Page 27

Chapter Twenty

M y phone buzzes in my palm and I open the photo Wyatt sent of himself wearing his father’s old jersey. He’s right; it is a little tight. But it’s also perfect.

“What an incredible gift,” I say before taking my phone off speaker and heading out the door to the Jeep.

“Yeah. So many memories of my dad wearing this thing. You think it’s stupid to wear it for practice?”

“Not at all.”

I set my duffle bag in the passenger seat before moving to the driver’s side.

I sync my phone with the Jeep and head down our driveway, pausing at the empty road.

Not a car in sight. I’m a little stressed about practice today.

A few of the parents sent me messages of encouragement last night after the meeting, but I can’t get over the look on a few of the faces in the crowd. They were demonizing me.

“You okay?” Wyatt breaks the silence.

“Yeah,” I sigh out. “Sometimes, I just like having you on the line, even if I don’t have anything to say.”

“I know what you mean.”

I give my pause a few more seconds, then turn onto the road, heading toward the high school.

“My mom told me the best way to shut everyone up is to win state,” I say.

“ Hmm . She’s not wrong. Not in Coolidge anyway.”

Everyone loves you when you win.

“I don’t know if this is the squad that can do that, if I’m being real. They’re scrappy, and I have a few tumblers, but the program doesn’t have the support like it did when I was the captain.”

Or the talent.

“So, find yourself a you and make her captain.”

I ruminate on Wyatt’s advice for a few seconds. I’m not sure there’s a girl like me on the squad.

“Thanks, babe. That’s good advice. I’m gonna look for someone.”

I may need to find that person outside of the team and beg them to join, which wouldn’t be a first for any sport at Coolidge.

Hell, the underhanded recruitment that happens with high school football around here crosses state lines.

I merely want to poach a volleyball player, or maybe a hidden gem who never tries out for anything.

“I gotta hit the field. I’ll call you as soon as I get to the apartment tonight. Love you.”

I blow a kiss into the phone before he ends the call, then finish my drive to the high school, pulling into the lot a few minutes before students file out to head home or to practices.

I park in the faculty section and grab my bag, heading inside before I have an audience.

I feel as though this entire thing has put a new spotlight on me, like when I was a student here and my dad was still playing.

It’s strange how a high school campus can make anyone feel like an awkward adolescent again.

The whispering. The name calling. This place sometimes assigns people in roles whether they want them or not.

Bullies, nerds, loners. I’ve worn each of those titles at some point.

The gym is quiet when I step inside, the last PE class for the day done.

I sneak up the steps to the mats upstairs, then pause at the large white board.

Maybe this whole thing should be democratic.

It takes me a few minutes to write every team member’s name on the board, and by the time I click the cap back on the pen, half of the squad is upstairs with me and stretching.

I step in front of the short senior who is going to be our flyer this season.

“Kyra, how long have you been cheering?”

She stretches an arm across her body as she scrunches her face in thought. “Seven years? Yeah . . . seven.”

I nod and mutter, “Thanks.”

When Lily, the other senior on the team, arrives, I ask her the same question. She came up through the same cheer club I did, so I’m not surprised when she says she started at eight.

It would be easy to make the two of them co-captains. They don’t fall into the bully category, and they’re talented. But neither is the kind of leader who inspires. Or maybe I simply don’t see it. And that makes a team vote feel like an even better idea.

“Hey, Coach? You can take Alissa’s name off the board. She quit,” says Amosa, a sophomore like Alissa.

My gut drops, and I can’t help the audible sigh I let out.

“Why did she quit?”

I know why. Because her mom made her. And because she’s the center of attention in a fight she didn’t pick.

Amosa shrugs, but our gazes connect for a beat, long enough for a shared frowning expression.

Amosa and Alissa are friends. I’ve seen them together outside of practice.

I remember them both at games as freshmen, sitting in the stands, cheering with glitter on their faces.

They were into school spirit without the hype of a cheer uniform.

I get the feeling that both tried out simply to have something fun to do together and to be part of a team that liked to support the Bears as much as they did.

I turn to the board and pick up the eraser, hovering it over Alissa’s name for a few seconds while I imagine this squad without her.

I can’t even imagine today’s practice without her, honestly.

