It turns out, you’re a pretty hard person to stay mad at.”
Relief floods through me. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for it to get so out of hand.”
“Why did you lie in the first place, though?” Emma asks.
I shrug. “Before I started here, I knew one thing—wealth meant power. What I wanted was to fit in. Then one thing lead to another, and I was the girl everyone idolized. I thought that if people knew the truth, I’d be the laughingstock of the school.”
Carter shakes his head. “We never liked you for your money, princess. It was your bitchy attitude and ability to put people in their place that won us over.”
“And you’re hot, so that helps,” Jace quips as I lean against him.
Using my sleeve, I wipe away the few tears that have managed to escape. “I really do love you guys.”
“We love you, too,” Carter responds. “Now if only we could figure out what the hell is going through Grayson’s mind. Kinsley? Seriously?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
He frowns. “Not yet?”
“Not ever.”
I JOG DOWN THE street, running to escape from all my demons. My father. Kinsley. Grayson. The faster my feet move, the further away they feel.
The music flows through the earbuds and into my ears. It’s therapeutic, really, how a song has the ability to make you feel that much better. The lyrics are like an outlet, not only for the songwriter, but for the listener—kind of like my dancing. It’s always been a way for me to tell a story—to deal with the pain and heartache, and just let it out.
I come to a halt as an idea clicks in my mind. Then I turn around and race back to the studio. I get there in record time and burst into the room. Brady eyes me carefully.
“I want to change our duet.”