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This is so exciting! First round playoff game. I’m cheering at a college football playoff game. And I’m cheering my heart out! I will have no voice by tomorrow, my entire body is going to ache, and I may never get rid of the glitter…but who cares?
Did I mention we’re winning? Yeah, it’s nothing major. Just up by three touchdowns near the end of the second quarter. I’m bouncing on my feet, bringing my knees up high as I let out some excess energy and prepare for half-time. The whole squad is gathered in the end zone, an expectant charge to the air. Electric.
The sound system plays intro music for the university clubs video it plays during commercial breaks and timeouts. Except a disembodied male voice doesn’t start talking of the various groups and community you can find here on our beloved campus.
No. The male voice is one I’m intimately familiar with. My head snaps up, my jaw drops open, and I stand stock still as my entire life implodes.
“Fucking hell, Itty Bitty. I love your little titties. Look at these pretty nipples. Begging for my mouth, aren’t they?”
On the jumbotron is a slightly grainy video. Addy’s bare back, stalking me across my dorm room. My arm. A flash of my bare shoulder. The string of my underwear over my hip.
“MOTHERFUCKER!” Addy roars next to me, but I can’t look away from the screen. And I’m guessing 100,000 other people can’t either.
“How wet are you, Daya?”
I know exactly when this was taken. Obviously, I was there, but it was a couple weeks ago…after Shaye had been kicked off the squad and her minions put on probation. The angle appears to be near or in my closet.
Someone put a camera in my room and filmed me. Filmed us.
“TURN IT OFF! SOMEBODY CUT THE FEED!”
“Feed me your nipples, baby. I want you to cum on my fingers. Your nipple between my teeth.”
The screen goes black abruptly. I blink several times, and the roar of the crowd finally filters in.
“Dude. You should teach a course on dirty talk.” Someone tosses out, and Addy growls, spinning around to find the person who said it. I place my hand on his arm, lightly, gently. It’s enough, though. His eyes snap to mine, fury drenching every line of his face.
“Daya…” I try to smile, but it feels brittle. Fake. Because it is. People on the sidelines are scrambling. Sections of the stadium cheer. The entire cheering squad circles around Addy and I. Protective. Supportive. Tears fill my eyes when Ty rushes over in his mascot costume and stands in front of me, blocking me from the TV cameras and most of the crowd. Addy’s arms are around me, surrounding me, his warmth leaching into my cold flesh. I turn my head, placing my cheek against his chest, hearing his heartbeat race beneath his ribs. I soak up his scent, closing my eyes for a moment to find my center. When I open them slowly, I feel my eyes dip as I struggle to make sense of what I’m seeing.Jillian and Lindsay are openly staring at me. Smug. Victorious. Devastating.
The bottom of my stomach drops out and my knees give way. Addy quickly picks me up, urging my legs around his waist. I fold my arms between us against my chest and hide.
They did this. Why? Because I’m a featured performer? I’m dating Addy? None of that…absolutely none of that justifies violating my personal space, filming us without permission, and broadcasting it for the world to see.
Jenna breaks through the squad, leaning in close to speak to me and Addy. “Head back into the locker room.” A fuse is lit within me, righteous indignation the spark. I drop my legs and Addy lets me down, his arm still firmly around me, his concern and confusion obvious.
I look at Jenna, wipe at the stupid tears tipping over my lashes, and stand tall. Well, as tall as I can, anyway. “Fuck no.” Jenna’s eyes widen fractionally. “We’re performing. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Of course, you didn’t. But Daya, I’m not sure that—”
“I’m not stepping down because of some fucking cunt’s jealousy.” Several ooh’s and ahh’s sound around us, but I pay them no attention. “This is Addy’s last season. This is the playoffs. Fuck Shaye. Fuck Lindsay. Fuck Jillian. And fuck that shit!”
Several cheerleaders start clapping…rhythmically. Jenna, Addy, and I turn in unison to watch Eva lead a few of the girls. They clap and stomp moving side to side. “Fuck. That. Shit! Come on! She said. Fuck. That. Shit!”
The student section behind us starts repeating the chant. This is crazy. “Every teen movie writer and director would be so happy right about now.” I mutter, then smile at Addy.
“Are you sure?” he asks lowly.
“I am. Are you?”
“I’ll follow your lead.” I nod.
“Half-time show will go on as planned.” I tell Jenna. She smiles, though her eyes remain hard. She’s pissed. Good. She’ll fight on our behalf, while we bring the noise and a touch of funk on the field. We can figure this all out after.
A slightly panicked voice comes over the speakers, “On behalf of the university, its students, and faculty, we apologize for what you were forced to witness. Please be assured that we are committed to family-friendly fun and sportsmanship and are taking this matter seriously as we begin our investigation. Those responsible will be dealt with accordingly. Again, we apologize for the inconvenience and inappropriate nature of this stunt. The game will continue momentarily. We are…”
“State?” The crowd replies half-heartedly, and I don’t blame them. This is weird. And awful. And if I think about it too much, I’m gonna hurl. The quarter ends a couple minutes later. The teams exit the field and then Eva and Addy are standing in front of the squad, smiling.
“That was pathetic. We can do better.” Addy yells. “WE ARE!”
