by Nicole Marsh
She stands with her hands on her hip, while the rest of us, including Summer walk towards the pile of safety mats in the corner. As a team, we drag out the tumbling practice equipment, slotting the pieces into place like a puzzle. There’s about fifteen of us left and we make quick work of setting everything up, then stand to the side to wait for the next set of instructions.
Isabelle saunters into the center, clearly preening under the attention of every eye in the room. She claps her hands together and begins talking without waiting for Summer to join her. “Alright ladies, we’re going to call you up one at a time to have you show us your tumbling. We will instruct you to complete moves varying in difficulty. Once you’ve finished them, you can join the coaches off to the side to watch the rest of the girls.”
Expecting to be first, per Isabelle's usual tactics, I take a half step forward towards the mat. To my surprise she calls a freshman’s name first. Startled, I return to the line to I observe as the girl botches an aerial and a back handspring before she’s asked to join the coaches.
Another freshman is quickly summoned to replace her, and the results are pretty much the same. This one places her face in her hands as she walks off to the side, clearly embarrassed by her less than stellar performance on the mats.
When half the girls have been called and I remain to the side observing, I realize Isabelle is employing a different form of torture this go around. The longer I wait, watching most girls unsuccessfully perform the tumbles requested of them, the more nervous I become. Despite knowing the moves and knowing my body can do them, my palms become clammy and my knees grow weak.
I feel like I spend an eternity waiting for the thirteen other girls to complete their turns, but it’s probably only twenty minutes to a half hour. A pit of dread has formed in my stomach by the time I’m one of the last two remaining. The girl standing next to me is called to the mat first and I give an encouraging thumbs up as she shoots me a glance.
This girl is good. She seamlessly executes every move we practiced on Tuesday, with a smile. Seeing her succeed boosts my confidence and makes me think maybe, maybe, I was placed near the end as to not intimidate the other girls with my tumbling skills, like the girl flipping and jumping across the mats right now.
She’s finally excused from the mat and I watch as she jogs to the far side. Waiting until she’s all the way off before I step up to the front, facing the captains before my name leaves Isabelle’s lips.
She shoots me a dirty look and asks, “Can you do a double toe touch back tuck?”
Despite not practicing the move on Tuesday, I know the steps, and am confident I can complete the trick. I pivot and retreat, moving to the exact middle of the mat without responding and I can hear her snickering behind me. I’m guessing she thinks I’m giving up, but I just need some more space and, if I’m going to be given the most difficult tumbles, I want everyone to see me nail them.
Once I reach my destination, I twirl to face the front, take a deep breath, and squat down lightly before executing the trick. I stick the landing and a swell of pride mixes with a massive rush of adrenaline. I barely fight off the urge to give myself a fist pump.
Glancing back at the captains, I see Summer shoot me a smile glowing with encouragement. The look is a direct contrast from the deep frown Isabelle is wearing.
The latter barks another move at me, “Kenzie, we want to see a back-handspring series into a full twist.”
I frown at the request, knowing this is already much harder than the tumbling asked from the other girls and beyond the skill level we practiced on Tuesday; this is a very advanced move. Shrugging it off I walk to the opposite corner and my dormant cheerleading skills shine.
Breaking into a light run, I twirl and twist my body, contorting my way through the moves with ease. My feet hit the mat and a smile threatens to break through my calm demeanor, but I fight it down, buffing my nails against my bike shorts casually instead.
Take that, bitch.
Isabelle opens her mouth for another request, but Summer steps up to the edge of the mat and claps her hands. Without making it seem intentional, the noise effectively cutting off her co-captain. Summer’s chipper voice shouts out, covering the dig with her enthusiastic words, “Okay McKenzie, thank you so much.” Turning to the rest of the group she goes on, “Everyone did fantastic! We need a few minutes to confer and finalize our decisions. Please grab a seat on the bleachers while we head to the coach’s office. Feel free to drink your water or use the restroom if you must, but we should be back soon, so don’t go too far!”
