Page 48 of Home Game

“My mascara?—”

“Oh, babe, that’s toast. Don’t save it. Just let it go,” Tasha says, pulling me into a hug. She still has her sweatshirt on, thank goodness, so I sink against her and let my tears run down my cheeks, destroying the glitter bear paw print Lexi spent an hour perfecting this morning.

“Those girls are bitches. I told you we shouldn’t have taken them on varsity,” she says.

I quake with sad, pathetic laughter because she was so mad when I fought to save them. Irony. Sad fucking irony.

“They aren’t bitches. They’re young,” I say, trying to be what I preach.

She steps back and holds me at arm’s length, hands on my shoulders, and I meet her hard stare.

“Peyton. I love that you want to believe women are inherently good, because yes, we are so much better than males. But some of us? Just plain bitches.”

This time, my laugh is genuine and a little louder.

“I fucked up Lexi’s paw, didn’t I?” I blabber.

Tasha shakes her head but proceeds to nudge flecks of gold and glue on my face with the sharp tip of her fingernail. I still don’t know how she tumbles in those.

We breathe together for nearly a minute, and when my emotions are finally in check, I unlock the stall door and check my friend’s handiwork in the mirror. The paw print is missing a toe, but I doubt anyone will notice. Even Lexi.

I follow my strong best friend to the exit, touching her spine before she pushes the door open. She glances to me over her shoulder and I mouth, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” she says.

Her faith in me is enough to push me to be the leader my team deserves.

With five minutes to mat, I gather everyone behind the set and prepare the new team members with what to expect.

“There will be fog when you run through the balloon arches and it will smell terrible, like burnt popcorn. Smile anyway,” I say. “The bases will run out first and set our spots, the rest of you will work around us. It’s imperative that we leave our tumblers enough room to really stretch. We don’t want a repeat of last year’s championship.”

A few of my teammates nod while others scan their faces, not entirely sure what I’m talking about. Lexi knows since she’s the one who tumbled right off the stage.

“The most important thing of all is that we are one. We do this together. If one of us falls, we pick that person up. If one of us nails it, we celebrate them loud. We smile through everything. We are proud of every stunt. We wait until tomorrow to pick apart skills. Today—right now? We rule. Are we ready?”

“Yes we are!” the upperclassmen shout.

“I saidare we ready?” My voice almost sounds hoarse, but it’s worth it when every single member of our squad joins in. I don’t have to look to know we’re turning heads. I feel it.

It’s exactly twenty seconds from the time our school is announced to the first beat of our music. And for the next two minutes and fifteen seconds, we are precise and loud. My legs buzz with energy, partly in thanks to adrenaline but mostly thanks to the energy drink I pounded before I saw Wyatt was here.

I throw and catch with confidence, and when it’s time for me to do my standing back tuck, I’ve mostly forgotten that the girl flipping next to me hurt me at all. Our hands link for the final stunt, and we catch our flyer together, setting her on the floor and falling into splits just as the music ends.

“We are Coolidge! C - H - S!”

We’re a bigger squad, so we’re usually louder than most of the teams we compete against in the state. But we sound twice our size today. And the reaction from the crowd fills my chest with warmth, like everyone is somehow hugging me from the inside.

We scurry off the mat, and the usual post-show energy takes over. Everyone loves everyone right now, but there’s a nagging burn in the center of my chest when Stephanie pulls me into a hug. I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, to believe she’ll be a better person now that she’s been taught a lesson. But that ache in my heart tilts me otherwise. Tasha is right. Some girls are just bitches.

“You have a fan,” Tasha says, nodding over my shoulder.

I spin around and find Wyatt waiting near the hallway that leads to the restrooms and the small lounge with the vending machines. I jog over to him, but slow before I reach him, nervously balling my hands into fists at my sides. All I want to do is throw my arms around him and let him tell me he’s proud, but I can feel the eyes on my back. Theknivesat my back. Maybe they’re imagined, and perhaps if I hadn’t heard those terrible things, I wouldn’t be so afraid right now. But I did. And I am.

Wyatt scans the group behind me and drops his hands into his pockets, seeming to be all right with playing it cool about us too.

“That was bitchin’,” he says, and I spit out a hard laugh.

“I’m sorry, but the eighties called, and my grandma wants her word back,” I tease.

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