Chapter 23 - I'll Be a Home for You

Chapter 23

car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car.

car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car. car.

Aang

JJ sitting on my lap has imprinted itself on my brain.

Holding her waist during cheerleading makes me think back to the car. Getting a whiff of her perfume at Mathletes makes me think back to the car. Sitting next to her at lunch makes me think back to the car. My thoughts are now car.

I hoped that not seeing her over the Christmas break would provide respite.

Nope.

My mind imagined new scenarios. I could have whispered in her ear to turn around, and then leaned forward until our lips met. Pressed my palm against her cheek. Asked if she would let me put it lower. These fantasies never lasted long before I was drowning in guilt.

She told me something so personal, and I spent my Christmas pondering how I could have turned it into a make-out session. One she wouldn’t even have enjoyed, because I would have had no idea what I was doing. Going from Brad to me would have been a significant step down in the quality of the experience. But I can’t help it. Now that I know how it feels to have her in my arms, on my lap …

I walk into a cloud of hairspray and go into a coughing fit.

The chemical fog hangs in the air of the corridors of the sports arena where the cheerleading State Championship is being held. I move away from the girls doing their ponytails before they release another round of hairspray.

Wait.

I look around. Where am I?

I went to the bathroom, but now I have no idea how to get back to my team’s base. Thousands of people are milling around this sports hall, decked out in bows, pom-poms, and foam fingers, obstructing my view of any possible direction to take. Pop music blasts from every speaker, combining with the screeches of girls who haven’t seen each other since State last year and have very loud opinions on each other’s uniforms.

This is nothing like Regionals. Regionals was held in a local school, with thirteen teams. The State Championship has thirteen teams in our division alone. And there are so. Many. Divisions. Small, medium, large, all-girl, co-ed, novice, intermediate, advanced, game day, performance … I’ve lost track of which one we are in.

Almost as lost as I am right now.

My phone rings. Maybe JJ noticed I’ve gone missing.

I answer without looking at the caller. “Hello?”

“Aang, hi!”

“Mom?” I tighten my grip on my phone in concern. She doesn’t call people. Instead, she sends twenty-minute-long voice messages. “Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to wish you good luck with the competition!”

Seriously? I fight not to fling my phone across the corridor. I’ll bet my very small allowance that I won’t get a call like this for the Cantonese exam next month.

“Also, a package came for you.”

“Huh? What packa—” Fuck. I forgot I had ordered a claypot for Chinese New Year.

Between school, winter break, Mathletes, cheerleading, preparing for the exam, and my thoughts being generally consumed by the car, it slipped my mind that the celebration’s in only two weeks and I haven’t started preparing.

“Aang?” my mom prods. “What did you buy?”

“A claypot. So we can celebrate the New Year properly.”

Silence.

“Mom? Hello?”

“But … we do celebrate properly.”

I scoff. I wouldn’t call going to an American fast-food restaurant “celebrating Chinese New Year properly.” Even if they claim to sell Chinese food. More Chinese-adjacent.

Someone taps me on the shoulder, making me turn around. A girl in a blue cheerleading uniform is standing in front of me. She throws her long blond hair over her shoulder, and either her shampoo or her hairspray is very strong, because it smells like I put my nose in a bowl of strawberries. She motions for me to hang up. Are cheerleaders everywhere this level of bossy? She’s lucky I’m not in the mood to talk to my mother anymore.

“Mom, I have to go.” I hang up.

The girl extends her hand. “You’re the guy from Blackstock High. It’s so nice to meet you.”

I shake her hand, but she holds on to my fingers, stroking them with her thumb before letting go. Weird. Is this how strangers greet each other in the cheerleading world? I didn’t get the memo from JJ.

“I’m Kaycee. From Kensington High. The first football game? I was cheering for the other side.” Her eyelashes flutter, which is particularly pronounced because, like most girls here, she’s wearing fake ones. It makes facial expressions pop more, according to JJ.

“I see.”

“I didn’t have a chance to say hello at the game, so I wanted to do it now. And tell you that you’re a great backspot.”

Is this a way to intimidate the competition? JJ didn’t warn me that people play mind games with you here.

“Would be fun to do some stunting together. I’m a great flyer!” She points to her phone. “Would you like my number? To go out?”

She’s asking me out? I open my mouth, trying to figure out what to say. How does one respond to being asked out?

“Aang?” a familiar voice says from behind me.

I whip my head around, a wave of relief washing over me. The red glitter on JJ’s face reflects in her brown eyes. “What are you doing?” She crosses her arms, frowning.

I look back at the girl. Was she standing this close to me before? I step away.

“Hey!” Kaycee smiles at JJ, but it looks more like a sneer. “I’m from Kensington High. I never said sorry about your fall during the game. Such a shame.”

