Page 5 of Game On
I’m wearing a silk top and shorts, not quite coordinated but close enough to fit in. My usual make-up has been glammed up by Gabi’s expert hands; she’s added a hint of shimmer to my eyelids and a bold red lip to complete the look.
The girls greet me with warm smiles and excited chatter. They ask me about my journey here and my first impressions of Nashville. They rush to tell me everything they can aboutcampus life—the best spots to hang out, the dodgy areas to avoid—in the span of five minutes. It all makes me feel more welcome, more at ease, than I ever expected.
Well, all of them except for one.
She stands slightly apart, her posture exuding an air of authority. She’s beautiful but daunting; tall and lean with golden-blonde curls falling on poised shoulders. Claire, as I learn, is the captain of our team. Her green eyes meet mine from across the room, holding my gaze for a moment longer than necessary.
There’s a sort of fierceness about her, a sense of someone who measures twice and cuts once. Her smile is polite, yet there’s a sharpness to it, like she’s used to being the one who sets the standards.
Instead of cowering in the corner, I decide to approach her with all the confidence I can muster. The self-assurance of a girl who wasn’t brutally dumped by her childhood sweetheart this morning.
“I’m Ella,” I say, standing in front of her, extending a hand. “You’re our captain, right?”
“Claire,” she says dismissively, ignoring my attempt at a handshake. “So, England, huh? Cheerleading isn’t much of a thing over there, or so I hear.”
I force a smile, the weight of her judgment pushing in. “It’s growing, but yes, it’s not as big as it is in the States. I’m excited to learn from the best, though.”
Her saccharine smile doesn’t waver, but her eyes narrow ever so slightly. “You’ll find the routines at Whitland quite different from what you’re used to, I’d imagine. We prioritizeathleticism. It’s not just about the performance; it’s about the discipline.”
“I get that,” I say, my voice steady despite the churning in my stomach. “And I’m here to give it my all. I would never want to waste your time.”
“Hey, you two,” Gabi cuts in as she makes her way over to us, bumping me casually on the hip when she reaches me. “Let’s not talk shop tonight, shall we? Claire, you’re obviously ready, but I still need to finish this one’s make-up.”
Claire gives me one last paper smile, then waves a dismissive hand at both of us. “Go on, then.”
Gabi, protector of peace, places one hand on my shoulder and steers me back to the dressing table in her room. Fussing with my hair, she adds a little white bow. Then she leans in and whispers, “Claire’s brilliant but intense. Led us to win the national title last year. Just, you know, don’t take her scrutiny personally. She does that to everyone. It’s kind of her thing.”
“I get it,” I say in a hushed tone. “I’ve been there, done that, with the Sirens.”
“And now you’re here with us.”
“She knows that I came to Whitland to behere, right? I’m not trying to swoop in and be the star of someone else’s show.”
“She’ll figure it out soon enough.” Gabi taps me affectionately on the nose and tilts her head to one side. “Yep, more highlighter. That’s exactly what you need.”
Gabi says the weekends always bring Nashville’s streets to life. And, true to her word, the atmosphere here at theSidetrack—a great little place near campus—captures that spirit. The music is loud and infectious. Some sort of pop country that mingles with the buzz of animated conversations.
It’s packed with students tonight. The bar has a line of patrons that wraps from one end to the other as soon as we walk in. Groups of friends laugh and chat, couples dance to the music, and men challenge each other at the pool tables dotted around the space. Men that are undeniably attractive.
Men that I wouldn’t mind using as a distraction, if only for tonight.
I sip on my second drink courtesy of my lovely roommate. She offered to smuggle me inside and then pass her drinks along. Although technically illegal, it sure doesn’t feel like it.
It’s been ages since I’ve had to worry about ID, but there are only a few months until my twenty-first birthday. So, once the term officially starts—note to self: Americans sayfall, notautumn—I can go back to ordering my own drinks, sans the schnapps.
But I’m not complaining. This drink is sweet, the flavors of peach and bourbon mingling nicely on my tongue. And I can physically feel myself relaxing, the tension in my shoulders finally at ease.
It’s early days, but I’m already feeling comfortable among this new group of girls. Although I don’t know them very well yet, I like them. Gabi, especially. She’s generous and helpful, bubbly and funny, exactly the type of person I’ll need to handle this transition.
As for the rest of the girls, they seem fun too, each withtheir own unique personalities and stories to share. Cove, with her short dark bob and warm brown eyes, seems slightly on the shyer side. She’s a flyer, tiny and agile. But there’s something in her quiet confidence that draws me to her.
Paige, on the other hand, is a bit more outspoken. A power tumbler who wears her hair in carefully styled braids. She’s a transfer from one of the best junior colleges in the nation, and she seems like a natural leader.
It’s surprising how much I’ve picked up about them in just a short time. A couple of quick introductions back at the flat, and I already feel like I’ve got a glimpse of the team dynamics.
Now, on the dance floor, I gravitate towards the two of them. Cove’s serene presence balances Paige’s lively energy; while the latter dances around us in circles, the former gently sways to the beat. I’m somewhere in the middle and, despite the heartbreak I endured less than twenty-four hours ago, I find myself able to let loose around them.
I’m loving our first night together as a team. It’s easy, given the distractions, to ignore the pain of the break-up that bubbles below the surface. So much so that I’m not even sure how much time has passed when Gabi finally reappears from the bathroom. “We should play a game,” she says, having grabbed a deck of cards from behind the bar. “Never Have I Ever.”