She turns on her heel and I watch the judges exit together in a line behind her, following the group with my eyes until they’re out of sight, then scanning the gym. Girls stand scattered about the room, most of them lingering to the far side where they ended their tumbling. My eyes take in their awkward stances and stunted interactions, wondering who is going to make the team.
I’m desperately hoping one of the slots belongs to me.
Girls slowly trickle to the bleachers and I tag-along, stepping up to the empty front bench and plopping down onto the middle. One of the girls from my stunt group wordlessly sits beside me and I offer a smile, which she returns, but neither of us speak. The seconds tick by, while we wait with baited breath, each of us anxiously anticipating the results.
Finally, the group of coaches and captains file into the gym, followed by the rest of the cheer team dressed in uniform. A woman that appears to be the head coach steps forward ahead of the rest. She looks pretty official in a royal blue and black tracksuit, holding a clipboard, which she consults before beginning to speak, “Hello everyone, my name is Coach Everly. I’d like to thank you for coming to tryouts today, it was fantastic to see the effort every girl put forth on the mat today. Unfortunately, there are only three spots open on the team, as we mentioned earlier, so we had to make a few tough decisions on who to add, based on cheer abilities as well as tumbling skills. If your name is not called today, it does not mean you’re not welcome to try out again next year.” She pauses, her eyes perusing her clipboard one last time. Her next words boom through the gym, “Please, everyone, a warm welcome for our newest Golden Oaks Cheerleaders: McKenzie C., April S., and Samantha T.”
The cheerleaders behind the coach go nuts, clapping and cheering for us. A small smattering of applause sounds from the bleachers, as girls overcome their disappointment to celebrate the three of us that made it, even if they didn’t.
A calm elation goes through me. I did it, I’m on the squad.
I stand from the bleachers as Katie rushes me, closely followed by Summer and Heather. Katie launches herself at me and gives me a tight squeeze, grabbing my hands excitedly as she steps back. “You were awesome! I knew you’d make it,” Katie half-whispers, her excitement making her voice louder than she probably intended.
Katie drops my hands, and steps away, to allow Summer and Heather to step closer. The girls nod their heads and murmur their agreement as the three of us stand in a tight circle off to the side. I’m ecstatic, but since we’re surrounded by the disappointed faces of the girls that didn’t make the team, I contain myself.
Summer begins asking Heather about something, but I miss her next words. My attention has been snagged by a head of blonde hair, swiftly striding in our direction. Collin pushes his way into our circle, not caring if he’s interrupting us and lifts me into the air by my waist. He spins us in a slow circle and I squeal with laughter.
“Did my girl make the squad?” He drawls while he continues to spin us around.
Laughing, I swat at his arm playfully, half-joking, half-encouraging him to put me down. When my feet finally settle against the floor once more, he keeps one arm wrapped around me and rejoins the group. His expectant gaze hits my face and I finally give in to the grin that’s been straining to break free, a beaming smile gracing my lips. “I did it, I made the team!!”
Collin nods like that’s the answer he expected, then his attention is quickly
pulled away by a string of words from Katie. I don’t immediately move my gaze from the side of Collin’s handsome face, excitement and affection still thrumming through my veins.
Senior year is going to be my year.
Chapter 22
It’s a strange feeling--living in the same house as your crush. After dinner, we both filter upstairs and hover in the hallway spanning the distance between our two bedrooms—my temporary guest room and his permanent residence. I fight hard to keep from shuffling my feet or staring at the wall and instead force myself to meet the intent emerald gaze focused on me.
A sizzling heat flares between us and I find myself gravitating towards Collin’s room without invitation. He wordlessly lifts his arm from his side and pushes the slightly ajar door open further, allowing me to walk underneath the appendage and into his domain.
This is the first time I’ve stepped foot into Collin’s room.
Curiosity has me pausing just over the threshold to examine my surroundings. The room has cream-colored walls, contrasted by dark oak furniture covered in a smattering of framed photos and trophies. His plain navy-colored bedspread draped haphazardly over the massive bed catches my attention next, and I catalogue the information, like it’s important to know whether a person makes their bed.
