SEPTEMBER, 2004 — PRESENT DAY
“Alright ladies, let’s go over it one more time and then we can break for lunch,” I call over the sea of high ponytails in front of me, all adorning the same bow with our school colors.
I center myself at the front and do the countdown, then the air is filled with our chant as we belt it out, trying to stay in rhythm. I watch each girl do their kicks and flips, and then the group in the center does a basket-toss that is near impeccable.
Being captain for Greenwood University’s cheerleading team is everything. I love coming up with new cheers and routines, and I love overseeing how everyone is doing. It helps that I’ve known every one of them since kindergarten. We’ve been cheerleading together for years, always on the same squad. There’s no hiccups about getting into a groove with each other, just the same muscle memory and tone we’ve been carrying since we first put on our skirts and gathered our pom-poms in middle school.
When the cheer is done, I clap my hands. “That was fantastic, ladies!” I point at the familiar brunette on thethird line. “Sarah, you need to work on your toe touches. You’re not jumping high enough.”
“Of course,” she replies, her features twisted with embarrassment.
I give her a smile, hoping it’ll soften the blow, but she stares down at her feet. I turn back to the front and collect my bag. “You’re all dismissed,” I announce before walking off abruptly. My feet hurt from practice and I should probably drink some water, but I’d rather be by myself for a few moments before I have to go to the courtyard.
One of my teammates calls out behind me, but I keep moving, needing to feel the cool fall air against my heated skin. My scent mingles in the air, but it’s hard to pick out with all of the other natural smells. The pine from the trees, the autumn crisp from the leaves falling from each branch. The occasional spill of oil from the factory that is considered the heart of the town, but it makes me gag whenever it pokes through all the beautiful things.
Which has to be a real metaphor for this city, actually.
Things have always been the same here in Greenwood. Old, rich families trying to stick together in one little, rinky-dinky town, cutting themselves off from everything else the world has to offer.
The only way to keep a secret from the town is to keep it to yourself completely.
There’s one university, one high school, and one middle school. Everybody knows everybody, and it has been that way for as long as I can remember.
The only highlight is our neighboring town, the one nobody likes to acknowledge. You hop right over the bridge and then you’re in the lively and popular Oakson Lake where people come to life and aren’t afraid of anything, our counterpart in every way. Differences are celebrated, secrets arerespected.
And it’s where I’m going tonight.
The Oakson Lake Racing Extravaganza is something I’ve only heard about in passing. The secret bi-annual event always promises fast cars with a discreet atmosphere, and I’m stoked to finally go. The location has always been super hard to figure out, as the party-goers in Oakson have been careful not to let anyone from Greenwood know of its existence. Our reputation as nosey and snooty onlookers has apparently reached our neighboring town, so they’re doing anything they can to keep the goody two-shoes of this town from shutting it down. I don’t blame them one bit; I’m sure at least sixty-five percent of the people in this townwouldtattle about the infamous event if they had the chance, even though it has nothing to do with them.
Gosh, I hate this fucking town. But I do love the quirks of being Queen Bee, because I’m finally going to get that location. As long as the contact from Oakson comes through and sends me the address like they’re supposed to.
“Hey, beautiful.” The voice arrives at my right, a rush of strong visceral cardamom taking up my nostrils. Brent’s hand laces with mine and he kisses my cheek in a greeting. “Oh, did you just get done with practice?”
I try to smile but it’s crooked. “How could you tell? The cheerleading outfit or the sweat?”
He only laughs in response, his hand squeezing mine as he leads me to the courtyard a little bit faster than I anticipated. “I got you that sandwich like you asked.”
“Oh?” My eyebrows raise. I’m surprised, he normally says he’ll do something and never does. I only ask now out of habit.
“Yeah, caprese, just like you asked.”
Oh, I repeat in my head as I try to hide my disappointment. I asked for chicken and pesto, but I guess that’s similar.
Brent and I have been dating for a little over a year now. Despite my friends’ hopes, Brent never paid me much attentionin high school. There were too many older girls, specifically omegas, for him to even glance my way. It didn’t actually bother me. I spent a lot of my time studying and cheerleading. Having a boyfriend was an afterthought, especially since I didn’t want anyone asking me about my business to begin with. If there’s no partner, there’s no secrets to keep. Especially when it comes to my apparent sexual experiences everyone seems to know more about than me.
Men are losers, and way too many of them have taken advantage of my reputation throughout the years. Even the girls who used to think it was cool now hold my imaginary sex life against me. Gabby, who is unfortunately still my “friend”, has asked me about my body count time and time again in an attempt to embarrass me.
Timmy said you blew him underneath the bleachers.
Nick said you let him go down on you.
Did you go all the way with Peter Sanders?
I shiver at the last one. His last name is fuckingSanders, like the Colonel. I would never.
Still, any denial I gave was met with resistance, my “friends” having already made up their mind about me. The truth is one they’ll never believe, which is that I’ve never been with anyone. Brent is my first boyfriend, and the only time I’ve ever been touched was a chaste kiss in a basement broom closet.
One I guiltily think about from time to time.
