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Chapter one

Keala

M uch like the White Rabbit, Keala was very late for a very important date. Only, the date was evening practice with the San Jose Sentinels cheerleaders, and unlike the White Rabbit, Keala cared too much about what other people thought of her not to say hello and goodbye. She stopped and said plenty of them as she swiped her team badge, rushed through security, and ran past custodians.

She hadn’t wanted to be late to rehearsal. She’d been on track to finish her shift at Westfield Methodist Hospital with enough time to get made up and ready for practice…until that last patient had vomited all over her.

And that hadn’t even been the first time that shift that she’d been the victim of a vomiting accident.

But now she was approaching twelve minutes late, rushing through the tunnel of the training facility to the field the professional cheer team used for rehearsals, poms in hand. She’d fixed her makeup in the evening traffic, so that was one less thing Angelica, their coach, could be upset with her about. Still, if the look on Angelica’s face—like she’d been sucking on a sour candy—told Keala anything, it was that her makeup couldn’t make up for being tardy.

Again.

Angelica already wasn’t her biggest fan. Her need to exert control over the girls with her no-fraternization rule couldn’t be enforced with Keala because her cousin played on the football team, and that seemed to irk her. But being late for two practices in a row the week of their first home game of the preseason certainly wasn’t doing Keala any favors—a thought that paralyzed her when she sat with it for too long.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” Keala panted as she ran past Angelica to where the girls were still stretching and getting out their resistance bands. Her angry eyes bored into Keala as she set her poms on the fake grass, dropping to the ground to stretch out her legs. After a long day in the emergency department, Keala’s muscles needed it.

Bright green turf was made brighter by the lights built into the hangar-like ceiling above the training field. More often than not, the Sirens—the Sentinels’ cheerleading team—used the same practice fields as the Sentinels players, though they were always gone by the time the Sirens’ practices started. It was a standard football field, a goalpost at each end zone, and surrounded by four concrete walls.

“Is she still looking?” Keala asked Zoe, her line captain and friend. Keala had only moved to San Jose this summer at her parents’ behest, and while she was excited to do her final year of cheering with the team she’d grown up supporting, it had been scary to start fresh somewhere new. The very first day of tryouts, Zoe had seen how nervous Keala had been despite her extensive dance training and four years with the Virginia Vipers. With Zoe’s encouraging words, a fast and strong friendship had bloomed.

Zoe shook her head. Sweat beaded along her light brown skin, the red sports bra they wore for Wednesday practice darkened from her typical pre-practice warm-up. A permanent smile was etched on her friend’s face. “No, but you’re lucky Cora likes you and talks Angelica down,” she answered, referring to the team choreographer who’d become a mentor to Keala over the last couple of months.

“I know. I need to change my shifts so I don’t have to work on practice days.” They’d been practicing Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, but with the season beginning, practices had shifted to Tuesday through Thursday.

Len, one of Keala’s teammates, cocked her head to the side, her long brown hair curtaining her pale face. “Did something happen at the hospital today?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Just had a last-minute throw up situation I had to deal with.”

“Isn’t that outside of your job description? Cleaning up throw up?”

Keala huffed a laugh. “Not when the throw up is on me.”

“Oh, sweetie, nooooo.” Zoe leaned over and draped an arm around Keala’s shoulders.

“You don’t have to deal with that as a school counselor?” Keala wondered.

Zoe pulled her resistance band over her knees. “Nah, not really. They typically don’t sit close enough for it to end that way.” Her friend squinted, looking Keala up and down. “You’re pale, Kay. Did you eat anything today?”

Keala thought about the protein smoothie she’d had for breakfast and the carrots she’d snacked on throughout the day. It had been an odd combination with her trusty Pedialyte and coffee, but she’d been running around so much that food hadn’t crossed her mind.

As if reading her thoughts, Zoe pointed to her bag. “Energy gel and water. Now. You need pep in your step or Angelica’s going to have your head.”

Keala knew better than to ignore her captain, so she did as instructed, swallowing the grape-flavored gel and taking a swig from her water bottle. Len stretched quietly beside her before they both began the workout Angelica called to the group of women. Four groups cycled through exercises alongside the four line captains, and when Angelica was satisfied that they were warm and ready to go, she nodded for Cora to get the music started for the first number.

As a group, the thirty-six women lined up in the tunnel like they would before the game on Saturday and danced toward midfield. Keala gave it her all, though she felt exhaustion creeping through her, sinking into her bones. With poms waving, music flowing through her veins, and a smile on her face, Keala executed every move she’d been practicing since tryouts. Every free minute of her day, or just when she was alone at the hospital, she rehearsed, making sure she was perfect.

Chaine to Calypso jump, roll to stand, pop arms to a low V, turn to walk to the back.

“Bigger smile, Eleanor,” Angelica called to poor Len.

Pivot back to the front, pop left leg in front, left arm to broken T close to chest, right arm up and rounded above head.

“More energy Kay-ah-luh!” Angelica yelled a few seconds later, her annoyance bleeding into the three syllables. Despite her disagreeable manner, there was something to be said for her effort to properly pronounce a name that confounded many.

Keala tried to be more energetic. She didn’t know if Angelica had called her out because of her strange hatred for her, as usual, or if she simply looked as drained as she felt. She’d gotten back from practice yesterday after midnight because she had stayed for a choreography session, then she’d been up at six for her shift.

She had been on her feet for twelve hours straight three days in a row, and her energy reserves were dangerously low. Her ankles were swollen, her calves itchy from wearing compression socks. She desperately wanted a hot shower before crawling into bed and attempting to turn off her brain.

But dance was the part of her life she loved more than anything. Angelica’s snide comments about her waist, her energy, her smile...all of that was worth it to be here, dancing with the women she’d gotten close to over the last couple of months for the team she’d grown up wishing she could cheer for. So she threw herself into the movements, smiling wide and forcing herself to expunge the last of her energy, poms and hair flying as she moved.

Right pom push across front of chest to left, left pom push across front of chest to right.

By the time Angelica felt they were perfect, it had been nearly two hours and it was past ten.

As they packed up their equipment, Cora yelled, “Captains and Keala, choreo again tomorrow after practice.” She pushed a strand of straight blonde hair behind her ear, and when all five had acknowledged the sentiment, she smiled the megawatt smile she’d worn since her own cheer days and waved goodbye. Brooklyn, the assistant choreographer, who’d been on her phone most of practice, trailed after her.

“KayKay!” Nova, one of the third-years in another group, jogged over. “Do you remember the week you handled socials?”

Keala dreaded where this was going. “Yes!”

“So far, you’ve done the best for our engagement, so a few of us were wondering if you’d handle socials for the next couple of weeks.”

Keala hated herself as she agreed. “I can do that.”

Handling it for the next couple of weeks meant she would spend hours every week for the rest of the season—because it was never just two weeks—figuring out trends, videos, and other content to make ahead of practices and games, showing up early to film them, and engaging with comments on the platforms.

When Nova walked away, Zoe grimaced. “Yikes.”

Keala shrugged, grabbing her things and heading out of the tunnel with Zoe and Len. “It’s no biggie. I only work three or four shifts a week, so I’ll have time.”

Mentally, Keala watched the last bit of her free time on off days slip through her fingers like a balloon disappearing into the ether.