“What bullshit,” I mutter. “You should get to be on the squad if you’re good.”
“Are you?” Dixie asks. “I mean, you were captain of your last squad.”
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug. “I’m good.”
“She’s really fucking good,” Royal says, putting an arm around me and squeezing.
It’s true. I was good. I worked for it, but that just made me want it all the more. I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a part of me aching to be down there, that my fingers aren’t twitching to hold a pompon, that I’m not watching every step of their choreography.
But after it all went down last year, I didn’t want to paste a smile on my face and cheer. I didn’t want to be on top of the pyramid, or even the social ladder. I wanted to disappear. It was spring, so there was less for us to do than during football season. I stayed on the squad because I had a note from my psychiatrist, but I knew I wouldn’t cheer again in the fall.
Now, though… This is a new school. A big part of me thinks it would be a mistake to go after a spot on the squad, just like my brothers are doing for football. If I take a spot, I take someone’s place. Someone who tried out and earned that spot, someone who might have stayed up all night practicing routines just like I did.
On the other hand, I’m better than at least half the girls out there. And if they’re really such bitches they’d cut Dixie because she’s a little bigger than they are, I want to do something about it.
“How good are you?” I ask, turning to Dixie.
“What?”
“How good are you? Maybe we can change their minds.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, her eyes widening. “You can’t just… I mean, I’m pretty good, I guess. I haven’t practiced in months, though. I stopped after I didn’t make it.”
“Then start again,” I say. “I will, too. We’ll show these bitches what we can do.”
sixteen
There’s something about high school football that no other sport can touch. It’s in the lights, the chill in the evening air, the fans in the bleachers. It’s in the green grass and the white lines, the smell of popcorn and the crackle of the loudspeaker. To be a part of that, to stand on the sidelines and cheer, was magic. But the field has more than magic. It has power. It’s power leaches up through cleats and carries through the halls at school. Tonight, my brothers make a power grab.
“What are you doing?” Dixie asks, peering over my shoulder.
“Nothing,” I say, shoving my phone into my pocket without posting the blog. I glance over to make sure my brothers are engaged in conversation and won’t ask the same thing.
“You’re always writing on your phone,” Dixie says. When I don’t answer, she pushes her elbow against mine. “Spill. You have to tell me. No secrets. Rules of friendship, remember?”
“It’s nothing important,” I say, lowering my voice to near a whisper. “I just have a blog.”
“Really?” she asks, leaning in like I’m sharing juicy gossip. “Do you have a lot of followers?”
“Um, no,” I say. “It’s private. No one can read it but me. It’s just… A way to express myself. Like a diary that my brothers can’t find and look through.”
“So, they don’t know?” she whispers, glancing past me to them.
“No,” I say. “And I plan to keep it that way, so shut up about it, okay?”
She mines zippering her lips, a smile shining in her eyes that makes my heart squeeze for her. It’s like she’s never had a real friend before, never shared anyone’s secret. I want to hug her and shake her at the same time. She’s so impossibly transparent.
Dad and the twins appear a minute later, loaded down with popcorn, soda, and candy. Apparently Daddy was serious about supporting the local economy. It looks like he bought out the entire concession stand. As soon as he sits down, he starts scoping the stands. A flare of irritation goes through me when I realize what he’s doing. He’s looking for someone important, making sure they see him. Just like last week, when he stood me up for our father-daughter time because some city planner wanted to chat over drinks.
Sure enough, a minute later he hands me his soda and says, “I’m just going to say hello to someone. I’ll be right back.”
“I thought we were showing up as a family,” I say. I’ve barely seen him since we moved here. That’s no different from life back home, but he promised things would be different here. That he’d have more time for us.
“We are,” Daddy says. “It’ll just be a minute. This is important.”
And we’re not?
I want to ask, but I pinch my lips together and nod.