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If I was wrong, I could be costing my best friend the ability to walk.
But I knew I wasn’t wrong. “Start small,” I suggested. “Do a cartwheel.”
Megan gave me a wary look and handed me her notebook. Then she tucked her T-shirt into the front of her shorts and turned an effortless cartwheel. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Are you sure?”
“Lex, it’s hard, and it’s been a year since I did anything remotely like that.” Without thinking, she reached back and redid her ponytail. When she could see I didn’t believe her, she said, “Hey, Jess!”
One of the cheerleaders bounced up to us. “Yeah?”
Staring right at me, Megan said, “Could you please demonstrate the tumbling run from the top of the halftime routine?”
Jessica nodded, walked a few feet away, and took a springy ru
“Thank you,” Megan said sweetly. “That’s all.” She gave me an expectant look.
“You can do it,” I said, though her set jaw told me she wasn’t convinced. “Adrie
“That’s different,” she said. “Walking can’t break your knees.”
“Or maybe…” I said, “Adrie
Her face fell. “That isn’t fair, Lex.”
“I’m just saying,” I said. “You’re the one who told me to let go. Do you have faith in Aralt or not?”
She pursed her lips and glared into the corner of the gym—because glaring at your sisters was a total no-no. Without saying a word, she walked away, got a ru
The cheerleaders let out a collective squeal and converged on us. “I didn’t know you could cheer again!” Jessica crowed. They enveloped her in a huge hug.
After a minute, Megan came back to me. There was something in her eyes—wonder. Shock.
“I guess we won’t run late,” Megan said. “I have plenty of time to run through the routine before Friday.”
“How does your knee feel?” I asked.
“It’s…fine,” she said, a bewildered smile blooming on her lips. “It’s great.”
“Sorry for the drama,” I said. “I just thought you needed a reminder.”
“No,” she said, her eyes shimmering. “You were right. I did need it.”
We grabbed our bags and started for the door. I paused in front of Coach Neidorf, who kept stealing glances at Megan.
Mrs. Wiley really doesn’t need to know about this. It’s just a one-time thing, and it’s for the good of the whole squad.
“Mrs. Wiley really doesn’t need to know about this,” I said, and the coach’s eyes jerked to meet mine. “It’s just a one-time thing, and it’s for the good of the whole squad, don’t you think?”
She looked from me to Megan and then down at her notebook like she couldn’t remember what we were talking about.
“No,” she said. “No, of course not.”
Megan gave her a radiant smile. “Thanks, Coach. You’re the best!”
The meeting was great. We had two new girls. And best of all?
Kasey called someone out in Betterment. And then she contributed as much as anyone else, coming up with recruiting ideas and taking the affirmative in our debate against ever wearing athletic shoes at a non-athletic event.
Thursday and Friday at school, she was bubbly, happy. She practically glowed.
She was finally, finally committing to Aralt.
I was so proud I could hardly stop smiling.
* * *
Friday afternoon, we all went home to change before the game. As I was getting ready to do my makeup, my phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Alexis?”
“Yes, who’s calling?”
“Jared Elkins. We met at the, uh, party the other night.”
“Oh, right,” I said, wedging the phone between my cheek and shoulder and starting to work on my eye shadow. “Tricycle Boy.”
“The one and only. Listen, I have a huge favor to ask you. The final two interviews were scheduled for next Thursday, but I’m going to be out of town. They said they’d move them if you could make it Wednesday instead.”
“Final interviews?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, man,” he said. “Spoiler alert. I suck. We’re the final two. Didn’t they call you?”
I laughed. “I haven’t checked my voicemail for a couple of days.”
“Listen, if you can’t do it, that’s okay.”
“Wednesday’s fine,” I said. “It’s great. Congratulations.”
“You too,” he said. “I don’t think I would have been satisfied with anyone else as my opponent.”
That made me smile at myself in the mirror.
“In fact, I’ve been wanting to ask you,” he said. “Do you remember what film you used for the car picture? I love the grain.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “It’s just T-Max. That’s pretty much all I use.”
“Really?” he said.
“It was probably four hundred ISO.…”
We went on talking for a few minutes, and then said our good-byes and hung up. A pleasant enough conversation, but I didn’t give Jared another thought the whole night.
COMBINE A THOUSAND keyed-up teenagers, a couple hundred over-involved parents, a bunch of teachers bitter about having to work on Friday night, and the smell of churros. What do you get?
A Surrey Eagles football game.
Friday night was the first home game of the season, and the Sunshine Club pla
We met outside of the gym before the game. Everyone was wearing Surrey High colors—red and white—and there was a dazzling energy in the air that I had never noticed before. The sun was setting behind the gymnasium, and I stood and listened to the happy buzz of the sounds around me, the idyllic way the kids pulled into the parking lot and poured out of their cars, coming together in excited groups.
Every blessing I could ask for was laid at my feet. I was young and beautiful, and I had loyal friends and a boyfriend and a happy sister and parents who loved me and a future that was as bright as I dared to let it be. The breeze wove gently through our hair and set our skirts undulating around us like flags from some precious, golden memory.
Megan, in her cheer uniform, came over to say hi and folded herself into the group, and I could hardly breathe for the sharp, intense beauty of the moment. It was like I was nostalgic for my own youth, while I was still living it. If I hadn’t gotten so good at not letting myself cry, I might have felt tears well up. But I held it in—stayed su
Then the ticket-takers got in place and the gates opened. The kids around us went inside. But we stayed out until the last second, because we weren’t done saying our hellos, and we knew we would find the best seats vacant no matter how long we waited.
Then we were moving together—not quite in formation, but in a well-defined group, an army of the prettiest, brightest, best girls—and we came around the side of the bleachers like a school of sharks: glamorous and dangerous and sleek, stepping in time to a beat only we could hear.
The beating of Aralt’s heart, I thought.
The hum in the stands dipped slightly as people noticed us, admired us, wished they could be like us.
I soaked it in. My hair was perfect, my clothes were perfect, my best friend and my sister walked perfectly at my side.
Everything was perfect, and I was right in the center of it all.
The thought was in my head before I could stop it: I would rather die than give this up.
With our dresses and skirts, sweaters and full makeup, it was like a little time machine had perched itself on the edge of the bleachers and the class of 1965 had popped in for the night.