Page 20 of Tumbling the Cornerback

The way she whispered forbidden was just too much. I slowed to a fast walk, shaking my head. “We're not trading nuclear secrets,” I muttered. “I’m just helping him.”

“I bet.”

“Oh my god...”

“Challenge,” she said sharply. “You tell me all about this not-a-hook-up with your big crush, and I’ll run the rest of this trail without telling everyone we meet you’re trying to murder me.”

“No one would believe you.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

We eased into a jog once more. The crowd on the path grew more difficult to navigate as people moved in clusters and some others decided today was the day to show off, running too fast or cutting through groups with nary a warning. Finally, we broke free of the worst of it, and I shot her a glance. She raised a brow at me, a silent go on then.

So, I told her about Lucas’s freak out. The plans. All of them. And then last night’s meetup. “He’s just so passionate,” I sighed as we rounded the last corner of the trail. “And I see what they’re doing, you know? It’s not some cool little thing for the kids to keep busy with. Kids like me and him, the ones that have a hard time in sports with shitty homophobic coaches or transphobic teammates...” I trailed off. “I’m still interested in him in a huge way, but maybe helping out with this whole thing isn’t just a time filler, you know? Maybe I can really throw myself at it.”

Heloise was quiet as we ran the last quarter mile. When we slowed to a cooldown, heading back towards my place near Zilker, she finally offered any commentary. “I think you need to be careful.”

“What do you mean? Phil and Cait are both fine with this. Coach has no problem so long as it doesn’t fuck with practice or the games once preseason starts later this summer...”

Darting a concerned, careful glance my way, she shook her head. “You invest a lot of yourself in projects, Coop, and lose sight of things. And not just things like the sports group. What I’m worried about, what I’m cautioning you over, is your tendency to go from zero to sixty in a heartbeat when it comes to loving someone, Coop.”

“I’m not in love with him. Lust, maybe. And I’m definitely attracted to him. And I want to get to know him better. I want... I want to see if this becomes anything. But Lucas is high-strung, and he’s so focused on this project. And last night I kind of had an eye-opening moment—maybe this is something I want to be part of too. Not just for these handful of events to give them a boost but in a real, meaningful way.”

“Cooper,” she sighed, that tone familiar from a lifetime of exasperated big sister lectures, but I didn’t cave. No you might have a point or okay, okay, I’ll think about it this time.

She stared at me, her pink and black hair damp on her forehead, face red from the run or aggravation or maybe both. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Okay. You’re a big boy, and so is he. Just promise me something, Coop. If this turns to shit, you cut him off immediately. Don’t try to fix things. Don’t try to fix him. And for the love of god, don’t try to fix yourself.”

For the first time I could remember, Heloise beat me back to my door.

CHAPTER 7

LUCAS

“Nice of you to join us,” Lynda snarked. She tossed my old, worn pair of black ballet slippers in my direction as I reached the front desk. “Dee is out sick, so you need to take her intermediate barre class.”

“Nope.” I tossed the shoes back at my aunt. “I’ve got a private tumbling session in ten. And you know as well as I do how much traffic sucks between here and the gym.”

Lynda slapped the shoes down on the desk. “One, the barre class is after your tumbling class so ha. And two, when are you gonna quit that damn squad, mijo? They pay you shit. Hell, you end up paying for the privilege some months. I see you stressing about the money!”

Grabbing the shoes as I passed, I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine, Titi. Everyone has bad months, right?”

She pursed her lips into a thin line, watching me head down the corridor towards the open gym area at the back of the repurposed warehouse. Mom and Aunt Lynda started Stars and Rainbows when I was little. It’d been part of my life forever, it felt like, and when I got old enough and skilled enough to teach kids some tumbling and dance skills, it was only natural I joined them there.

Adding on the Troopers Cheer Squad had gone over like a fart in church. Between my childhood dreams of being on stage and my mom’s dreams of me committing to ballet, cheer was like a slap in the face to the family, apparently.

At least according to my cousin Allie, who loved telling me all about her career in Chicago and how Mom and Lynda would just sigh and look sad whenever I was mentioned.

I tossed the slippers, an old pair I kept at the studio ‘just in case,’ next to the shelf unit with the student cubbies and the dock for my phone. The gym was quiet now. The lightly colored walls closed in on me as I made my way to the center of the space to warm up. Lynda’s words echoed in my mind, stirring up years-old frustration and nausea. I’m not just a cheerleader, I responded whenever Lynda or Mom started in about my life choices. But finally, finally, after what seemed like forever, I realized it didn’t matter if I was ‘just’ a cheerleader. If that was my one and only goal in life. I loved it, I was damned good at it, and I busted my ass to get where I was. That should make them proud and not act like I was having some rebellious phase and would snap out of it, run off to Chicago, and join the Joffrey like Allie.

As I stretched and warmed up, I couldn’t shake off the conflicting emotions swirling within me. The truth was, the cheer squad was my lifeline, my escape from the harsh realities of my life. Executing a perfect flip or nailing a difficult routine brought me a sense of euphoria I couldn’t find anywhere else.

But Lynda was right too. The squad barely covered my expenses, and every month was a struggle to make ends meet. The constant pressure of financial worries gnawed at me, threatening to overshadow the enjoyment I got from cheer.

Which, when I really thought about it, was kind of ironic in a mega-suck way. “Cheer makes me uncheer,” I muttered, heading for the mats to stretch.

As I settled into a split, the familiar creak of the gym door opening made me glance over. Standing there, equal parts nervous and determined, was Kyle. A longtime dance student who’d recently expressed interest in cheer, Kyle was a shy kid who had been coming in for private tumbling lessons for the past few weeks.

“Hey, Kyle. Ready to work on those back handsprings again?” I called out, smiling warmly at him. He nodded, his eyes darting around the room before landing on me.

---