I sigh and close my eyes, “No. He was hit by a drunk driver.”
Tyler’s body freezes, and I turn to meet his gaze. Realization flashes across his face, “Last night… is that why Jared drives you around?”
“Yeah,” I confirm with a nod. “I’m not a fan of driving for a lot of reasons. I have my license, sure. But getting behind the wheel takes a lot out of me, especially at night.”
“Sunshine, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t know the reason behind it. It’s not something I share,” I reply, offering a small smile.
Tyler’s expression softens, a mix of empathy and concern. “I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to.”
“Same goes for you,” I say, playfully hip-bumping him to lighten the mood.
A smile tugs at Tyler’s lips, easing the gravity of the moment. “Glad you didn’t fight me on it this time.”
And that gorgeous smile, with the one dimple on his left side, does it all for me.
Chapter 23
Serena
I’m having a crappy day. You could blink at me and I think I might throw a tantrum. I love starting my mornings by getting yelled at… for eating the last blueberry muffin.
“The babies deserve a treat!” Aunt Lina yells at me from across the hallway, while I gather all my strength to not roll my eyes at her.
“I’m sorry!”
“Ugh!” she complains back as I leave for school.
As fast as summer ended, the semester is flying by now that we’re already in October. The gym is fueled with excitement as we run through our cheerleading routine, aiming for the perfect synchronization with the competition coming up. Coach Miller isn’t keen on smaller competitions; she insists we focus all our energy on preparing for State rather than diverting our attention to competing at smaller events along the way.
I go through the motions, and my mind replays the stupid day I had at school. I got my AP Environmental Science test back, and to my dismay, I failed. Well,technicallynot failed, but scoring an eighty is not acceptable in my book. I studied all night for that test, but the essay portion tripped me up.
Disappointment washes over me. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, eighty isn’t a failing grade by most standards. But anything below perfection feels like a failure to me.
The pressure to excel in everything is ingrained in me like a tattoo inked on a person’s body. Growing up in an Asian household, there’s this unspoken expectation to be perfect. It’s not that my dad was a tyrant about my studies and behavior to study all day and night; I chose that path because I was homeschooled and had nothing to do. But I’ve always had this drive to be flawless, to honor my dad’s sacrifices. My grandparents immigrated here with almost nothing and struggled to adapt with little money and hardly knew English, so I feel so much fucking weight on my shoulders to return the favor as a sign of gratitude for their sacrifices.
Shaking off my frustrations, I take a quick water break, and watch my teammates practice the new and complex stunts Coach Miller introduced a couple of weeks ago. These stunts are way beyond Cassie’s comfort zone (who’s currently struggling as we speak), but most of the senior girls can nail them, earning us extra points on the scoresheet.
The routine begins with the flyer executing a cartwheel, seamlessly transitioning into the base’s arms for a swift lift, hoisting her into a liberty position. Balancing on one leg with the base providing steady support, the flyer elevates, executing a flawless spin in mid-air before landing securely in the base’s arms. The routine then transitions into a series of basket tosses, building up to a challenging kick-full basket toss. In a nutshell, the flyer is lifted high by both bases, performing a spinning maneuver in the air before executing a precise descent and landing.
It’s making me anxious that we’ll get docked off at the state competition if she keeps performing like this. Should I be the bigger person and just offer her help? I mean, we had a slight run-in when I flicked her off that one practice, but maybe for the greater good of the team?
I keep watching my team practice the section while I take a quick stretch break. Right after this section, it’s the tumbling segment, where I throw my body across the mat about three times. As I’m stretching, I glance upwards to see Tyler leaning against the rails on the top level. Normally, he does his off-season training after school around the same time I practice, but today he’s hanging around.
He shoots me a smirk and salutes me with two fingers, causing me to shake my head. I return the hi with a quick wave of my fingers, which only makes him smile wider. Our tutoring sessions are anything but boring–we continue to ask each otherrandom icebreaker questions, sneak glances when we think the other isn’t looking, and our hands manage to collide here and there. After our sessions, he’s a complete gentleman, walking me to practice while shuffling my bags.
We’re halfway through the routine, my teammates are jumping and tossing each other up for the basket tosses. My eyes zone in on Cassie, who is bickering with Grant over their group’s sloppy landing.
“Would it fucking kill you to catch me better than that?” Cassie spits out in between breaths.
“I’m literally doing the best I can with your chicken legs.”
“What the fuck is your problem?” she snaps back, hands on her hips.
Coach Miller overhears the heated argument between the two from the opposite end of the formation, yet she doesn’t make any moves to stop the fight, Alli does.
Alli wedges her body between the two, “Stop fighting, this isn’t helping us nail the routine.”
