A quarterback can’t function without a team that trusts them, and Robbie may have had an only passable throwing arm, but he had the team’s support 110 percent. This rejection isn’t just gonna suck for Jack; it’s gonna be misery for the Alligators, their fans, and the twelve people responsible for psyching them up at every game—twelve people I hope to be captaining next year. Whoever manages to keep the squad in one cohesive piece is gonna be the most likely to get the top spot.

I need that to be me.

Cheer captain is the only thing even close to impressive I could hope to have on my college applications, and I need something impressive if I’m going to get out of here and actually be able to live out and proud at someplace like FSU rather than whatever life I’d have at Atherton Community College. And while I absolutely do not care what my dad thinks about anything, cheerleading is the only thing he ever wants to talk about during our once-a-month (if that) phone calls. It reminds him of being a stud in high school, or something. The glory days before he knocked my mom up at prom and then abandoned her to join the Air Force before either of them could finish college.

It’s never been a question that I need this title to be mine. But if the squad is united under the banner of ousting Jack, does that mean whoever captains them has to fall in line?

“You’re awfully quiet,” says Cara as I turn onto the street where she pushes lattes at the Bean Counter three afternoons a week. “What do you know? Has Miguel told you something?”

“I don’t know anything,” I say honestly. “I’m just thinking about how much this whole situation sucks.”

She seems to accept that, and then there’s no more conversation because I switch on the radio and let Drake take over. As soon as the light turns green, I shoot through it, and in another couple of minutes, we’re safely at the Bean Counter. “You coming in?” she asks, a foot already out the door.

It’s a reasonable question—I join her often, for the free cast-off drinks and to gossip or get help with my homework (you wouldn’t guess it, but Cara’s an evil math genius) when there’s a lull. But right now, there’s someone else I need to talk to, so I just say, “Can’t, promised Mom I’d give her a full rundown on the first day,” and let her blow me a kiss and dash inside without further questioning.

It’s only a partial lie; I did promise that to my mom. Her nursing shift at the hospital just happens to end at eight o’clock, which means I’ve got a solid three hours to kill before I see her.