Turns out, that tiny ribbon of fear snaking through my ribs that worries they won’t is the perfect distraction. Before I know it, “And finally, your quarterback, Jaclyn Walsh!” rings out loud enough to shake the walls.

I try not to wince at my full name—the one I’ve asked every single person in this school to stop using, to no avail—and jog into the gym. The cheering is considerably quieter, the crowd less animated, but none of it matters, because there is a single flash of lightning drawing absolutely everyone in the room’s attention.

Amber McCloud is doing a solo tumbling run. It’s fucking incredible, watching her defy gravity, her legs slicing through the air like a single tanned blade. And when she’s done, she barely takes a breath before snatching up the megaphone and shouting “Give me a J!”

The crowd, too stunned to do anything other than respond on autopilot, goes ahead and gives her that J.

And an A.

And a C.

And a K.

And then she’s off again, cartwheeling and flipping like her life depends on it, bringing the entire room to its feet.

I know that if I look at the rest of the squad, I’ll see a group of girls that absolutely wants to strangle her with their pom-poms. And if I look at the team, I’ll see something similar.

But I can’t look anywhere except at Amber, her chest heaving with exertion, her face flushed and glistening with sweat, and her eyes—her eyes looking right back at me, soft and sorry and hopeful and just inches above where her teeth worry the lower lip of her nervous pink mouth.

As apologies go, it’s not a bad one.

But it doesn’t change anything, literally or figuratively. I look away, get in line, and wait for this to end so I can focus on absolutely nothing but the feeling of the Gator grass beneath my feet one last time.

Chapter Twelve

-AMBER-

Okay, so, it wasn’t all fixed with Grand Gesture #1. That’s okay. Even though the rest of the squad looks like they want to pour fire ants down my spankies, and Jack is determined to freeze me out with enough ice power to rival the North Pole, I feel good. Like I did the right thing. Like I showed what’s important to me. Like I stood behind the squad (who they should be, at least), the team (who they should be, at least), and my girl (who I’d like to be, at least).

At least I know my mom would be proud.

And it helps me breathe a little easier to see that Miguel looks like he might be too, if the fact that he sneaks me a tiny smile is any indication. I don’t think I can go through with the rest of this if I don’t have him in my corner.