Page 103 of Game On
“Confidence is sexy,” I say, flashing him a grin. “Ego is another story.”
“You afraid I’m gonna fall in love with my own reflection?”
“How very Narcissus of you.”
He clutches a hand over his chest, the other placed firmly on the steering wheel. “Was that a Greek mythology reference? A woman after my own heart.”
I snicker. “Glad to know what gets you going.”
“Oh, baby, I can give you a whole list.”
“I think I’m doing just fine on my own, don’t you?” I shoot back.
“Yeah.” He licks his lips, turns his head to glance at me, and then his hand comes to rest on my bare thigh. “You’re doin’ more than fine.”
Spring classes have finally begun, and that fresh start-of-semester excitement is crackling in the air. New coursework,new challenges, and, more importantly, Hudson’s first official day with the cheer squad. He’s opted into all our competition practices until Daytona, and the thought of him being a permanent fixture in our routines makes my heart race.
As I enter the gym, my teammates are already warming up. Some are stretching while others chat in groups. And there he is, Hudson, fitting in like he’s been part of the squad all along.
“Alright, Whitland!” Coach Morgan’s voice cuts through the chatter, and we all snap to attention. “We’re gonna put this pyramid together today. Let’s get to work.”
As per, our coach puts us through our paces. Warm-up? Check. Stunt practice? Check. Choreography that’s filled to the brim with high-level acrobatics? Check, check, and check.
The NCA is known for valuing high-energy, fast-tempo performances with rapid transitions. And Morgan is set on amping up the level of complexity from Whitland’s previous year. If we can manage to perfect this, there’s no room for us not to place first at Daytona.
Hudson is acing his part in the routine—strong, precise, and solid as a rock. But then we move onto the pyramid, and I slip on the first run. We recover quickly, but not quick enough for Coach Morgan’s sharp eyes.
“Ella, focus,” she calls out. I nod, biting my lip and pushing through.
We continue, and a couple more minor wobbles occur—not just from me, but from others, too. It’s not unusual at this stage of practice. We still have two and a half months untilthe competition to perfect things. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that every mistake I make is under a microscope.
During a brief break, I notice Claire and Coach Morgan talking in the corner, their heads bent together. Claire’s eyes flick over to me, and a chill runs down my spine. It’s that feeling you get when you know someone is talking about you behind your back.
“Alright, let’s switch it up,” Coach Morgan announces, walking back to the group. “Ella, we’re moving you to the back of the pyramid. Cove, take her spot.”
“What?” The word slips out before I can stop it. “Why?”
“It’s just for today,” she says, her tone firm. “We’re trying it out.”
I swallow hard, ignoring the sting behind my eyes. Hudson gives me a supportive look, but the idea of being demoted—even temporarily—has me seething. I force a smile and a tight nod, moving to the back as instructed. Now, I’m paired with a different base, and the change is bound to throw me off-balance.
Ash tries to reassure me from the sidelines with his “You got this” speech, but honestly it just frustrates me more. He’s been relegated to an assistant coach position because of his injury. The cast comes off in a couple weeks, but he still needs to undergo physiotherapy for another month before he can return to full activity. It’s a sore spot for him, which makes his pep talks feel a bit hollow right now.
I manage to push through the rest of practice, but by the end I’m a bundle of anger and hurt, barely able to keep it together. It’s not so much that I think I deserve the spot morethan Cove, but I hate feeling like a failure at something I’m so used to excelling at. And I especially hate feeling like Claire’s distaste for me is going to define my place on this team.
As soon as Coach Morgan dismisses us, I stomp back to Hudson’s truck, not caring if anyone notices my frustration. Hudson follows at a distance, giving me space to have my moment.
I reach the truck and lean against it, arms crossed, trying to steady my breathing. A few minutes later, Hudson arrives. “I’m sorry about what happened in there,” he says softly, unlocking the door. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay,” I snap, then soften my tone. “Sorry. I’m just frustrated.”
“I get that. Being demoted is brutal, no matter if it’s temporary.”
I give him a tight nod of acknowledgment, biting my tongue. I’m worried I’ll lash out at him rather than express my feelings properly. I’m too wired to think straight. So, we drive home in silence.
When we reach his place, we head inside, and I collapse onto the couch, curling up on one end. Hudson joins me, and I instinctively move closer, seeking comfort in his touch.
He smooths a hand over my hair and my frayed nerves calm slightly. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” he asks gently. “Words, no words from me? Do you want to rant? Sit in silence? Grab dinner? Have a little treat?”
