Pretty When She Cries - Black Mountain Academy

Coach looks at me, and Audrey doesn’t bother to hide her snickering beside me. She did this. Of course, she did. She wants to force me into a routine I haven’t even practiced, yet they all know by heart.

“What do we do?” Megan, the girl on my right, whispers.

“We’re sticking with our routine.” I meet Audrey’s gaze. “They’ll figure it out soon enough.”

She smiles up at the crowd, and the music starts to play. It’s all wrong. It isn’t just the routine they flipped. It’s the song too. The beat is off, and it becomes painfully obvious as we begin to dance with grimaces on our faces. Within seconds, our unity begins to crack and shatter like shards of glass. Two of the girls collide mid-turn, while another one screeches when Megan steps on her foot. We look like a bunch of drunken toddlers under my direction, and it’s all I can do to hold on through the performance.

“Just keep going,” I grit out as Misty bumps into me.

The rest of the team is as humiliated as I am. But I can bet it won’t be Audrey who takes the rap for it. The crowd is dead silent, watching us fumble through the moves as if we haven’t practiced all week. When the song finally comes to an end, there’s nothing but static. Tears prick my eyes as the girls behind me start to hiss under their breath.

“What a hot mess!”

“Can you believe this shit?”

“Uh, please give it up for the Cougarettes!” the announcer urges over the mic.

There are a few slow claps, but all I can feel is the heat of everyone’s attention on me. It was my job to lead. I should have accounted for this. I should have double-checked everything myself.

I’m already on the verge of a very public meltdown when the mascot bounds across the field, dancing in the wake of our grand failure. He’s throwing up his arms, trying to rev up the crowd and get them pumped again. And then he weaves through the dancers, winding his way toward me. He squeezes me in his arms and picks me up, much to my dismay.

“Demon slut,” he hisses into my ear.

In slow motion horror, I watch as he produces a hefty balloon from his pocket and squashes it on top of my head, splattering my hair and face with red paint. The girls around me burst into a fit of laughter as I try to wipe it from my eyes, choking back a silent howl when I realize I can’t. There’s too much. Beside me, Courtney is practically hissing at them as she drags me from the field.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I’ve got you.”

Someone calls out my name, and in my shock, I could almost swear it sounds like Landon. But I don’t look back. I don’t stop for anything. I just let Courtney lead me away, a fresh wave of tears carving rivers through the red paint before they splatter onto my uniform. Courtney keeps telling me it will be okay, but even she doesn’t sound like she believes that.By the time I leave the staff shower, the game outside has ended. My skin is red and blotchy from scrubbing, and I still don’t feel clean. I just want to go home and hide. I throw on my leggings and a tank top in a daze and tie my hair back into a messy bun. I don’t have the energy to deal with makeup, so I give up and walk out with my chin held high. The floor beneath me feels tenuous at best, but I have to preserve my fragile ego.

Never let them see you hurt.

“Kailani.” Coach approaches me carefully with Courtney trailing beside her. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine.”

It sounds weak to my own ears, but neither one of them calls me on it.

“I’ve spoken with the announcer,” she says. “He doesn’t know what happened with the program. We’re looking into it.”

I nod, but I already know what this means. They can’t prove who messed with it. That’s the way this goes. People like Audrey always get away with their dirty deeds.

Coach stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets and rocks back on her heels. “As far as the mascot goes, we’re trying to track down who was really in the costume tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t Daniel,” she explains. “Someone tied him up in the boy’s locker room and stole the costume.”

“And he didn’t see who it was?” I ask incredulously.

“According to him, they were wearing masks,” Coach says.

It’s all a bunch of bullshit. The truth is, even if Daniel knows who did it, he won’t talk. Why should I expect anything else at this point?

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go home.” I shrug my heavy shoulders. “I’m tired.”

Coach Lopez reaches out to give my arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m not giving up. These things just take time.”