Kate bounces on her toes like someone mainlining Red Bull through an IV. “I think it’s supposed to be a high kick! At least, that’s what I’ve been doing, and it feels really spirity!”
“Spirity?” Lexy repeats flatly. “Is that what we’re calling whatever Chloe does with her legs while she’s climbing Studley Dudley?”
More laughter. More lethal looks from Chloe. I’m sensing a pattern. And I’m loving the pattern, considering that I was the brunt of most of the jokes in this little corner of hell we called West Paragon Cheer.
Bree sighs hard. “I think we all just need to practice together and?—”
“What we need,” Chloe interrupts with venom in her voice, “is for everyone to stop talking and start moving. Positions,now. And if anyone even thinks about improvising, I will personally ensure your social lives become extinct—and maybe your actual lives, too.”
“Classic Chloe,” I mutter. Part drill sergeant, part serial killer. That basically sums up her entire life.
We scramble into formation, and for the next twenty minutes, Chloe puts us through our paces with the intensity of a Sector tracking down rogue Nephilim. She barks corrections, demonstrates moves with precision that would make celestial beings take notes, and generally makes it clear that anything less than perfection is a personal insult to her entire existence.
“Michelle, your arms look like you’re drowning in slow motion,” she snaps during a particularly complex sequence. “Lexy, that wasn’t a jump. That was a sad little bounce and an insult to gravity.Emily, I can literally see you mouthing the counts, and it’s giving me secondhand embarrassment.”
“Maybe if the timing made sense,” Emily mutters, but she adjusts her stance anyway.
“What was that?” Chloe blinks her way.
“I said maybe if the timing made sense in the context of human movement patterns rather than whatever fever dream inspired this routine, I wouldn’t have to count as I try to stagger my way through it.”
I cough to cover a snort of laughter. Emily might be quiet most of the time, but when she decides to unleash her inner snark, it’s deliciously lethal.
“You know what,” Michelle says, stopping mid-kick and putting her hands on her hips, “maybe we should all just focus on having fun. It’s not like we’re performing at Nationals or anything.”
“And we won’t be with that attitude.” Chloe’s voice rises about three octaves. “For your information, fun is what happens when you execute a routine flawlessly. Fun is what happens when you don’t embarrass yourself in front of the entire school. Fun is?—”
“What happens on ski week!” Kate interrupts with the kind of excited squeal that could wake the dead. Although when I accidentally kick her head off and she kicks the bucket, she definitely will not be waking up for anything. “I am so pumped for that trip. It’s going to be freaking amazing! Thanks to Messenger, I can’t stop thinking about it now.”
And just like that, the entire dynamic shifts. Suddenly, everyone’s talking at once, the routine forgotten in favor of vacation planning.
“Ski week is going to bekillerthis year,” Lex moans as she says it.
Far more killer than any of them can dream.
“I already have my entire wardrobe planned,” Michelle gushes. “Three different ski outfits, plus all those cute lodge outfits, and party dresses for the after-dark events.”
I bite down on a smile as I remember the exact after-dark eventsshe’s thinking about. Gage and I were plotting to have our first time together happen on that cursed mountain. But every celestial force, including the Grim Reaper, was determined to stop us.
“Party dresses?” Lexy raises an eyebrow. “Michelle, it’s a ski trip, not Milan Fashion Week.”
“Fashion Week wishes it could be as fabulous as my ski wardrobe,” Michelle shoots back. “Besides, there are going to be college guys there.College guys, people. This is serious business.”
“College guys who are probably more interested in actually skiing than watching you pose in designer snow pants,” Emily points out with a grunt.
“Shows what you know,” Michelle sniffs. “A good snow pant can work miracles.”
“Only if they’re as easy to pull off as they are to pull on.” Bree laughs. “I’m just excited about the hot chocolate and the fireplaces. It’s going to be cozy and romantic.”
“Romantic until you face-plant into a snowbank,” Lexy says. “Which, knowing our collective athletic abilities, is pretty much guaranteed.”
“Speak for yourself,” Chloe cuts in. “I’m as graceful on the slopes as I am everywhere else.”
The conversation swirls around me, but all I can think about is what I know—what I remember from the future that was. One of them comes home from this trip in a body bag. One of these girls, laughing and planning party outfits and talking about college boys, doesn’t make it back alive.
And that’s when I make a decision—although I’m not sure I’ll be able to follow through with it, but still.
“Actually,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I’m not going on the trip.”
