Chapter 5: Red Thorns: Chapter 4

The rest of the week goes suspiciously well.

Aside from the usual bitchy remarks and some catfights. Okay, the catfights were my imagination. Reina will have my metaphorical balls if I fight with other cheerleaders.

I tend to punch and that’s apparently a lower blow than clawing and pulling hair.

The only problem is Lucy.

I was right to worry. I think they converted her to the dark side and I have to perform some sort of voodoo ritual to get her back. It’s not that she’s been ignoring me, but she’s been keeping her distance more than usual. She doesn’t give me run-on sentences just to convey the simplest things.

I kill my engine in the school’s parking lot. We have to cheer for the stupid Devils in their important game tonight and Reina will probably grill our asses and throw them to Brianna and Prescott to chew on if we’re late. However, we need to have this conversation.

“Hey, Luce?”

“Yeah?” She stares at the rearview mirror as she fixes her bright pink lipstick.

Her ginger hair is pulled up in a ribbon that matches the black and silver pom-poms we will be forced to use later. She also put on a ton of makeup to hide her beautiful freckles, which is a crime. But if I tell her that, she’ll say I’m the only one who thinks they’re beautiful, so I bite my tongue.

As for myself, I’m wearing my tight cheer uniform and left my hair loose. I put on black lipstick because, hey, it goes with the Black Devils’ theme. Or at least, they’ll think that.

I face my friend. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” She’s still too busy with the lipstick.

“About why you’ve changed.”

“I haven’t changed.”

“Yes, you have. You’re not yourself since you became a member of Reina’s secret society club that’s rumored to be best buddies with Satan.”

The lipstick remains suspended in midair as she stares at me. “Just because you hate Reina and the squad doesn’t mean I do, too. I thought we agreed on that, Nao.”

“We did. You can worship at her fake altar with blinding glitter all you want, but I just feel like you’re…not the same.”

“I am. Are you sure you’re not jealous?”

“Of Queen Bee and her satanic glitter altar? No way.”

She laughs, hitting my shoulder with hers. “You’re so funny.”

“Objection. Sarcastic.”

“Funny,” she repeats. “I wish the others knew about your sense of humor.”

“So they’d choke on it?” I gasp in mock reaction. “I didn’t know you had such a strong grudge against them, Luce.”

“Yeah, well, Bree still says hurtful things with no filter.”

“Then she’ll be the first basic bitch to choke on my sense of humor. Got it. I’m going to need to up the dosage with that one.” I raise a brow. “What about Prescott?”

She tightens her hold on her lipstick, even though she’s already done with it. “W-what about him?”

“You just stuttered, Luce.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. If his name alone makes you nervous, how about all those rendezvous at The Grill?”

“Those weren’t rendezvous. We went with the squad and the football team.”

My lips twitch at the mention of the latter. Since that incident with their stupid quarterback, all of them hoot and howl whenever I’m in their vicinity.

They all pay attention to me, except for the asshole himself. Not that I want him to, and I’m totally not thinking about his hard body pressed up against mine at night. Or during the day, when I sneak peeks at him while he’s practicing.

Okay, this isn’t the time for Sebastian fantasies.

Wait. No. They’re not fantasies. Just unwanted thoughts.

“Lie all you want, Luce, but all I see is your heart eyes when you look at Prescott.”

“Stop it.” She blushes a deep shade of pink as she stares at her nails. “He doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Of course, he does, and no, he’s totally not gay like doucheface Peter has been insinuating in locker room talk.”

“I…know that.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. But the fact remains, I’m a nobody to him.”

“Then it’s his fucking loss, not yours.”

She stares at me from beneath her lashes and smiles a little. “How do you do it, Nao?”

“Do what?”

“Remain so unaffected, as if the world doesn’t deserve your time.”

“Because it doesn’t. The less you care, the less you’re attached and the freer your mind is.”

“But wouldn’t you end up…I don’t know, alone?”

“Hey, rude! What’s wrong with being alone? It’s better than kissing someone’s ass and sucking someone else’s junk.”

“I hope you fall in love one day.”

“First of all, how dare you? Second of all, I’ll leave all that Hallmarky shit to you.”

“It can be HBO level, not Hallmarky.” She winks and we both snort in laughter before we get out.

I take a sip of my Red Bull. So I know it’s not healthy and all that jazz, but I need the extra energy before every performance. If our own queen bee or the coach found out, they’d probably tell Mom and that would lead to drama that I don’t need in my fragile relationship with her.

I throw the can in the trash before we go through the stadium’s rear exit and toward the squad’s locker room.

It’s a buzz of motions and people backstage. Some of the most dramatic cheerleaders—Brianna included, of course—are singing or murmuring some voodoo shit.

Reina is stretching her long leg over Prescott’s shoulder as he flexes his arm. He’s good-looking with a tall, muscular body. His olive skin and light blue eyes coupled with his black hair and thick brows give him a Middle-Eastern look that made Luce fall head over heels. I think her crush started during high school, but she hid it so well that I only found out about it recently, when I caught her writing in her journal about dreaming to make babies with him.

When I confronted her about it and told her to confess to him, the chicken shit actually gathered her courage and almost did it. But then, during lunch one day, Peter was egging Prescott on about if he was gay, but he said he just wasn’t interested in dating.

Needless to say, my best friend went back to her small bubble and refused to even broach the subject again.

Luce is almost as good at hiding as I am. Almost.

The only difference is that I don’t get caught. And I sure as hell don’t keep a journal.

Unless my letters to Akira can be considered one?

Lucy lowers her head at the scene between Reina and Prescott and goes to stretch.

“He doesn’t like her,” I whisper as I stand beside her.

“I know that.”

