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My heart-shaped box was getting full, stuffed with twenties, and I didn’t want to run out of room. I should probably transfer the money to my bank account to keep it safe, but I was seeing my savings grow. Resisting the temptation of spending what was right in front of me. Like my runs, it made me feel strong. Powerful.
“All right.” He flicked a single toward me that was lying on the bed, and I pushed it away.
“Why did you do this tonight?”
“To remind you why you’re here.”
I cut him the most evil glare I could manage, turned away, and pulled the covers over my head. But as he climbed out of bed and put on music to fall asleep to — something he’d started doing the past couple of weeks — I thawed out, relaxing into his embrace when he returned. And I wondered if he was actually trying to remind himself.
The next morning while he got breakfast, I checked my phone and found a voicemail from Grace.
“Christina?” She sounded agitated. “I know this is short notice, but Theresa broke her ankle during practice. She was doing a back tuck and came down the wrong way…” Grace sighed. “She’s out for the season. We have a game next Saturday night and two other girls are sick right now. I’d like to give you another chance. Can you step in? I’ve seen you practicing by yourself. You know most of the routines already, and it wouldn’t take long to get you up to speed. You’d come to practice Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, attend the mandatory workouts, and commit to the rest of the season. It’s only a few more weeks. This would really help us, Christina. We need you.”Click.
Patrick entered, balancing the cookie sheet on one hand. A bowl of strawberries caught my eye. I’d told him they were my favorite. Picking them up in February couldn’t have been cheap.
I sat up, the covers sliding off my naked body.
“I’m rejoining the cheer squad.”
He set the tray down on the bed. “That’s unexpected.”
“I’m full of surprises.” I took a strawberry from the tray. I couldn’t keep back a bounce of excitement. “The next game’s on Saturday. I’m going to be practicing like crazy this week, and I’m going to be really sore from something you have nothing to do with. Wish me luck.”
He grinned. Dammit, Patrick looked so good when he really smiled. “Luck.”
*****
On game day, I woke up with a dry throat and a splitting headache.
Normally, I’d be in Patrick’s room right now, since it was Saturday morning. But he’d taken me home around one am, after he’d gotten a phone call that he answered in the hall. When he came back, his jaw tight, he said our time tonight was done and he’d see me Monday. No further explanation. After he dropped me at my apartment, his car took off with a roar. I hugged my coat close and wondered who or what he was speeding toward.
The past week had been a blur. Waking up early for practice, attending workouts, fitting in the runs I’d come to depend on. Pushing my last project from fall semester to the finish line. Keeping up with my classes and trying not to sink in Victorian Lit. Avoiding Dexter at Student Senate. Handling my parents, whostill held my grades over my head. Figuring out a budget for Alexis’s bachelorette party and fighting my impulse to impress her friends. Staggering to Patrick’s room, following his orders, and sinking into jumbled dreams until my early alarm woke us both.
I stumbled out of my bed and into the shower. Hot water rained down on me. I let it stream over my face, my mouth. I was not going to duck out on today’s game. They needed me. I’d worked my ass off for this.
I wanted it.
In the kitchen, I dumped instant coffee in a mug, added hot water, and gulped it down. Back in my bedroom, I yanked open my middle drawer, felt for the bottle of pills, and swallowed a couple of Adderall, washing them down with more coffee. I stuffed a fistful of gummy bears in my mouth.
This was my fucking breakfast of champions.
I was a champion.
*****
Girls in cheer uniforms packed the dressing room at Whitman Arena. We clustered around the brightly lit mirrors, applying fake eyelashes and temporary tattoos with our school’s logo on our left cheeks. I’d done my hair at home, but I borrowed Sydney’s iron to refresh my curls.
Megan, one of the girls, leaned close to me. “I feel so bad about Theresa’s ankle,” she whispered. “But we all really missed you. You’re so solid, we knew we could count on you.”
I smiled at her. Our faces glowed in the mirror, eyes bright with pre-game energy. My headache was far away, my dry throat coated in cough drops, excitement zinging through me.
Our uniform tonight was different than the one I’d worn to Patrick’s room. More forgiving, with more coverage. And I’d jumped into working out the past two weeks. I was stronger, harder. The elastic-waist skirt was still a little tight, but I’d gotten it on.
When I adjusted my skirt, I accidentally elbowed Sydney. She didn’t look up from her phone.
Megan waved a hand in front of her face. “Syd, can I use your curling iron?”
“She’s sexting with Brayden Bronson,” I explained.