JJ narrows her eyes. “I remember you. You’re the one who tripped last year during the routine. It was unfortunate. I mean, who knew the floor would be right there?”

Kaycee scowls. But then gives me a smile. “Find me later. You can be my backspot anytime.” She walks away.

JJ turns her frown on me. “You were supposed to go to the bathroom, not flirt with the competition.”

Flirt? “I said two words during that conversation.”

“You were gone for thirty minutes.” She surveys me suspiciously.

“I got lost! And I wasn’t flirting! I only said, ‘I see’!”

That makes her snort. “You know what, that actually sounds more correct.” Her mouth quirks up, and the red lipstick—the shade chosen specifically to match the uniform—makes her lips look even fuller.

If I kissed her, would it smudge the lipstick?

I snap my eyes away from her lips. Did she notice I was staring at her mouth? I take a step back for good measure, and she definitely notices that—her expression crumples.

“I didn’t mean to … it’s just … she was …” She shakes her head. “I can’t tell you what to do. I’m sorry, let’s just go back.” She points in the direction she came from, her shoulders slumping.

I grab her hand before she walks away. “I would have said no. I already have a flyer.”

“I know. You even have two.”

That’s not what I meant.

The sports arena is divided into two parts. The warm-up area, full of cheerleading mats and tumbling tracks, hidden from view by a thick curtain, and the competition area, with one cheerleading mat in the center, surrounded by stands.

We fly through the warm-up, and the only thing left to do is wait for our school to be called. We stand in our marked zone behind the curtain. The girls around me are quietly going through the counts, adjusting their uniforms, and doing their elaborate handshakes and prayers.

I peek through the curtain.

The lights in the arena are dimmed except for the reflectors illuminating the mat. Further up, there are five judges, each tasked with evaluating different parts of the routine. Stunts, pyramid, basket tosses, tumbling, choreography, execution, creativity, violations, safety issues—JJ tried to explain the scoring system to me once. It’s been a long time since numbers confused me.

The audience sits in the shadows, filling the arena with their chants, counts, hand clappers, and thundersticks. How will we hear the music through all that?

JJ appears next to me. “Excited?”

“Horrified.” I grip the curtain, staring at the crowd. “Why are there so many people here?”

“Because it’s a great spectator sport! Frankly, there should be more people here.”

My stomach drops at the thought. “No, no more people. Please.”

“Hey!” She bumps my hip. “It’ll be fine.”

“How will it be fine? How am I supposed to lift you with so many people staring? What if I drop you?” I can picture it … my grip slipping, JJ hitting the mat, the entire gym going silent …

“Then you catch me.” She shrugs. “And we move on.”

My airways constrict, my words coming out unevenly. “But … then we lose. And you won’t be able to fly during Nationals.”

She tightens the bow on her ponytail. “How about if you don’t drop me, I’ll find that girl for you later?” She cracks her knuckles.

“Is that supposed to be a reward or a punishment?”

“You choose. I heard she doesn’t fall during game days. Not like me.”

I grimace. “She shouldn’t have been mean to you. I’ll—”

“Oh, it’s okay, I loved it.” JJ jumps up and down in delight. “That could not have been more like a scene from an American high school film!”

I try to read her face. “Are you serious?”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” She leans into my ear. “I’ve been praying for my own cheerleading nemesis.” Her breath tickles my skin, and I think back to the car. I know how she feels sitting on my lap. I know how she feels standing on my hands. I want to know how she feels lying on top of me.

I let out a shaky laugh at her. “You’re insane.” I’m insane.

“Really?” She narrows her eyes. “You’re flirting with me right before the routine?”

Blood drains from my face. “I wasn’t … What? That wasn’t …”

Her mouth quivers, and she chuckles. “You’re so easy to freak out.”

“Oh my god.” I shove her face away. “You really are the bane of my existence.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’d spend every waking minute with me if you could.”

She’s joking, but my heart still trips over its next beat.

Over winter break, when she went with her parents to a medical conference, every day felt like a countdown to seeing her again. And when she came back … between cheerleading training, additional stunting sessions, Mathletes meetings, drives to school, library time, and hanging out in the school corridors … yeah, I’d spend every waking minute with her if I could. Whatever I’m doing, her presence makes it better.

This time, I lean into her ear, and she stands up straighter. “How about this—if I drop you, you’ll find Kaycee, and if I don’t drop you, you’ll come over for Chinese New Year. In two weeks. Saturday.”

“Deal. Now give me a cheer smile.”

I smile.

“The judges wouldn’t even notice you changed facial expressions. Bigger smile.”

I emulate her psychotic smile.

Laughter springs out of her, and my pulse skyrockets. “Exactly that, but maybe don’t try it outside of the mat.”

I never thought I’d get addicted to anything, but making her laugh gives me a rush I can’t replace with anything else.

“One minute left!” Coach shouts.

