Samantha: See me first thing tomorrow. Report time is 7 a.m.
That sounded ominous. Was I supposed to show up in my uniform just so I could be extra humiliated when the coaching staff threw me off the bus?
I tossed my ruined t-shirt in the trash, changed into my pajamas, and climbed into bed, ignoring the dings of new text messages when I saw they were from Jay. I was seriously annoyed with him. I’d sacrificed my sport so he could keep doing his. What else did I have to do to prove myself to him? Asking me to cheer for Michigan was too much.
I tossed and turned most of the night, frustrated with everything. When my alarm went off at 5:30 a.m., I groaned and trudged to the shower like a death march. I ran through ideas of what to say to my coaches, and decided to go with the truth. Whatever punishment or judgement they gave me would be better than lying.
Chuck was up and in his marching band uniform as I finished getting ready. He gave me his “think positive” pep talk, but it fell flat.
There was a long string of buses parked at the fieldhouse when I showed up thirty minutes early, and there were several police cruisers at the front and back of the line, ready to give the team and cheerleader buses an escort to the Big House. Media and fans were already there, corded off to the side.
I made my way to the main entrance, which had two security officers waiting. They glanced at my gray cheerleader warmups and equipment bag, and waved me in, although one of them glared at me like I was interrupting his peaceful morning.
I ducked through the door and found Samantha in the lobby, drinking coffee and chatting with the football staff. My head coach was a beautiful woman in her forties, or maybe older. It was impossible to tell because she had youthful eyes and endless enthusiasm.
“Kayla.” She nearly dropped her cup of Starbucks when she saw me. Oh, crap. Was I not supposed to be in uniform? She hurried to me, pulling me over to a corner. “How are you doing?”
She sounded genuinely concerned, and my heart sank further. She knew I wouldn’t miss the parade unless it was serious, and she must have assumed something terrible had happened.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m so sorry about last night.”
“That was interesting. I didn’t even think Coach Vaughn knew my name.”
“What?” Why was she talking about Ohio State’s head coach?
“He found me right before the parade and said I needed to excuse you from the performance. That you and your dad were handling a football emergency.”
My jaw dropped. My dad must have called Coach Vaughn and asked for a favor. I was beyond grateful, but how much had my dad revealed? Oh, God. Was that why the security guard was giving me the stink eye?
“Yeah,” I said slowly. It wasn’t a lie, I was handling a football emergency. “Did he give specifics?”
“No, but Coach has a lot going on right now, so for him to come and ask for this, I’m not going to say no. What were you doing?” Her gaze flicked over my head, and she frowned at whatever she saw. “You know what? Explain later. I want to talk to you about safety today. The article’s going to draw a lot of unwanted attention, so the staff and I will be keeping an extra close eye. If you start to feel uncomfortable at all, you let me or one of—”
“What article?”
Samantha’s grip tightened on her cup. “You haven’t seen it? No one told you about it yet?”
“I turned my phone off last night.” Which I was now regretting. “My boyfriend and I had a disagreement.”
“The boyfriend who plays for Michigan?”
I nearly fell over. She knew? “How’d you—”
“So, it’s true.” She gave me a sad smile. “The school’s paper published a special gameday edition this morning, and you’re in it. An Ohio State cheerleader dating a Michigan football player, during the game of the century. Of all my cheerleaders, you were the last one I’d suspect.”
“Oh, no,” I whispered. I’d worried about telling the squad the truth, and now the whole fucking school knew. My gaze fell to the floor as I struggled with what this meant. “Am I kicked off the team?”
Samantha laughed lightly. “No, of course not. Kayla, look at me.” Her eyes were judgement-free. “Remember, it’s football. It’s not life or death.”
I gave her a plain stare.
She shot one straight back. Her posture straightened and she put one hand on a hip. “You know what? Ask me where I got my undergrad degree from.”
I went to form the words and froze. “No.”
“Yes.” She grinned. “You’re looking at me like I’m crazy.”
“I just don’t understand how you—”
“I love my alma mater, and I love coaching here. They aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“They kind of are.”
She shrugged. “Only if you buy in to the rivalry, which I don’t.” She took a final sip of her coffee and tossed it into a nearby garbage can. “You’re one tough cookie, and if anyone can handle taking flack, it’s you. But let’s get on the bus before it gets too hairy out there.”
I followed alongside Samantha, trying to ignore the suspicious looks of the coaching staff. Most of them I knew by first name. Some had been to my house for summer barbeques. They looked at me now like I was a stranger. Or worse.
We exited the building, and I made a beeline for the last bus, which brought me face to face with the couple approaching. Courtney was walking hand-in-hand with Tariq Crawford, and he carried her cheerleading bag. There were rumors Tariq couldn’t keep it in his pants, but Courtney refused to believe it.
His dark eyes flared with recognition as he saw me, and an evil laugh escaped his throat. “Hope you don’t mind when I drive your pretty little white boy into the ground and he don’t get up.”
Instead of giving him the reaction he was looking for, I acted skeptical. “I don’t know, Tariq. You’d have to catch him first,” I shrugged, “and I don’t think you ever have.”
I climbed the steps onto the bus, feeling lighter, like I could actually breathe for the first time in forever. It felt good now that the secret was out. Of course, the feeling died as Lisa stepped into the aisle and slapped a newspaper into my chest. The headline read “Spy or Traitor?” with a picture of me cheering at a game.
Her smile was sickening. “I forgot to mention. In addition to being pre-med, Brent’s a writer for The Lantern.”
“Good for him,” I said, taking the newsprint and tossing it into an empty seat, and then I turned my focus to the rest of the bus. It looked like almost everyone was here, and several pairs of angry eyes peered at me over seat tops.
“So,” an annoyed voice came from the back, “you kind of forgot to tell us your boyfriend plays for Michigan. Is it true?”
I swallowed thickly but kept my chin up. “It is.”
Some of the cheerleaders looked disgusted, but a few didn’t seem to care.
“And where were you last night? Too busy banging him to join us?” Lisa had fire in her eyes.