I step further inside, feeling Collin’s heat permeating the clothes covering my back. His sunshine-scent seems to intensify with each inhale, concentrated in this area from the amount of time he’s spent here.
The door shuts behind me, the click of the latch echoing through the silent room. My feet carry me to the bed, as if triggered by the noise. I perch on the edge, bouncing a couple times to test out its texture. It must be a rich people thing… the mattresses in the Franzen house are unreal—Collin’s included. It’s like sitting on a grounded cloud; fluffy but supportive, all at once. I swing my feet onto the bed and lounge back, making myself at home on the luxurious piece of furniture.
“You look good in my bed,” Collin drawls, his husky words causing my heart to ricochet in my chest. The beats pound harder as he steps closer, stalking towards my place on his bed like a man on a mission.
I scoot across the plush surface, expecting him to lay beside me. Instead, the bed dips next to my body when he places a leg on the outer side of my thigh. His gaze scans my face as he picks his other leg off the ground and uses it to separate my thighs before placing it in between them.
Trustingly, I meet his gaze. Collin is one of the good guys, maybe the best guy I’ve ever met. If I said “stop” I know he would.
But I don’t want him to.
As if reading the permission in my gaze, his second leg joins the first and I lift my heels off the bed to wrap around his lower waist. He leans forward onto his elbows, his entire body touching the length of mine, our faces hovering inches apart.
“McKenzie,” he sighs my name like the word is precious and my heart melts a little more upon hearing the infliction.
Collin Franzen is Dangerous.
Now may not be the ideal timing for this huge revelation but it’s imperative I tell him; he needs to know everything in order to progress this relationship. “Collin…” I utter hesitantly, unsure of where to start.
How do you tell someone, ‘I really like you, but also I made a deal to rob your house before I even knew you?’
His torso shifts back while I think, our gazes remaining connected. Whatever he notices in my expression causes his to become concerned. “Are you okay, McKenzie? Is this too much?” He immediately pushes himself up, freeing himself from my legs wrapped around his waist, and moving to sit at the edge of the bed as he asks.
I decline with a shake of my head, and drag myself upright, pulling my knees to my chest. “No, it’s not that. You’re perfect and I would love to take this further, I just have something to tell you and it’s… complicated.”
“Sometimes it’s just easiest to start at the beginning, then tell everything else in order,” Collin drawls, his expression intense as he studies my face and responds to my vague statements.
I nod. “Okay.”
Start from the beginning.
With a sigh, I allow the words to spill forth, “About a year and a half ago, my mom met this guy, Andy. For the first time in her life, she had her shit together. She cut back on drinking and actually made dinner sometimes. Even when she didn’t cook, there was plenty of food in the house to make my own meals or snacks… which was kind of a rare thing for me growing up.”
Collin places a hand on my knee, gently swiping his thumb up and down in wordless encouragement. I’ve never thought of my knee as an erogenous zone before, but his movements cause my skin to heat with desire. Ignoring it, I force myself to carry on.
He needs to hear this.
“Things were going really well, at least for a while… Then I guess Andy received a job offer for a highly sought-after position in Florida. I returned home after school one day and my mom locked herself inside the bedroom. I could still hear her heart-broken sobs through the door, but she wouldn’t let me in. She said a few words between her cries and I was able to piece together what happened. Andy was leaving and he didn’t think it was fair to ask her to move since I was almost finished with high school and we were “established” here. I tried to get inside to comfort her, but she kept telling me she just needed to sleep it off. I went to school the next day and when I came home, most of her stuff was gone. At first, I was concerned something happened to her, or maybe we had been robbed, but… there was a note on the counter that said she went to find Andy, because he was the love of her life.”
Collin inhales sharply. “She left for Florida without you? How long ago was this?”
“Almost a year ago,” I admit in a whisper, my chin tucked between my knees and chest. My eyes remain focused on the dark bedspread while I think through the past and about the mother that would rather leave me behind than lose a man she barely knew.
