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Miles is the yin to my yang. In addition to being the best friend a person could ask for, he's also my cheer partner and has been since we were thirteen years old. I love the camaraderie of the cheer squad in general, but Miles is my person. The two of us are considered to be a big deal in cheerleading circles, which is why we were offered full scholarships to a dozen schools. We narrowed it down to two universities with Division I teams, one Miles wanted and the one I'd had my heart set on from the start. There were two reasons I wanted to come here. First, it's less than twenty minutes from Nanny and Pop's house. Second, it’s his alma mater and I idolized him. What can I say—my reasoning on the second thing seemed solid at the time.
In the end, Miles let me choose, which is why we're here, under an hour away from where we went to high school. The university Miles wanted to go to is clear across the country. Especially after the events of this summer, I know we made the right decision in coming here.
On every level, this school has been good to us both academically and physically. In the three years we've been here, we've helped the cheer squad earn half a dozen state and national championships, and for the last three years running we've taken first place in every one of the coed partner stunt competitions.
The trust I have in Miles—as the person who tosses me into the air only to catch me—literally—within the palm of one hand is immeasurable. I’ve met dozens of fly girls over the years who could be amazing but are instead stuck at being “good” because their partners aren't rock solid. That isn't the case with me. In all honesty, Miles is the more talented of the two of us. It takes incredible strength and stamina to throw a one hundred and twenty-five-pound five-foot five-inch girl for hours and hours every day, but he does it without complaint. I enjoy cheerleading, and I always have, but at the end of the day, the reason I've taken it as far as I have is entirely down to Miles.
I grin as he playfully jabs at my side with his elbow so that I don’t do something crazy like fall asleep on him, something I’ve been known to do. The joke on the squad is that I’m borderline narcoleptic. I frequently fall asleep while waiting for the team to assemble and I also tend to nod off at the picnic tables on the quad. What can I say? I like sleep. A lot.
“Are you cooking chicken breasts tonight or am I on my own for dinner?” Miles asks.
After our freshman year when we both lived in dorms, we moved in together into an off-campus townhome his parents rent for him on a month-to-month basis. His family refuses to allow me to pay rent or any of the bills, despite my protests. I make up for it by keeping the house stocked with food and by doing all of the cooking. It’s the perfect arrangement for all of us.
I yawn and stretch my arms as I sit up straight. “Don't be a dope, of course I'm cooking. I forgot my afternoon snack, which means I haven't eaten since lunch. Two tablespoons of peanut butter, an apple and a cup of cottage cheese weren't enough to fill me up. You don't know how badly I wish there were a way to automate the chicken breasts dropping onto our George Foreman grill about eight minutes before we get home. I’m that hungry.”
Miles narrows his eyes as he shakes his head. “You know how important the afternoon snacks are,” he scolds. “You’re off by about two hundred calories for the day because of that. I should’ve checked your backpack this morning before you left the house.”
I shrug, not in the least bit concerned. “Cut me some slack, Dad," I say dryly. "I was in a rush this morning and forgot. The first day of school and all, ya know? I solemnly swear that I’ll do better tomorrow.”
“See that you do,” he says firmly. "I'm the one throwing you around all afternoon, and when you're hangry, you turn into a major bitch.”
I snort out a laugh as I give him the finger. It’s not like I can argue—he’s one hundred percent right. I get cranky as hell when I’m starving, and during our official season, I'm hungry almost all of the time because my diet is so strict. I have to keep my weight steady and my core strength on point, which doesn’t give me much wiggle room at all. There are no off days for flyers—there can’t be. If I gain five pounds, that’s five extra pounds that Miles has to balance when he’s tossing and catching me. Cheerleading is a far more brutally regimented sport than most people realize.