She has this way of showing effort that’s infectious.

I honestly think some of the stronger girls try harder just because Alissa does.

I put the eraser back and flip around to face the squad, folding my arms over my chest.

“What’s with the names, Coach?” Lily asks.

I pull my lips in tight, giving myself a second for a gut check before floating a wild idea out there.

“I was considering holding a vote today for team captain. I think you ladies are talented enough to really compete, but you’re missing that extra drive. When I was cheering here, and at Arizona, we had strong leadership that pushed us all to be our best, together.”

Amosa clears her throat, and I lift a brow as I glance at her.

“Sorry, Coach. But . . . weren’t you the captain here?”

I smirk, realizing I did sort of indirectly brag about myself. I waggle my head and roll my eyes, feeling the burn of embarrassment.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t just me. I wasn’t always the captain. I learned from some awesome upperclassmen, and there was a system in place where the seniors chose their successor before graduation. I’m not sure why that practice stopped, but maybe . . . we should bring it back.”

The girls look around the room at one another, a few of them lifting their brows.

They seem excited by the idea. My gaze settles on Kyra and Lily, and the two of them turn to look at one another with what I think is a sense of unease crinkling their eyes.

I didn’t think they wanted the captain roles, which is another reason I didn’t simply pick them for it. I can see their hesitation now.

“I’m not coronating you, guys. Relax,” I say, and Lily lets out a nervous laugh and shakes her head as she stares at the ground.

“No offense, Coach,” Kyra adds. “It’s not that I’m not ambitious. It’s just that I don’t think I’d enjoy being captain. And I have a lot on my plate with academics. And?—”

I hold up my hand, stopping her from giving herself anxiety.

“I understand. And I wouldn’t ask that of you, unless it’s something you want.”

They both nod and exhale through their noses, their smiles returning.

“But”—their smiles drop again; hopefully this proposal will be all right with them—“as the seniors, maybe it is fitting that you two get to decide who leads this team. It’s your last year, and you’ve both been at this for a long time.

You know what works and what doesn’t. You have insights none of us have, not even me, because these are your peers.

This is your last year in this uniform, and you deserve to help decide the direction. How does this program go from here?”

I can tell they’re taking this role in thoughtfully, both blinking as their gazes drift to the empty space.

I give the rest of the squad a gut check, glancing at the other girls to see if I sense any jealousy or bitterness.

Mostly, it’s smiles. A few girls look relieved.

And all of this tells me that the person who should lead this squad isn’t in this room.

But I can’t be the one to make that call.

“We’ll do it. Or, well, I’ll do it. Lily?” Kyra looks at her friend, and she nods.

“Great. I’d like you to think about it today, through practice. We’re working on basic skills all afternoon, and that will give you a chance to observe the others, or pull anyone aside and talk to them, or?—”

“We don’t need to do that, actually,” Lily says, biting her lip and lifting a brow at Kyra.

“No?”

My body floods with tingles, and I’m not sure whether I’m excited or terrified. I think both.

“Uh uh,” Kyra confirms. “We all know it’s Alissa. She’s the heart and soul of this squad.”

My belly buzzes, and my eyes well up a little. I blink the emotion away, but I’m pretty sure half of this room saw it. I smile and nod, looking Kyra in the eyes first, then Lily.

“Do you think you two can run skills practice today? I’ll have the weight-lifting teacher sit in, but he doesn’t know what we do. I need to go talk to Alissa’s mom.” My stomach roils with a wave of nausea. Why is doing the right thing so fucking hard sometimes?

Both girls nod. I direct the team to line up in groups, then pass the reins off to the two seniors to get the squad started.

I pick the eraser back up next and wipe away the names from the board, all of them but one.

I doubt this is what Wyatt had in mind when he gave me that advice earlier.

He’s going lose his crap when I tell him I walked up the Sommers’s driveway today and rang the doorbell.

I hope I don’t also have to tell him I got punched in the face.

It takes me twenty minutes to get to Alissa’s house.

Her mom works out of the home office most days; she’s a realtor.

Her face is plastered all over this town, even on the one bus that runs from the library to the dairy farms down south.

Her white Cadillac is in the driveway when I pull up, which likely means she’s at home today.