by Katie May
I’m vaguely aware of the class erupting into applause and Mrs. Bummer jumping to her feet, but I can’t focus on them. My eyes are riveted on the two boys on either side of the room, each watching me with narrowed eyes. They know the song was about them…
And that means they also know that the war has only just begun.
Chapter 10
Mrs. Bummer fucking saves my ass again by letting class out two minutes before the bell rings.
Before Lucas and Cassian can corner me—I can see in their eyes that’s their intention—I grab my backpack and race out of the room, towards AP Literature with Mrs. Town. Then I wait, practically bursting with nervous energy like a bottle of soda that has been shaken repeatedly.
The second the bell rings, I feign a bored, almost nonchalant expression, and walk in the opposite direction of my other classmates…bumping my shoulder into a startled Mariabella, who’s just exiting Mrs. Town’s classroom.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” I say with fake sincerity as she blinks her long lashes up at me. “Mariabella! Hi! Fancy running into you here.”
She blushes, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
“This is actually perfect!” I continue, before she can get a word in. “Considering you’re the only person I really know, and the only female I talked to today, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out.” I offer her a wide smile, one that’s so sweet, it’s almost sickly. I swear, my cheeks are beginning to ache from smiling so much.
Predictably, Mariabella’s face drops and guilt crosses her pretty face.
“I’m sorry. I totally would, but I have—” As I expected, her eyes light up with her grand epiphany, one I not so subtly hinted at throughout the day. “You used to do cheerleading, right?” She doesn’t wait for me to respond, barreling ahead while bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I know tryouts already occurred, but I know the coach well. I’m sure she’ll allow you on the team!”
“Really!?” I try to infuse my words with the correct amount of enthusiasm. When I get a weird glance from a girl standing opposite me in the hallway, I tone it down a notch. “That would be amazing!”
“All right! Yay!” Quickly, as if she has to stop me from changing my mind, Mariabella links her arm with mine and pulls me in the direction of the football field. “This is going to be so much fun. The girls are seriously amazing, and Mrs. Watson—that’s our coach, by the way—is incredible. She did college cheerleading all four years and won nationals three times! We’re so fortunate to have her here with us.”
I nod along, as if this is all new information, but the truth is, I studied Mrs. Watson in depth before I arrived. Not only is she a college national cheerleader, but she’s also a damn good coach. Since she took over the program, nearly three years ago, she’s made High Groves one of the best cheer teams in the division. My research shows that she married her high school sweetheart at the ripe age of twenty-five, and at twenty-six, she became the youngest coach in the school’s history.
She’s also a stickler for the rules, fierce and dedicated, and unbending in her belief that hard work is the only acceptable answer to achieve success.
To be frank, she’s my kind of person.
Mariabella continues chatting as we head to the locker room, now nearly empty, and change into our workout clothes again. This time, Mariabella forgoes the top, wearing nothing but a sports bra and spandex. I once more hide inside the stall and change into my own pair of spandex shorts and a long-sleeve shirt that conforms to my breasts and arms. Unlike the last one, however, this one cuts off just under my chest, revealing my toned belly.
Back in middle school, my skin had consistently been a pasty shade of alabaster with a splatter of golden freckles from the sun. My time in California has brought about a deep, bronze tan that heightens the white of my hair and the amber of my eyes. It’s not dark enough to be considered fake, but it’s not light enough to go unnoticed.
And no, I didn’t tan for the Devils. This has nothing to do with them. I did it for me and me alone. I wanted to feel good about myself, for once in my life. So I cut my once ass-length hair, developed a natural tan, and started wearing makeup to emphasize my “weird” and “unusual eyes.” I embraced all of the things that made me different, and I did so with pride.
We find Mrs. Watson standing on the track of the football field, arms folded over her chest. She really is a pretty woman, with a mane of chestnut hair and gray-blue eyes. She turns expectantly towards Mariabella when we approach before her eyes trail to me. Suspicion clouds her gaze as she glances between the two of us wordlessly.