The warm skin of Collin’s hand touches the underside of my chin and he tugs against it, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You’re incredible, McKenzie Carslyle,” he says fervently. “Not everyone would be able to survive on their own, but you’ve done it for over a year, as a teenager. You’re smart and determined and resourceful. And, you’re not alone anymore.”
The truth of his words shines through his eyes, and a part of me wants to cry.
After I tell him the next portion of my story, of our story, will he still feel this way about me?
I open my mouth, the most important words of my confession poised on the tip of tongue, but Collin decides to speak his own truth, interrupting my big moment. “My mom, killed herself when I was a baby.”
A gasp escapes my lips. My hand flies to my mouth after the fact, a belated reaction attempting to keep the noise contained. Collin nods his head slowly, as if agreeing with my unspoken sentiment. Although his gaze is focused on the far, cream-colored wall, the sadness emanating off him is palpable. I scramble to slide my body next to his, wrapping an arm around his waist and drawing us closer to each other.
Before I met Collin Franzen, I didn’t understand the power of touch, or the comfort it wordlessly provides. Now that I do, I use my half, side-hug to convey the feelings coursing through my body that I’m unable to verbalize. Sadness. Empathy. Hurt—for his situation and my own.
Collin leans further into my side, resting his cheek on the top of my head, and goes on, “I never even got the chance to know her.” The words are whispered, but the air in the room is still and silent, making them seem much louder than they actually are. “My grandpa used to talk about her, as much as he could, to anyone that would listen. When I was just a kid, he would spend most of our time together reminiscing about his daughter. He would tell me about her favorite flavor of ice cream, or the lake she used to visit all the time. It wasn’t until I got older, that I discovered she committed suicide.”
“I’m so sorry Collin,” I murmur. I’m underprepared for large emotional stories, from
a pure lack of experience, but I’m doing the best I can to be a sense of comfort, as I navigate this uncharted territory.
“I asked my dad about it once. He doesn’t like to talk about my mom or really even me as a baby, but he let me ask questions one time. My dad said her death was caused by untreated depression, which worsened after her pregnancy and my birth. I wasn’t even four months old when it happened.”
I squeeze him tighter, words flitting to the forefront of my mind too rapidly for me to formulate a logical response. He doesn’t seem to need any words from me now that he’s started talking. He continues to unburden himself, and I listen.
“My dad remarried a few years later, Lucas is my half-brother. His mom is my mom, even if we aren’t related by blood. She raised me more than my own did, but sometimes I feel like a bit of an outsider in their perfect family. Like the one piece that doesn’t really fit.”
Collin and I haven’t known each other for long, but this moment resonates with me, like this isn’t something he speaks of often and my reaction can make or break the relationship we’ve been building. I tentatively reach my other hand out and place it on his shoulder, pressing firmly and urging him to meet my gaze.
Earnestness fills my chocolate eyes, as I respond, “I’m sorry for your loss, but this family is lucky to have you, whether you’re blood related or otherwise.” The words are spoken quiet and low, but I feel Collin’s tense muscles gradually relax beneath my arm. I release a slow breath while I think of ways to navigate us toward a more positive conversation without making it uncomfortable.
Collin’s eyes meet mine, the jewel-toned green making my breath catch. Their brightness is startling even when dimmed with sadness, as they are now. “I just wish I had gotten to know her, and sometimes it feels like her death is my fault. Like maybe if it weren’t for me, she would’ve been okay or would’ve gotten help.”
I nod to signify my understanding, but not my agreement. Gently rubbing my hand up and down his arm, I speak slowly, so each syllable can penetrate the self-doubt plaguing his words. “It’s not your fault though. A baby can’t be held responsible for the choices of an adult. I’m sure she knew, at least partially, that she needed help and those around her should’ve been able to recognize the signs. I’m sorry for your loss, but there’s absolutely nothing you could’ve done.” Collin nods slowly, disbelief warring with another emotion I can’t name, in his gaze. I change the topic, and ask “Do you get along well with your step-mom?”
