Page 121 of Game On
Hands squeeze mine—on one side, Luke’s palm is clammy; on the other, Hudson’s grip is firm and reassuring. I glance up at him and give a soft smile. He looks strong, steady, perfect. His broad shoulders are squared, and his eyes are set with determination. In them, there’s a silent promise—he’s here with me. And no matter whathappens, we’ll both go home with more than we came here for.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Always.”
We run onto the mat, hitting our marks. My heart is pounding, but I home in and focus on the opening stunts. I climb into position, Hudson’s strong grips anchoring me. The music blasts out, and I snap into the first high V, the crowd roaring in front of us. We transition smoothly into high to high full-ups, and I nail the double down dismount.
Next is standing tumbling. We line up, and then launch into standing back tucks, followed by toe-touch back tucks and standing fulls. Coach Morgan’s voice echoes in my head: tight forms, strong rebounds, and we follow through.
There’s a quick transition to running tumbling next. I take off into my pass: whip through to a full. Sticking the landing, the mat hits firmly beneath my feet. I’ve never been the strongest tumbler, but I’ve put in the work, and the adrenaline helps me nail it today.
Partner stunts follow. I step to Hudson, and we execute a flawless hand-in-hand full-up. The crowd gasps as we hit our one-arm stretch. The dismount is a high double down, and air rushes past me as we spin. It’s a smooth catch, and I’m immediately prepping for the next transition.
The pyramids, of course, are my favorite part. My face splits into a wide grin as we form the base, and I climb to thesecond tier, then up to the top. The pyramid rotates, cheers building around the stage. As we hit the final structure, I throw my hands up, soaking it all in.
After, we scatter into our positions for a series of basket tosses. I step into the basket before lifting off, tucking into a kick double. I’m weightless, high in the air, before I land back in the cradle with a solid thud, swiftly moving into position for the next toss.
As the routine comes to a close, we launch into a high-energy dance sequence. Some of us move until we’re on our knees, others rise up on shoulders, and in the back, a singular pyramid forms with Claire at the top. She’s a sight to behold, I’m sure—as strong, radiant, and beautiful as ever.
Here, on the right, bolstered on Hudson’s shoulders, I’m grinning from ear to ear. This is the last time I’ll ever perform with Whitland’s squad. The exhilaration, the bittersweet nostalgia, have hit me all at once. It’s a memory I’ll never forget. An experience I’ll savor for the rest of my life.
When the music stops, it’s nearly impossible for us to tell as the noise of the screaming crowd drowns it all out. I suppose if one thing is true about Daytona, it’s that the rush of performing is unlike anything else. It’s no doubt one of the greatest feelings in the world—second only to that of Hudson telling me he loves me.
Or perhaps it’s a tie if I’m being wholly honest with myself.
We finally break formation, falling into each other’s arms,laughing and crying in equal measure. I turn to Hudson, and he wraps me up so tightly I can hardly breathe. “Fucking incredible,” he says as he pulls back.
“There’s nothing quite like it, is there?”
“This might be better than winning a football game,” he says, and I crinkle my brow in disbelief. “Okay, you’re right, it’s definitely better.”
I laugh. “We don’t even know our scores yet.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, tucking me under his arm. A warm embrace that feels like home.
We leave the stage, and the original Skyline crew—Gabi, Sammy, Luke, and Ash—rush over, pulling me into a group hug. Hudson hangs back, a proud smile on his face, until Ash yanks him into the fray, too. We’re all jumping and hugging, a tangled mess of joy and relief. It’s the sweetest moment, one that will live on forever.
A few hours later, we huddle together on the main stage, hands clasped so tight I can feel Hudson’s pulse sync with mine. The judges’ faces are inscrutable, and time stretches for what seems like forever.
“Second place,” the announcer’s voice booms, “Wyler State!”
We exhale collectively, a gust of preemptive triumph. But we don’t erupt just yet. The title is still suspended in the air, despite the fact we know it’s ours. It has to be.
“First place …”
The whole universe narrows down to those two words, the seconds stretching on infinitely. This is it, the momentI’ve been waiting years for. The moment that’s taken blood, sweat, and countless sacrifices. I know Hudson said it didn’t matter—win or lose—but I’ve always been a sucker for a first-place trophy.
“Whitland University!”
And just like that, the tension shatters. Cheers explode around us like a burst of fireworks, the joy too big to be contained. We’ve done it. We’ve won. The victory is sweeter than a fairytale, richer than any dream. It’s real, and it’s ours.
Suddenly I’m drowning in a sea of hugs. I’m laughing, crying, shouting—all at once—my emotions a tangled mess that somehow makes perfect sense.
Hudson’s hug lifts me off my feet, and I’m spinning once again. “Fuck yeah, Whitland! That’s how it’s done.”
A huge banner unfurls from above, and the trophy glimmers in the spotlight as it’s handed over to us. We hold it high, basking in the triumph that took everything we had to achieve.
“Beach! Now!” Ash yells over the crowd, and the idea spreads like a ripple effect.
