For the next hour, the current members of the squad coach us. We learn two routines and a dance, each one highlighting a specific skill. We’ll perform them as a group, and after that, if we make the cut, solo. That’s when I’ll get to show off my tumbling skills. But right now I’m over the moon that I was able to go to that cheer camp and that I spent as much time as I did rehearsing the routines. I already know the ones they’re teaching. It’s a good thing, too, because I keep being distracted.
Carter is watching me. I can feel his eyes on me, and every time I dare to glance over there, his gaze locks with mine. And it’s not just a friendly gaze. Carter’s eyes are filled with heat, and unfortunately, I know exactly what kind of heat. The kind of heat that made us tangle on a tiny bed together, skin against skin. When I see him looking at me, his eyes almost look…hungry. For me. It makes me feel short of breath, and focusing on the instructions given to us nearly impossible.
It doesn’t matter where I am, as our groups move across the gym to different stations to review the routines, Carter’s eyes find me. I should probably find it uncomfortable, but I don’t. Having him here, watching me, is the best I’ve felt since that party. I don’t have to wonder where he is and what he thinks of me, because he’s here, and I can tell exactly what he’s thinking.
Once the hour is up, we start the long task of actually performing the routines and dance for Carter, Marian, and the rest of the team. Carter and Marian are at a table set up in front of the bleachers, so I know they’re the ones that are going to determine who gets in and who doesn’t.
I’m usually really good at performing. I put so much of myself into it that I get lost, and nothing exists outside of the next move, the next jump, the next kick. Not this time. This time, when it’s my group’s turn, I’m aware of myself and that Carter is watching me. I can feel it like there’s a line connecting him and me. I know he’s seeing every flip of my hair and swing of my hips, and the performance feels different. This isn’t meant for energizing a crowd—it’s just for him.
The routine ends, and I look at Carter to see him beaming. He raises an eyebrow at me, and I give him a little shrug. It’s like he’s right here, talking to me.
“You normally do cheer routines like that?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Guess you’ll have to keep watching to find out.”
I see Carter chuckle, and Marian follows his gaze. When she sees that he’s looking at me, she glares. That old phrase, ‘if looks could kill,’ comes to mind. If I make the team, I’m definitely going to have to watch my back.
We take a break, all of us on the floor getting water and resting while they look through their notes, deciding who to cut first. There are nine members on the squad currently, including Marian, and I have no idea how big a team Carter wants. It could be anywhere from fifteen to thirty, but there’s at least forty of us trying out. Probably more.
I take this chance while he’s not watching to study him. It’s different looking at him here than in the close atmosphere of the party. I don’t know what to think except for the fact that he’s still gorgeous, and my body still wants to run across the room and tackle him. Damn it, I should have taken my chance with him at the party. Before I knew he was the coach. I shake my head at my stupidity.
“Hey,” Kara flops down next to me against the wall. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. I don’t want to tell her about Carter. Not yet. So I give her a subject I know she’ll latch on to. “I’m worried that Marian is going to stop me from making the team.”
She frowns. “Why?”
“I got knocked over at that party a couple of weeks ago, into Marian. My drink spilled on her, and she thinks it was on purpose. She has something up her ass about me trying to ‘take her down’ or something.” I roll my eyes to punctuate just how ridiculous I think it all sounds.
Kara, always the perfect best friend, immediately turns and glares daggers at the coaching table. “That bitch.”
I hold back my laughter. “Well, we don’t have to worry about it yet. If she tries to sabotage my chances, then we can do something about it.”
“Sounds good,” Kara says, but I can already see the plans spinning in her head. I’m not sure I want to know. Kara may be a stickler about our pact and look like the world’s most wholesome person, but she creates pranks that put everyone to shame.
“Remember that if Marian suddenly finds her entire dorm room filled with water balloons she is definitely going to blame me, and that’s not going to make things better.”
“Damn,” Kara grins, “that’s a really good idea. But I see your point. I’ll save that one for someone else.”
I roll my eyes again, folding myself over onto the mat and stretching my quads. It’s only a few minutes before Carter stands and walks over to where we’re waiting. He gives us that charming smile, and I think that even the people about to be cut are going to have a hard time being mad at him when he’s looking at them like that. “That was really great, thank you. I know this is always the hardest part. I wish we could take everyone, but unfortunately, we can’t. So the following people will be kept for individual evaluation. If you’re called, you can move over there.”
He lists off numbers, and one by one, people move across the gym. My number—twenty-six—comes in what I think must be the middle of the list. I glance towards Marian when my name is called, and she doesn’t look happy. Well, tough shit. Carter gives me a private smile as I walk by, and I try to return it. The little knot of tension in my chest from worrying that Marian might sabotage me has loosened, but it isn’t gone. There’s still time for me to not make the team.
Kara is called shortly after me, and she bounds across the gym with the enthusiasm of a hundred puppies. I stifle a giggle, but I’m proud of how excited she is. If she keeps that up, she’s going to make the team for sure.
About half the people are cut. Carter says a few encouraging words to them as they gather their things and leave, but I see more than a few unhappy faces in the crowd. Once they’re gone, the gym feels empty.
“All right,” Carter calls. “Routines, one by one. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
6
I’m way, way, more nervous for this part. In a group, if you make a mistake you can cover it, blend it in. When it’s just you? There’s no hiding. Every little thing can be seen, and given that Carter, the totally-off-limits hunk, is the one watching, my skin is practically crawling with anxiety. What will he be thinking about when I’m performing? Will he be thinking about the way he touched me, fingers sinking beneath my underwear to feel how wet I was? Will he be thinking about how his body pressed against mine? Damn it, I shouldn’t have let myself go there. Now it’s all I can think about, and his eyes on me are only going to make it worse.
But I don’t have a choice, because now it’s my turn.
I don’t look at Carter as I move to the center of the mat. I won’t. But I can feel his eyes on me, and Marian’s, too. Two very different gazes.
The music starts and I let myself go, throwing myself into the performance, yelling my cheers with all the energy and enthusiasm I can muster. I throw my performance to the squad members on the bleachers—in my head the cheering crowd of a game. This. This is how I usually feel. Fun and free and totally engaged in the performance. The end is coming and I feel good. I know that I’ve nailed it. Everything is perfect.
Then it happens.
I glance down, towards the front of the mat—towards Carter—and I catch his eye. I was so engrossed in the routine that I had almost forgotten he was there, and in that split second, everything comes rushing back. I trip, nearly falling, and recover at the last second. I have to improvise some of the dance to get to my spot for the finale, but I finish and make sure my smile is as if nothing had gone wrong.
If I ever get him alone again, I’m going to kill him.
“Thank you, April,” Carter says.
I nod, smiling, and take my place back against the wall while the
next person goes out to show the routine.
“What happened?” Kara asks.
I shrug. What am I going to say? I can’t tell her the truth. Not yet, at least. Not the time or the place. “Shoe got caught on the mat.”
“That sucks,” she says, “but you pulled it off. If I didn’t know the routine, I wouldn’t have even noticed.”