“Five, six, seven, eight!” Brielle counts, voice hoarse but commanding.
We hit the first moves—high V, sharp turn, clap, kick—and I’m instantly reminded that yoga flexibility and cheer stamina arenotthe same thing. My thighs are already burning, and I can feel sweat trickling down the back of my neck.
Bella glances over mid-routine, grinning like a devil. “You’re doing great!”
“I’m dying,” I whisper.
She laughs and spins back into the formation like it’s nothing. The rest of the team follows effortlessly, nailing each motion with muscle memory that’s clearly been drilled in for weeks. I, meanwhile, am half a beat late on every turn, my arms not as crisp, my jumps not as high.
“Loosen your shoulders,” Brielle calls, clapping as we land a pyramid transition. “You’re too stiff, Chloe!”
I exhale a laugh between breaths. “You think?”
But I adjust, shaking out my arms and trying again. This time I hit the timing—barely—and when Bella turns to wink at me during the final pose, I can’t help but grin.
We run it again. And again. And again.
By the fifth round, I’m sure my legs have turned into spaghetti. My ponytail’s a disaster, my makeup is smudged, and the too-tight top feels like it’s fused to my ribs. Every inhale burns. Every exhale sounds like a small prayer.
“Okay, break!” Brielle finally yells, and I swear I could cry with relief.
Bella collapses beside me on the mat, fanning herself with her hand. “See? Not so bad.”
I drop onto my back, panting. “Not so bad?” I mock.
“Comes with the job.” She laughs, leaning over to nudge me. “You’ll get used to it. You actually have good form, you just need stamina.”
“Yeah, well, thank God for yoga,” I mumble. “Or I’d be dead by now.”
Bella laughs harder, the sound echoing across the gym. “By the way, Jamie’s going to love seeing you in that uniform.”
My head jerks toward her. “What?”
She smirks knowingly. “Oh, don’t play dumb. Word travels fast around here.”
My face heats immediately, and I busy myself adjusting my skirt. “We’re just… friends.”
“Sure,” she says, drawling the word out until it loses all meaning. “Just friends.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. Maybe it’s the endorphins, maybe it’s the exhaustion, but the ache in my chest feels lighter.
Practice picks up again, and this time I throw myself into it. I mess up the formation once, nearly trip over another girl’s pom, but by the last routine I can almost keep up. When the final song cuts out, Brielle claps and shouts, “Better! That’s what I’m talking about!”
I grin, out of breath, heart pounding in the best way.
As we file out, Bella links her arm through mine again. “Told you you’d survive. Welcome to the team, baby cheer.”
The sun sits low over the field, pale and stretched, the light golden and lazy in that almost-fall kind of way.
I wave as we part ways.
My shoes make dull scuffing sounds against the grass as I walk, counting my steps just to keep my mind from spinning too farahead. I keep replaying the list in my head—duffel bag, two boxes, the tote with all my shoes, my pillow—and it’s ridiculous how much I can fit into that tiny dorm room. But the move to the sorority house feels heavier than the physical stuff. Like I’m packing up a version of myself I’m not sure I want to let go off just yet.I literally just got it.
The wind picks up, brushing hair across my face, and that’s when my phone vibrates in my hand. I almost ignore it—probably another group text from the girls about decor or room assignments—but then I see the name.
Caldwell & Associates.
My stomach tightens before I even open it.
