“Alright, ladies, it’s halftime,” I say. “Now or never. If you’re in, tighten up your ponies and let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”
“Oh, I’m so in,” Dolly says.
“I’m in, but oh my god, I might faint when I’m out there. Group hug?” Dixie asks, holding out her arms.
We step in and cling together one moment before we do this crazy thing. I know Dolly won’t get in trouble—she’s the mayor’s daughter for fuck’s sake—but Dixie’s and my fate is still to be determined.
“Just think about all the times Lacey and Carmen and their bitch squad have called you names,” I say. “You won’t faint. Your muscle memory will do it for you, even if you’re too nervous to remember it later.”
“I’ll be too busy thinking about Colt,” Dixie says.
“Well, don’t,” I say, my heart flipping when I think of Devlin watching me do the routine I choreographed. But this isn’t about him, so I push the thought away. I could have done this in New York, even at our fancy school, but let’s just say things are a lot more old-fashioned here. There’s a reason we’re not trying out for Coach Snow in the gym like we should have. This isn’t a try-out. It’s a fuck-you to the squad who doesn’t want us.
“Alright, ladies,” I say, checking my phone when a text come through. “Baron’s in the sound booth. Let’s do this shit.”
eight
Devlin
The halftime meeting ends, and I return to the bench with Preston, where I’ve been the whole game. I miss the game, but in truth, it’s a relief to have the pressure off me. I love this town, but it’s pushed me to fill my father’s shoes since I was old enough to walk. Preston’s got it so much worse than I do. His future is uncertain, and while mine is too, in a different way, I have faith in the justice system to clear me and Dad of the crime we didn’t commit.
Still, the coach can’t exactly put me on the field after what I confessed to. So, I warm the bench with my cousin, who’s nursing his broken arm and fading dreams of football glory while the asshole who did it gets to take his place on the field. Nobody ever said life was fair.
The cheerleaders are doing their thing, shaking their pompoms in our faces and trying to catch our eye, but I don’t pay them any attention until Preston elbows me and nods in the direction of the entrance. Three figures come striding onto the field, led by this chick looking so badass I don’t recognize her for a second. They’ve all got black Knights ballcaps pulled low over their faces, and I’ve sure as fuck never seen Crystal wear something like that, never seen her walk like that, like she’s about to throw down. But there’s no mistaking the two girls flanking her like the trio needs their own slo-mo intro. A pulsing beat thuds from the loudspeakers, rippling across the field.
Everyone in the stands looks around in confusion. The cheerleaders drop their routine mid-cheer, as confused as everyone else. Only Crystal’s crew seems to know what’s going on. Crystal plucks the pompoms from a couple cheerleaders and tosses them to her partners, forming a line right in front of the squad, forcing them to step back from the sidelines where they do their routines. I glance at the Dolces to see if they have something up their sleeves, but Baron is missing, and King and Duke are watching like the rest of us, waiting to see what’s about to happen.
The song kicks into “The Drip,” and it’s not the edited version, either. The girls hit it—hard. I’ve sure as fuck never seen Crystal move like that. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone move like that outside of a rap video. In a pair of cutoffs that hug her nice, thick thighs, a WHPA tee tied up to show her tight, flat stomach, and a pair of gold high-tops, she looks like a New York wet dream come to tell the south to wake the fuck up.
For a minute, not one other person in the whole place moves. We’re all too busy gaping as they bounce, shake, twerk, and dip.
When Preston whistles under his breath, I want to punch him in the broken arm. But every guy in the bleachers must have a hard-on right now, and I can’t punch them all, as much as I’d like to. They’re all looking atmygirl. Imaginingmygirl bouncing on their dicks the way she’s bouncing her ass, twirling it like a fucking Tootsie Roll.
A ripple of noise starts as guys in the stands start to hoot and holler, dancing along, humping the air, cheering the girls on, laughing with appreciation, not just at the hot-as-fuck way those girls are moving but at the sheer, unexpected ballsiness. Crystal usually gives off the sexy librarian vibe. Dolly’s flashy as fuck, but not raunchy. And Dixie’s just some pathetic little freshman who can’t get out of her own way.
They all bend at the waist, lifting off their ballcaps and letting their hair tumble out, then popping back up and flinging it around like a bunch of strippers. If Crystal is trying to show me what I’ll be missing out on, she’s doing a real fucking good job of it. If she’s showing me what I’ll never get to touch again, that I’ll never put my hands on those curves, never run my palms over her velvet skin and my fingers through her thick, dark chocolate locks, well, she’s doing that, too. She’s showing a whole lot more of her body than she’s ever shown at school, like she wants every guy here to know what I had—and what I can’t have anymore.
I regret telling her this afternoon would be the last time. As she whips her hair around, shaking the pompoms next to her shimmying hips, all I want to do is get up, go over there, and cover her up. I don’t want any other guy to see her like that. To want her like that. She’s mine. Every inch of her is mine and mine alone—or it should be. It was. And now it’s not.
And the fucked up part is, I can’t blame her for it.What did I do with all that while I had it? Did I treat her like the fucking queen she is, like she’s the fiercest, classiest, sexiest, softest woman I’ve ever met?
No. I told her she was nothing.
She’s not nothing. She’s everything.
And every fucking guy in this town knows it now. There are dudes here who haven’t gotten it up in decades who are probably going to go home and fuck their wives like they did in high school.
Crystal ends up down in a squat twerking like she’s the Italian version of Cardi B while the other two stand on either side of her, their arms raised in a Y shape as they shake their own asses, pompoms raised. The song ends, and Crystal turns and tosses her hat straight into my lap. Before I can even react, she spins back the other way, throws her pompoms in Kaylee’s face, and marches out of there like she knows exactly how much of a point she just made.
Everyone is instantly freaking the fuck out. The crowd is about to storm the field and riot, coaches are running around, someone is yelling through the loudspeaker that the event we just saw was not sanctioned. The football team is jumping up and down and howling like we just won the state championship. Colt comes bounding over and throws himself onto the bench beside me and Preston.
“Dude, what are you doing still sitting here?” he asks, grinning ear to ear. “That was the sickest thing I’ve ever seen in mylife.”
I glance at Preston. I told them she was mine. But I also told them what she did after that—that I’m not hers. That she didn’t want me. That it was all a lie for her, a game. After what her family did to ours, to mine and Preston’s, to this town, how can I walk away from them? These are my boys—forever.
“If you’re not balls deep in one of those bitches tonight, you might as well cut off your dick and toss it in the river, because you don’t deserve to call yourself a man,” Preston says.
I check him to make sure. But Preston doesn’t say shit unless he means it. I don’t know what else to do, so I grab his shoulder in a quick squeeze.