Chapter 3

"I'm not quitting the squad, Annie. I won't give Tina that satisfaction." Laura's voice was firm as we sat in the cafeteria corner, our lunch trays barely touched. Her eyes flashed with determination that I'd come to recognize as her stubborn streak.

"But she's making your life miserable," I protested, pushing my glasses up. "Every practice, she singles you out. You don't deserve that."

Laura stabbed at her salad. "I love cheerleading. I'm good at it. Why should I give up something I love because Tina Reynolds is on some power trip?"

I sighed, knowing there was no changing her mind. That was Laura—fiercely loyal, not just to me but to herself. It was what I admired about her, even when it worried me.

"Besides," she added with a half-smile, "someone needs to keep an eye on her royal highness before she corrupts the entire squad."

The basketball season officially began the following week, bringing with it a surge of school spirit that transformed the halls. Blue and gold banners hung everywhere, and the basketball team strutted through school like conquering heroes before they'd even played their first game.

Jeremy Hawthorne was at the center of it all, his confident smile and easy charm drawing people to him like moths to flame. I tried to keep my distance, still smarting from our confrontation and the rumors that followed. But it was hard to avoid him entirely when the whole school revolved around basketball season.

One evening, waiting for Laura to finish an extended cheer practice, I wandered toward the gym, drawn by the rhythmic thudding of a basketball against hardwood. Peering through the door's small window, I was surprised to see Jeremy alone on the court, drenched in sweat, practicing shot after shot. The official team practice had ended hours ago, but here he was, pushing himself with an intensity that seemed almost desperate.

I watched, mesmerized, as he executed a perfect layup, then immediately sprinted back to the three-point line for another drill. There was something different about him when he thought no one was watching—a vulnerability, a hunger that didn't match his cocky public persona.

For a moment, I forgot he was the boy who'd humiliated me, the catalyst for my social downfall. I just saw someone working incredibly hard for something that mattered to him.

Then he turned, catching a glimpse of me through the window, and his expression hardened. I ducked away quickly, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Just another mistake to add to my growing list.

The next day, I was gathering books from my locker after final bell when I felt a presence behind me. Turning, I found myself surrounded by three girls—all wearing cheerleading jackets, all wearing identical sneers.

"Look who it is," said Brooke Evans, Tina's second-in-command. "The stalker."

I clutched my books tighter to my chest. "I'm not stalking anyone."

"Really?" Another girl—Melissa, I think—stepped closer. "Then why were you spying on Jeremy's private practice yesterday?"

My stomach dropped. Of course they knew. News traveled fast in this school, especially when it involved Jeremy Hawthorne.

"I was waiting for Laura," I explained, trying to keep my voice steady. "I just happened to walk by the gym."

"You just happen to be everywhere Jeremy is," Brooke said, her voice dripping with disdain. "First the locker room, now his private training time."

"It's not like that," I insisted, looking around for an escape route. The hallway had emptied quickly after the bell, leaving me alone with my tormentors.

"Tina's tired of you lurking around," Brooke continued, backing me against the lockers. "She says you need to stay away from Jeremy. And the gym. And basically anywhere important people might be."

I felt anger flare beneath my fear. "I have just as much right to be in this school as any of you."

"No, you don't," Melissa hissed, knocking my books from my hands. They scattered across the floor with a series of loud thuds. "You're nothing here. A nobody."

I bent to retrieve my books, but Brooke's foot came down on my chemistry textbook. "We're not done talking, Annie."

I straightened slowly, my heart hammering. "What do you want from me?"

"We want you to understand your place," Brooke said, moving closer until I could smell her sickly-sweet perfume. "And if you can't figure it out on your own, maybe we need to help you."

The third girl, whose name I didn't know, grabbed my arm. "Let's take her to the old equipment room."

A jolt of panic shot through me. "Let go of me!"

"Or what?" Brooke laughed. "You'll tell a teacher? Who do you think they'll believe—the captain of the cheer squad's friends or the weird new girl who spies on boys in locker rooms?"

They began dragging me down the hall, my heels skidding on the polished floor as I struggled. Fear clouded my thoughts, but beneath it was a growing rage. I'd spent my whole life trying to be invisible, to avoid confrontation, to be the good girl who never made waves.

And where had it gotten me?

"I think she needs a lesson in humility," Melissa said as they pushed me into an empty classroom. "Maybe we should help her with a makeover."

Brooke's smile turned cruel. "Good idea. Let's start with those ugly clothes."

My blood ran cold as Melissa grabbed at the collar of my sweater, yanking hard enough that I heard a seam rip. The third girl reached for my glasses, snatching them off my face and tossing them aside.

The world blurred around me, but clarity surged through my mind. This wasn't happening. I wasn't going to let it happen.

With a strength born of desperation, I shoved Brooke backward, sending her stumbling into a desk. I ducked under Melissa's arm and lunged for my glasses, cramming them back onto my face.

"You little—" Brooke started, regaining her balance.

I didn't wait to hear the rest. I bolted for the door, shoving it open with my shoulder and sprinting down the hallway. Behind me, I could hear their footsteps and angry shouts, but fear gave me speed I didn't know I possessed.

I burst through the school's side exit, the afternoon sunlight momentarily blinding me. Where could I go? They knew where I lived, where I waited for Laura. I needed somewhere they wouldn't follow, somewhere safe.

My eyes landed on a small building across the street—The Corner Pocket, a local bar and grill. Without thinking, I dashed across the road, narrowly avoiding a honking car, and yanked open the door, throwing myself inside.

As I stood there, breathless and disheveled, I realized I'd made yet another impulsive decision that might lead to disaster. But when I looked up, disaster took on an entirely new face—the shocked expression of Jeremy Hawthorne, dressed in a server's apron, frozen in the act of wiping down the bar.