Page 2 of Falling for the Bombshell (Falling for #1)

The Plex, the Pyramid, and a Whole Lotta Pressure

Tryouts started today—and oh my god, it ’ s been three of thelongest, hardest, most exhilarating days of my life. My feet are begging for mercy, my wrist feels like it ’ s being held together with glitter and pain, and I need about a week ’ s worth of sleep just to feel human again.

Day One was chaos—in the best kind of way.

We learned our main tryout routine, showcased our individual skills, and got the full rundown on what it really means to be a Bombshell.

Rules. Regulations. Expectations. And this year ’ s contract.

No fluff. No sugarcoating. Just the raw truth: this isn ’ t high school anymore.

It ’ s a job. And only twenty-five girls will earn the uniform.

Day Two was repetition. Sideline routines, again and again, until our brains were soup and our bodies couldn ’ t tell left from right.

We cleaned and re-cleaned the main number more times than I could count.

By lunch, my muscles were screaming, but I couldn ’ t stop watching—sixty girls, each one fighting like hell for a shot to be part of something bigger.

Billings might not be known for Broadway or big stages, but here?

We bleed football. Friday nights are sacred.

Fall is church. And the Bombshells? We ’ re the gospel before the kickoff.

We practice at the Plex—our indoor facility.

It ’ s practically my second home. Not just because I ’ ve danced here for years, but because my mom runs the place.

She ’ s the boss: staff, leagues, gym, summer camps, all of it.

She ’ s also our head coach. My sister, Jade, is the assistant coach and lead choreographer.

So, yeah… it ’ s a full-blown family affair.

I grew up in gyms—falling asleep in folding chairs, stretching to the sound of sneakers squeaking on hardwood, eating drive-thru dinners while my mom shouted counts from the sidelines.

I ’ ve been around this world since before I could speak.

This is my air. But sometimes, JJ ’ s voice still echoes in my head.

Girls like you just want attention. You only dance to get looked at.

You think shaking your ass is talent? I push the thoughts down, back where they belong—in the past. This team reminds me who I am.

These girls? They see me. Not JJ ’ s version of me. Me.

I ’ m the youngest one trying out—eighteen. Most of the others are college dancers or Bombshell vets. I know what people think: I only made it this far because of my last name. Nepotism in glitter. But I ’ m not here to blend in. I ’ m here to lead.

Jade choreographed every 8-count we bled through this week. She ’ s magic—intense, precise, always five steps ahead. Her best friend Jamie is our DJ and spirit queen. She mixes beats like a mad scientist and somehow manages to keep us all laughing through the grind .

And yeah—this year, we ’ re trying out for the Bullets, Billings ’ outdoor football team. That means double the performances, double the scrutiny, and zero room for error. My family ’ s expectations? Sky high.

I ’ m lucky Jade stayed in Billings instead of moving to Bozeman with Karter. Between her and him, I ’ ve had two built-in bodyguards for my heart. Especially after the hell JJ put me through.

Day Three comes like a final exam. The nerves hit hard.

We ’ re brought into the studio—sixty girls, one giant mirror, and a panel of judges: former Bombshells, league reps, choreographers, even a rep from the Bullets.

We try out in groups of three. By fate or karma or divine choreography, I ’ m grouped with my girls— Sadie Brooks , tall and blonde and blindingly confident, like my own personal Taylor Swift; and Cleo Martinez , all fire and flavor, my ride-or-die since fourth grade.

“ Group 19,” someone calls. We walk into the room.

We take our spots. And then we go . Six routines.

No stops. No excuses. Just breath and beat and sweat and soul.

We leave it all out there. Every ounce of heartbreak, every doubt, every dream.

We danced not like we were trying to make the team—but like we already were the team.

The final twist? A mini-interview—on football.

They asked who won last season ’ s championship. Cleo answered before they finished the question. They asked what makes a sideline dancer different from a halftime dancer. Sadie and I tag-teamed it like we ’ d rehearsed. We didn ’ t just want to dance—we wanted to represent .

After the last group finishes, we sit cross-legged on the turf, waiting while the judges deliberate.

My chest is buzzing. No one speaks. No one dares to breathe too loud.

Then the judges exit, and the chaos begins.

Girls sprint. Screams echo. Some laugh. Some cry.

Me, Sadie, and Cleo? We link hands and walk together.

The roster ’ s up.

And there— at the top —is my photo.

Captain.

I blink, sure it ’ s a mistake. But it ’ s real. My name. My face. Leading the pyramid. Sadie shrieks. “ Bitch, you ’ re BACK. You ’ re BACK !” Cleo pulls me into a hug. “ No one deserved that more. No one.” Tears fill my eyes. I can barely breathe.

Cleo ’ s listed as a group leader—right under me. Sadie? Just one row down as a first-string dancer.

We all made it.

Celebration follows—group photos, confetti from someone ’ s gym bag, an impromptu pizza run.

By the time I get home, it ’ s after ten.

Ember, my tiny black pug, is curled in my bed like a queen, wagging like mad when she sees me.

I collapse into my sheets, buzzing with pride… until the doubts creep in.

Did I get captain because I ’ m the coach ’ s daughter?

Will the team even like me?

I text the group chat .

Linnie:

am i captain bc i ’ m the daughter? or did i actually earn it? be honest.

Sadie:

girl. stop. you crushed it. your energy, your leadership. you made everyone better. we needed that.

Cleo:

BITCH. if anyone says otherwise, they can meet me in the parking lot at dawn.

Linnie:

ilygsm. gym sesh tomorrow?

Cleo:

aye aye, captain.

A little while later, my mom comes home glowing. She tells me the panel couldn ’ t stop raving. That Jade had to leave the room because she was crying too hard. Now I ’ m crying.

Maybe this is my fresh start. Maybe this team really is the first page of a new chapter. Just as I’m dozing off, my phone buzzes.

Jade.

I answer—and a streamer pops in the background.

“CONGRATULATIONS!” she and Karter shout. “Our girl’s a captain!”

I laugh through the happy tears, heart full.

They live downtown now, in a cute little apartment with too many plants. They’re already plotting to find me a new man. I keep telling them I’ve sworn off dating, but Karter says I’m doomed. “The turf lights bring out the charmers,” he says.

Maybe he’s right.

But for now?

It’s just me, Ember, and the glow of knowing I fought for this.

Captain.

Leader.

Dancer.

This is where I belong.

Tomorrow, the work begins.

But tonight—I let myself believe it.

I did it.