I reach out my hand. JJ grabs it. This time, we’re running out together, because the opening of the routine is our partner stunt. I trace a circle on her hand with my thumb. The repetitive movement calms me down.

“And now, let’s welcome in the performance division, advanced, large, co-ed—the Blackstock High Cardinals!”

We run out. We take our positions. I put my hands on JJ’s hips. She grabs my wrists. No one can see my face from behind her massive ponytail, but I smile anyway.

The music starts with a ping. I dip and throw JJ up. She lands on my hands on three. High V on seven. Dip to bring her down on one. I catch her hips on five and lower her to the ground.

Yes.

But that’s as much of a celebration as I can afford.

I run to my stunt group. Full-up to extension. Heel stretch. Tick-tock. Tick-tock again. Dip. Full twist. Catch. Put down. Run to the back of the mat for the jumps section. Lift Alexis. Run back to the front for basket tosses. Throw Addy. Catch Addy after she does a kick and a single twist in the air. Put Addy on the ground. Run to the left side of the mat.

Wait for Alexis to finish tumbling. Catch her as she jumps into a smoosh straight out of her tumbling pass. Move her to the center for the pyramid section. I’m out of breath, but I shout the counts to help everyone be on time. Put Alexis in prep. Then in extension. Throw her up, catch her in a cradle. Put her on the ground. Move. Catch Addy as she’s released from another stunt group. Move with her in a smoosh. Throw her up.

My legs are cotton candy. I run, for the last time, to my dance place at the back. The dance is a whirl of flying ponytails. I throw Alexis up on my shoulder. I shift her from one shoulder to the other. I put her down. And because Coach made good on her threat of making me do at least one dance move, I dip Alexis down like we’re doing an Argentinian tango.

The routine ends.

No one celebrates. We rush off the mat before we get penalized. The next team is scheduled to be on the mat at 16:58, and they will be on the mat at 16:58.

Everyone collapses backstage. I crash down on the ground, panting. Did we actually do it?

“We hit zero! No deductions in the whole routine!” JJ tackles me, but I stay seated.

Bryn runs over and hugs JJ, and her added weight knocks me over.

Monique comes over, giggling. “We did it! We did it!”

Lying on the floor under the weight of two girls, with twenty-five more screaming and jumping around me, I realize that the routine is done. That the two-and-a-half-minute routine that we worked to perfect for more than one hundred hours barely registered in my brain. And when I look at JJ laughing and pushing herself off my chest, it hits me that I didn’t let her down.

Hours later, when they call us back for awards, the mat is a sea of polyester uniforms. Every team stands in a circle holding hands. My palms are sweating. JJ keeps bouncing on her toes. Monique’s muttering a prayer. Bryn looks even paler than usual.

“Thirteenth place, Advanced Co-Ed Large Division …”

We suffer through each team name being called out, with the announcer stretching each pause for hours. Like they’re getting paid by the minute, and not barely the minimum wage of the state of Massachusetts.

“Tenth place, Advanced Co-Ed Large Division …”

My heart palpitations are so loud I can barely hear the announcer.

“Seventh place, Advanced Co-Ed Large Division …”

Someone behind me weeps when their team’s name is called.

“Fifth place, Advanced Co-Ed Large Division …”

What if the difference between winning and losing is Addy’s bent knee on the tick-tock?

“Third place, Advanced Co-Ed Large Division …”

Parents in the stands take out their phones, ready to record the winner.

“And now for the Massachusetts State Champions …”

Everyone in the arena holds their breath. JJ squeezes my hand so tight I think she might break my fingers. I want this for her. I want her to win, and I want her to fly at Nationals.

“… in Advanced Co-Ed Large Division …”

And in the seconds it takes the presenter to take a breath, I realize I want it as much for myself. Not because I want to get into Stanford. But because I want to win a cheerleading competition, and hang the medal on my board, and …

“Blackstock High Cardinals!”

The sound that comes out of our team isn’t human. Addy starts crying. Monique’s screech is so high-pitched that dogs three counties over definitely heard her. JJ tackles me again, shouting something in Polish.

We spend an hour taking photos with the gold trophy. Everyone has to get an individual one. And a stunt group one. And flyers only. And bases only. And backspots only. And then in pairs and in threes. And then every girl wants a photo with me.

“It’s for the history books, Aang!” Coach says.

By the time everyone’s satisfied, most teams have packed up, families have filtered out of the venue, and the arena feels normal-sized again.

I’m charged with getting the trophy to the bus. JJ carries my backpack for me so that I “can focus on protecting this precious piece of metal.” The glitter on her cheeks has mostly rubbed off, her bow is crooked, her hair is sticking out everywhere, and her lipstick is completely gone. But her whole face is lit up, and she has never looked more beautiful than right now.

I wish I had the guts to tell her.

“So …” She grins. “Chinese New Year?”