“What do we have here?” She cocks a single eyebrow as the rest of the cheer team, most of whom I don’t recognize, crowds around her.
“Peony,” Mariabella introduces. “She’s a new student. Apparently, she did cheer back at her old school in California, but she missed the tryouts here.”
I’m dimly aware of the football players staggering onto the field. I spot Emmett’s sandy blond hair as he races forward, wearing a pair of loose shorts and a wife-beater, before my attention drifts to Karsyn.
The man is a fucking Greek god. From this distance, his blond hair appears to have numerous highlights throughout—streaks of molten gold, rivulets of crimson, and strands of chestnut brown. He’s shirtless, the bronze planes of his chest on clear display, and wears a pair of surprisingly tight shorts. Obviously, the team isn’t planning on doing any tackling today if they’re not wearing protective padding. Though I have no idea if that’s something they change into at a later time. Honestly, my limited knowledge of football stems from what I studied a few months before I moved here.
I tune back into Mrs. Watson just as she says, “Call me Helen.”
“Helen,” I repeat with a small smile and nod. And then, when silence descends, I add, “I understand that it’s late in the season, but I just wanted you to know that I’m extremely dedicated to the sport. I’ll practice at home to learn the routines—” Lies. There’s a muscle memorization spell I can use. “—and I promise to be on my best behavior if you give me a chance.”
Mrs. Watson—excuse me, Helen—taps her chin in contemplation, and beside me, Mariabella gives her coach the puppy-dog eyes. After a long moment, Helen offers me a crooked smile.
“Would you mind trying out right here?” she asks at last. “We had to cut a lot of good girls, and it wouldn’t be fair to them. You can feel free to do a routine that you learned at your old school.”
“Oh.” Luckily, I prepared for this. “Of course. Do you mind if I use music?”
“Go ahead.”
Fortunately, I remembered to bring my phone, and I quickly pull up the song I selected. I hadn’t necessarily expected to perform today, but I can’t say I won’t use the opportunity to the best of its advantage.
Next, I pull out a tiny tube that I kept hidden in my bra. Casting a glance in both directions, and ensuring Mariabella is engaged in a conversation with Helen, I down the contents. It’s a potion I whipped up a few nights earlier, one that’s designed to enhance my flexibility. I also mixed in a healthy dose of an anti-anxiety brew. Hopefully, it’ll be enough to quell the sudden flurry of butterflies erupting in my stomach.
“If you can push play…” I hand my phone to a grinning Mariabella and stand on the edge of the field, my back to the football players. I won’t be able to do what I need to do if I know they’re watching me. If I know he’s watching me.
Mariabella hooks up my phone to Helen’s Bluetooth speaker, and immediately, “Can’t Remember to Forget You” by Shakira featuring Rihanna blares across the field. The muscles in my stomach tighten by the minute as I wait for the first verse to begin.
I spent weeks studying dance and watching YouTube videos for this moment. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if it would ever happen. A part of me prayed that it wouldn’t.
But I tell myself what I told myself thousands of times before. It’s music, something that flows through you like a sentient being, something tha
t devours your mind, something that’s indescribable. It’s no different than losing myself to a violin piece or a piano composition.
Instantly, I begin to move my body to the beat, performing the sexy dance I choreographed with the agility and flexibility of…well, a dancer. I seductively move my hands across my body as I dance with all of the hate and passion burning a hole in my heart. I dance like I’m dying, like the world is falling in crumbles around me, executing each twist and turn and fucking ass wiggle like my life depends on it. To please Helen, I add a few standard cheer moves into the dance as well—a toe touch, high V, herkey, and pike. I also display some of the gymnastic skills the spell helps me perform, including an ariel, round-off back handspring, and front flip.
The result is a seamless routine…and an even sexier dancer.
It’s degrading as fuck, especially when someone whistles from the football field, but I push all of those thoughts away. Maybe I’ll hate myself down the road for this—for everything—but not today. Not to-fucking-day.
