Page 132 of Against The Rules

“Well, happy Thanksgiving, baby girl. I can’t wait to watch you dance today. And then we’ll have a big dinner and celebrate.”

My phone rings, vibrating against the nightstand.

My mom picks it up and reads off the name on the caller ID. “It says Rebecca.”

My heart sinks.

She knows. She knows it was me.

I’ve been waiting for this to happen, but I couldn’t prepare for the gut punch emotionally.

“I can’t take it.”

“Answer the phone, Savannah.” My mom’s using her no-nonsense voice, and I take the phone from her.

“Hello?”

“Savannah, this is Rebecca, the Beaver Cheer director.”

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“I am calling to let you know that from this minute forward, you are cut from the Beaver Cheer team for violating our rules about player fraternization.” There’s a note of glee in her voice, and my stomach flops. I sink back into the pillow.

“As you know, we at Beaver Cheer pride ourselves on holding our ladies to the highest standard both morally and on the dance floor and football field. Your affair with Tyler Matthews is beyond the pale, and your conduct is against everything we stand for as an organization.”

She takes a breath, and the world still turns.

“My affair?” I ask, my voice breaking on the question.

“Correct. It’s come to my attention that you have been seeing him since the UNLV clinic in Vegas. You will turn in all organization-owned uniform pieces that may be in your possession still, and you will forfeit this month’s pay for being in breach of contract.”

“An affair?” I huff a laugh, interrupting her flow. “I married him, Rebecca. Married. It wasn’t an affair. We are married. And you know what? It was me who called your ass out to Kelsey Cole, and I hope you get a huge pimple before the game today. You are petty, and mean, and your choreography changes are a fucking joke.”

I hang up the phone, then throw it across the room, where it plunks into my pretty pink desk chair, which is decidedly less satisfying than having it smash into the wall, but much better for my wallet.

Rolling over, I grab a pillow and shove it in my face, screaming as loud as I can.

My mom’s fingers slowly pull it away, and when I look up, Presley is standing in the doorway, a stricken look on her face.

“Savannah?” My mom’s face crumples in concern, and she tucks some hair behind my ear. “What’s going on? Did you just tell your director you’re married? To a player?”

“She fired me,” I tell Presley because I can’t even speak to Mom about Tyler yet. I just can’t.

“I heard. It did sound more like you quit, though.” She shrugs a shoulder, holding one hand up. “I have to say, I really loved the part where you wished a zit on her and then told her her choreography sucked. How long have you been holding that in?”

I’m on the verge of tears, but for some reason, Presley’s recap sends me into hysterics.

“Savannah?” my mom asks, holding my hand.

“I got married in Vegas, to a football player named Tyler Matthews. It was an accident, and it was complicated, but now?” I shake my head, my mom’s sea-blue eyes wide as she takes this in. “Now, it’s not. Because I love him, and he loves me, and fuck the Beaver Cheer team.”

“Language,” my mom tells me, and I’m afraid to look at her.

When I do, though, she’s grinning down at me. “I’m so proud of you. Look at you, standing up for yourself.”

“You’re not mad I got married in Vegas?”

“Oh, we’ll talk about that later,” she tells me, rubbing my cheek. “But right now? I’m proud of you. I read the article a few weeks ago. You never said anything. Baby, why didn’t you tell me how bad it was?”

---