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CHAPTER9
Nixon
I always thoughtof myself as a nice guy. Charming, even. But that look on Monroe’s face only told me one thing. I’m heartless. I’m selfish. I’m a liar. A damn good one. Roll out the Academy Awards for this douchebag.
Ever since she’s been back, she’s the only thing on my mind. Yes, I like Holly. She’s easy to get along with. Fun. A great distraction. I truly do want to see where this will go between us. She’s not theone, though. I’m still pissed at Monroe for leaving. I wasn’t lying. She did break us first.
Sighing, I rise out of bed, trying to shake off the memories of the night before. The memories that scared my boner right the fuck off. He didn’t even show up this morning. It reads eleven on my alarm clock. Fuck, I slept in late today. Making my way to the kitchen, I hear music streaming from my mom's studio. Thinking maybe it’s her, I walk over to the door, slipping in quietly and standing in the corner. The lights are dim and the haunting tune of “Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldifloats across the air as Monroe pours her soul into her ballet routine. The way she moves her body, the pointe of her toes, even the way she turns tells a story. A story of pain. When she ends, I notice tears streaming down her face as she crumples to the ground. My mom even wipes a stray tear from her cheek before walking to her. “Monroe… that was… I have no words. And you say it just came to you?”
“Yeah. Last night. I worked on it all night.” Monroe wipes her cheeks with a little laugh. “Was it at least good?” she asks my mom.
“Honey…” my mom chokes up. “It was breathtaking.” The air feels thick. Like a pillow suffocating me. I have to get out of here. “Nixon!” my mother yells. “Baby, we need your help really quick.”
Sighing, I turn around. “Mom, I don’t think—”
She cuts me off. “Nonsense. I need muscles. And last time I checked, you’re packing some. So, get over here.” Without looking at Monroe, I walk to my mom. I couldn’t look at her. I broke her and I’m too chickenshit to face her. A heartless, selfish, cowardly liar. Look at that, I almost belong in The Wizard of Oz. “Can you grab the ladder out of the supply closet?” my mom asks.
“Sure.” I walk over, pulling the ladder out and setting it up in the center of the studio. “What are all these dances for?” I ask.
Monroe has been working on several dances lately. Of course, she ignores me, but my mom, on the other hand, beams. “My studio is putting on a showcase and Monroe here is my star. She’ll perform six solo acts while also doing group dances!” She claps, looking at the star in question.
I, however, avoid looking at her like the plague. “I got to go, Mom. Need to rest for two days starting tomorrow.” I kiss my mom's forehead, going back to my room and laying down. Once football starts, I can focus on something else that isn’t my ex-best friend.
Monroe
Why did I schedule cheer practice on the football field?
Oh, that’s right, because I’m a kick-ass caption who wants the team to get the feel of what it’s going to be like to perform. I blow my whistle to signal the girls to start their tumbling. Roundoffs, back handsprings, back tucks. I stand in the morning dew that adds to the nasty humidity of the early morning. It’s fucking hot but it’s the coolest weather we’d get until tonight. Which is the same reason the football team is out here.
I stand in my white cheer shoes, red shorts, and white tank with the school’s logo across my boobs. My hair is up in a high ponytail, choosing to skip the larger-than-life bow. “You know,” Holly says, picking at her nails. I roll my eyes. Here we go. “I don’t think it’s fair you don’t have to do this as well.” Her nasally voice grinds on my nerves and I wonder how I put up with such a cliché of a person for so long.
“That so?” I ask, raising my eyebrow. Leslie, my co-caption, stands beside me, hands on her hips as she casts a glaring look toward Holly. Leslie isn’t that bad. Honestly, I actually really like her.
“You don’t question your caption,” Leslie snaps as the football team makes their way out.
“It’s fine, Les.” Turning to Holly, I smirk. “Okay then, since you think it’s so unfair, I’ll go ahead. If you can do what I can do, then I’ll run five laps. Maybe even let you be the caption since you know what’s best andyou’re constantly questioning my abilities.”
She looks at me with a challenge and I grin. She can’t do what I can do. Dance and tumbling are what I’ve been training for my whole life, bitch. She waves me on, a cocky smile tipping her lips up. Brown eyes sparkling with cruel intentions.
Getting into position, I take off into a run, going into a roundoff, back handspring, back tuck, roundoff, summersault, double backflip, roundoff, front walkover, and then end on splits. The cheer team screams, jumping up and down with excitement. Catcalls and whistles greet my ears from the football team. I throw a wink at them, prancing back over to Holly. “Your turn.” I smile, looking her up and down as I flip my ponytail.
I take my spot in front of the squad, an encouraging smile plastered on my face as I look them over. Taking in their amazement and respect for me. There is a reason I’m the caption, and it’s not because of my last name and status.
“I can’t do that,” she hisses, eyes narrowed at me.
“Then I suggest you shut the fuck up and do as you’re told.” I glare at her. More mad at the blatant disrespect she’s showing me. I never cuss at my squad, and I know it has so much to do with Nix, but I can’t find it in myself to care.
She rolls her eyes, looking back at her nails. Leslie comes up to me, a girly scream leaving her lips. “That was, like, totally badass!”
I give her a generic smile, thanking her. I didn’t have time to entertain this typical teenage drama any further. I have a practice to run.
* * *
My cheer bag is slung over my shoulder as I walk to my car after practice, head focused on my new dance routine, feet aching at the thought of ballet. I say I hate ballet, but I truly don’t. I love the discipline, the way it takes pieces of you, demanding payment in the form of the art of dance. A heavy, warm hand lands on my shoulder, startling me. The energy that zips from the hand to my soul causes a longing ache to build in my heart. Turing over my shoulder, I’m met with enchanting green eyes and a frown on kissable lips. “I’m not in the mood. Honestly, go away, Nixon.”
“Look, just because we aren’t cool doesn’t mean you have to treat my girlfriend like shit. I mean, come on—”
Anger builds as I swing around, glaring, stopping him in the middle of his sentence. His hair is wet from his recent shower, making it darker than his normal blond. One single droplet falling down the side of his cheek. He’s shirtless, muscles hard and pronounced under tan skin, ending sharp and deep in a V before disappearing into silky shorts. Arms toned and flexing as his fists clench. “First of all, I wasn’t rude. Second of all, she questioned my ability to tumble and lead my team. And third,” I poke his stupid hot chest, making him step back with each thrust of my finger, “I do not have to explain myself. To. You.”