I drop my arms to the ground, keeping my legs straight, and slowly drag them up my body, making sure to keep my ass popped out. I pivot on my heel to see nearly the entire football team staring at me hungrily. The only one who isn’t devouring me with his eyes is Karsyn. He looks irrationally angry, face beet red. Instead of giving the asshole one ounce of my attention though, I focus on Emmett, who I can see practically salivating.
Offering him a flirty wink, I drop down to the ground, opening up my legs, before rising back up. I think it’s called a booty drop or something. Hell if I know. It looked cool on the YouTube video I watched.
I blow Emmett a kiss—one that he dramatically catches, much to the amusement of the other guys and the irritation of Karsyn—before running as fast as I can and performing a seamless back handspring full. It’s one of the toughest tricks a gymnast can perform, but with the muscle memorization spell and the flexibility potion, I execute it flawlessly.
When I finish my routine, I’m breathing heavily and a fine layer of sweat coats my skin. Still, it’s worth it to see the heat in the guys’ eyes.
And, more importantly, the heat in Karsyn’s. He tries to hide it, going as far as scowling in my direction, but it’s impossible to deny. For a brief moment, there was pure and wanton need in his hazel gaze, like he’s an addict and I’m his next fix.
“Holy. Shit,” Helen breathes, just as the football coach blares his whistle, screaming at his team to get back to work. Emmett flashes me a cocky smile, winking, before he saunters off to join the rest of the disassembling team. Only Karsyn remains behind, his golden chest heaving as he stares at me. His expression is a fine balance between rage and lust. Staring at me for a few seconds like he’s never seen me before, he then turns on his heel and stalks away, giving me his back and ass. His rather fine, muscular ass…
“That was amazing!” Helen rushes towards me, Mariabella on her heels. I notice the latter is looking a little flushed, and her eyes are radiant with elation. I imagine she’s excited to have a strong gymnast and dancer on the team—though, truth be told, I can barely walk in a straight line normally.
“So…did I make the team?” I pretend to be timid, unsure, going as far as lowering my eyes to the ground in a subservient gesture.
“Did you make the…? Don’t be an idiot!” Helen rolls her eyes good-naturedly, though I can see that internally, she’s still squealing with excitement. Composing her features, she turns towards the rest of the girls, who are whispering amongst each other, staring at me with wide-eyed wonder and envy. “Now, let’s start from the top, shall we, and show Peony what she missed!”
Chapter 11
My research proves to be right—Helen is a fucking drill sergeant when it comes to cheerleading. By the time I leave practice, I’m sweating my ass off and my cheeks radiate a bright, hideous red. The face ones, not the ass.
Fortunately, cheer practice got out an hour before football, so I don’t risk running into a glowering Karsyn. And I could most definitely feel the evil eyes he directed at me throughout the afternoon. I could practically see the thousands of thoughts circulating in that pretty head of his, but his expression remained guarded. Wary.
Not that I blame him. He most definitely should be wary of me. I’m vengeance and hate, anger and rage, pain and suffering. My plot for revenge has been etched into the stars, defining who I am. There’s no escaping my destiny.
After saying goodbye to Mariabella and the rest of the girls, I begin the long trek home. While this morning, I’d been enthusiastic with a skip in my step that normally isn’t there, this afternoon, it feels like thirty-pound-bricks weigh down my feet. My body aches from the grueling training we just went through and from one of my particularly hard falls.
Helen deemed me small enough to be a flyer. For those of you who don’t know cheerleading—like I didn’t a mere two months ago—a flyer is the girl who is catapulted into the air. She’s usually the smallest and lightest person on the team, but she also must be flexible to pull off some of the stunts required of her. Today, we practiced a simple basket toss, aiming for height. Of course, one of my bases, a girl named Jamie, got distracted by her running back boyfriend and didn’t focus on catching me when I came down. My head hit my back spot’s shoulder as they struggled to keep me upright. But alas, I tumbled to the ground, nursing a bruised hip and sore ankle.