“I mean, imagine our own queen bee actually interested in anyone but herself? Wouldn’t that be a miracle?”

“Nao,” she hisses so I’ll stop. “Reina has a fiancé.”

She really is starstruck by our captain.

A presence creeps up on me and when I look up, I meet Brianna’s malicious stare. “If it isn’t the immigrant. Aren’t you late?”

I roll my eyes. “I was born here.”

“Oh, so your mommy is the immigrant. It’s hard to keep track with all of you people coming here.”

I twist my lips, but I keep them closed, because anything I say right now will just be taken the wrong way.

So I try to move past her.

Bree extends her arm. “I’m not done talking.”

“Well, I am. If you have anything else to say, you can take it and shove it up your racist, xenophobic ass.”

“Xeno what?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Was that word too difficult for you? Google it or ask your daddy to give more money to the dean so he’ll explain it to you after I file a racial discrimination report.”

And with that, I turn to leave.

“I’m not stupid!” Brianna’s shrill voice echoes from behind me.

“Yeah, sure. I believe you,” I mock without facing her. “Good luck convincing everyone else.”

“Slut! After tonight, you won’t be running your mouth anymore.”

I stop and turn around. At the same time, Reina and Prescott, who were watching the show with everyone else, close in on Bree.

The co-captain stares at her own Lucifer—Reina—and her lips tremble with clear frustration. “She called me stupid.”

Reina shakes her head and just like that, the subject is dropped as if it never happened.

I stare at them, trying to decipher what just transpired, but Reina claps her hands, calling everyone’s attention. “Time to go out there and show them what the Devils are all about. No one is allowed to breathe until the end of the game. No mistakes, no slouching, and no slacking.”

She puts her hand in the middle and everyone else follows suit, Luce and I included.

Reina shouts, “Black!”

“Devils!” we all shout in return before we break the circle.

Then we’re out there cheering in front of over thirty thousand spectators who came to watch the classic rivals go at each other.

Friday night lights are blinding and the entire fan area is black and white as balloons of the same colors fly toward the sky.

Loud pop music blares in the air as the male cheerleaders breakdance. Soon after, we line up midfield. The fans go crazy with our opening routine, all precise and perfect like Reina wants. And then she ends it at the top of the pyramid, a huge smile on her lips, as fireworks explode behind us like we’re at some concert.

Me? I’d rather be listening to my rock music in peace, thank you very much. But hey, on the bright side, Reina will lay off our asses after this performance.

Silver fucking linings.

After we’re done with our routine, we jump and twirl to the entrance where the players are coming out.

Our mascot, a panda with a pitchfork, is fighting with the Knights’ mascot, some sort of a horse.

The Knights come out among their cheerleaders first, and then it’s our team’s turn. They bulldoze through the large banner with the team’s logo on it, led by number ten, the quarterback, and seventeen, the wide receiver. They’re all dressed in their black and white uniforms and helmets, and black lines are smeared under their eyes.

I swallow, pretending the sweat that’s gathering between my brows is due to exhaustion and not the fact that I’m focusing way too hard on a certain number ten.

A lot of hollering and howling comes from the players, their battle cries filling the air.

But not Sebastian.

A haze covers his intense eyes, visible through the opening in his helmet. It’s like he’s in a different zone and no one can reach him.

Or touch him.

This side of him has always hinted at what he is more so than the image he shoves on everyone so that they believe he’s the good senator’s grandson.

There’s nothing good here.

His gaze zeroes in on me. It’s only for a fraction of a second, but he pierces me down as if I’m the game he’s intent on conquering tonight.

His lips curl at the side and I swear I see what resembles a wolfish smirk before his eyes tactfully slip from mine.

I resist the urge to look behind me in case he was having that eye contact voodoo with someone else. But somewhere deep down, I know, I just know it was directed at me.

What the hell?

We go back to the sidelines to cheer during the game. And while I usually hate this part, tonight’s game is actually intense. The Knights aren’t letting up and our team barely keeps a lead.

The fans goes wild when Owen scores. Prescott throws both Reina, then Brianna in the air as a form of celebration.

We stay on our toes, cheering and doing our halftime routine.

It’s exhausting, but the adrenaline runs wild among us. The energy wafting off the field in waves is both intoxicating and addictive.

Near the end of the game, we’re down, but there’s a chance to turn the tables and win.

Sebastian passes the ball to Owen, who tosses it back once the quarterback is clear. Then the Devils’ captain runs in a blur of motion as if he’s weightless. The cheers grow louder and louder and I find myself clenching my fists in the stupid pom-poms.

One of the Knights’ players tries to tackle Sebastian to the ground and he loses his footing with a collective Ohhh coming from the crowd.

But before the others pile up on him, he slips from under the player and sprints at full speed until he scores.

The crowd and the cheerleaders go crazy, and even our mascot dances in the face of the other one. The coach shouts at the top of his lungs as the players bury Sebastian underneath them.

It’s a myriad of celebration and dancing and loud music. My heart thumps and I barely keep up with the routine.

Soon after, the time runs out and the referees signal the end of the game.

The Devils carry Sebastian on their shoulders and several media outlets try to land an exclusive interview with the star of the night.

That’s when I realize there are tears in my eyes. I got so excited that I didn’t notice I was that invested in the stupid game. I wipe them with the back of my hand, because if anyone accuses me of crying, I’ll throat-stab them.

And I’m totally not going to ogle the quarterback tonight.

A reporter is asking Sebastian about the reason behind his energy as we pass behind them, heading to our locker room.

It happens so fast, I don’t even see it coming.

One moment, I’m walking, and the next, Sebastian turns around, grabs me by the waist, and tugs me against him.

“The reason is her,” he says, and then his lips meet mine.