“Thanks for taking the lead today, y’all,” says Sam.
Melissa and I both nod.
“Hey,” I say, “we might want to look at the jeté. Jess gets such crazy good height. It makes the rest of us look like total newbies, ya know?”
Melissa turns to me with a bitter smile. “I agree,” she says dryly.
Sam squints, like she’s running through the combo in her head. She nods. “You’re so right, Callie. We’ll look at it tomorrow.”
What can I say? Some people are just born to be leaders.
Sam continues, “So listen, Driskil is about to come in here, and I already know why she wants to talk.”
“What’s up?” asks Melissa.
Sam rolls her eyes. “You know that dinky-ass gym that sponsored us this year?”
We both nod.
“They pulled their funding.”
“Oh my God,” I say, “what does this mean?”
Sam’s normally sunny expression is grim. “Well, Driskil’s gonna try to paint a pretty picture.”
The door to the gym opens, and Mrs. Driskil shuffles inside.
“But basically we’re fucked,” whispers Sam before Mrs. Driskil is in earshot.
“Good morning, ladies,” says Mrs. Driskil. “This will take just a moment.”
Mrs. Driskil is a mousy woman who wears long skirts that collect dust along the hem and bulky cat-hair-coated grandpa cardigans with seasonal brooches. With the whiskery wrinkles around her mouth, not only is she a cat lady, she looks like one, too. She’s nice enough, but she keeps her distance, which is exactly what we need in a faculty adviser. Her name might be on all the paperwork, but we’re the ones running this show.
“Hey, Mrs. D,” I say. “Nice sweater.”
“Oh,” she says in a sugary voice. “This was my aunt Dolores’s. We almost buried her in it, but I was able to find her favorite just in time for the viewing.”
Melissa clears her throat. “What a... memorable story.”
“So what brings you all the way to the gymnasium?” I ask.
Mrs. Driskil coughs into her fist. “Well. It’s, um, one of your sponsors. They had to back out, and it appears they were your primary sponsor. That sweet little boxing gym. Down for the Count?”
“Wait,” I gasp, feigning surprise. “What did you say?”
“Well, I guess the owner is just having a rough go of it, and he’s cutting costs.” She speaks slowly and loudly, as if I was being literal about not hearing her.
“Okay,” I say. “But can’t we just, like, get another sponsor? My boyfriend’s dad owns a couple car dealerships. I’m sure he could help us out.”
Sam shakes her head.
Driskil rings her hands together. “Well, it’s not that easy. The district bylaws say that a sponsor must be approved before the school year, and that the student is responsible for any additional funding needs. And so I’m afraid that means the cost of travel and accommodations for State and Nationals would fall to you ladies.”
Panic swells in my chest, but I refuse to appear anything less than calm. “Who can even afford that?” I ask.
“Definitely not me,” says Melissa.
Mrs. Driskil continues, “It looks like we have almost half of what we need for State, but if we make it any further than that, we’re going to have to raise funds.”