I seriously regret not allowing one of Nana’s boyfriends to drive me as I make the journey back to her house. My backpack suddenly seems to weigh a million pounds, bagged down by textbooks I didn’t have earlier.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I glance disdainfully down at the screen, unsurprised to see Mom’s name. Since school got out, she’s been calling me nonstop, never bothering to leave a message. But I don’t want to speak to her, especially since I know she’ll just bitch me out for no reason. I can never be good enough for her.
The roar of an engine has my head whipping up, just in time to see a sleek motorcycle pull to a stop directly in front of me, the tires leaving skid marks on the asphalt. My heart races madly as I take an automatic step backwards, squeezing the fabric of my shirt in my hand.
“What the—” Before I can continue that expletive, the driver pulls off his helmet, revealing dark brown hair interspersed with purple highlights. Elias Briggs looks like sin personified, like every naughty dream I’ve ever had. He still wears his leather jacket, this time zipped up, and it makes his muscles appear impossibly larger. He shakes his head from side to side, shaggy hair sprawling in every direction.
Up close, I can see the hint of a stubble on his full jawline. A scar mars his left cheek, directly underneath his eye. I’m nearly positive that it hadn’t been there five years prior. He exudes strength and raw masculinity, his entire demeanor screaming, “back the fuck up.”
But seeing him makes my heart hurt. Physically hurt. Each heartbeat ricochets through my chest like a pinball machine.
“Elias.” I nod my head at him in a curt greeting, knowing that my apathetic tone will piss him off to no end. As expected, his eyes tighten marginally as he leans over the handlebars of his bike.
“Why the fuck are you walking home alone?” he demands, and I’m momentarily struck speechless by the direction of this conversation.
“Excuse me?” I ask, disbelief lacing my tone.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” he snaps, reaching behind him and procuring a second helmet. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”
I snort before I can rein in the noise.
“Nah. I’d rather walk.” Giving him a blistering glare, I pick up my pace and sidestep him and that damn bike.
Immediately, he catches up to me, wheeling his large bike beside him.
I attempt to walk even faster, to where it’s a borderline light jog, but Elias’s long legs easily keep pace with me.
Anger thrums through me as I shoot him an icy glare.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I seethe.
“
Making sure you get home okay,” he responds dryly, maintaining pace with me.
“Fuck you, Elias,” I snap before I can control my temper. I can feel my magic flare inside of my chest, almost like a lightning bug, before I quell the spark down.
Not yet.
Not yet.
With a completely undignified huff, I continue walking towards Nana’s house, attempting to ignore the Elias-sized elephant in the room. What angle is he playing? Why is he pretending to care…or is this some elaborate scheme to humiliate me yet again? My heart judders in my chest at the prospect—at the mere possibility—of them pranking me. I wouldn’t put it past them. These men are beautiful roses wreathed in thorns, much like the flower Beauty plucks in the classic fairy tale. But I refuse to allow these beasts to own me. They already took away the majority of my childhood, and I’ll be damned if they do the same to me now.
I remain silent until I’m through the wrought iron fence and climbing up the twisting driveway. I hear the distinct sound of Elias’s motorcycle engine, and despite my body and mind screaming at me to resist, I reluctantly look over my shoulder in time to see him cast one lingering glance of his own at me before zooming away.
What the hell was that all about?
Before I can stop it, before I can reel it in, a memory hits me with the force of a wrecking ball.
“Give it back,” I hissed, standing on my tiptoes so I could glare up into Elias’s smug face. Instead of looking properly cowed, like I’d hoped for, he granted me a wide smile, one that showed his pearly white teeth.
“Why should I, sweet Peony?” he taunted as he held my short story above his head. This was my final assignment for seventh grade English, and at the same time, I was immensely proud of the story I wrote. There was heartache and pain, love and redemption, hope and regret, all clustered in three hand-written pages.
