I glance at Serena. We’ve been going to the Denver Fall Fair together since the fifth grade, only missing it when the game schedule got in the way. It’s tradition. A ritual that’s always felt like ours.
FIFTEEN
SERENA
RYAN:Pop over to mine after practice tonight. We need to talk about your job!
SERENA:I won’t be done until late. Can we meet in your office in the afternoon if it’s official business?
RYAN:It is official, but there’s things I can’t say when someone could be listening. Coffee at Hank’s before practice? 4 p.m.
SERENA:If this is an attempt to see me again, don’t bother.
RYAN:I swear it’s not. You’ll want to hear this!
SERENA:Did you know mountain lions can’t roar? They’re basically fuzzy murder kittens.
CHASE:If this is you trying to flirt with your fake boyfriend, I’m starting to see why you’re still single.
SERENA:I wasn’t flirting.
CHASE:Sure, princess.
SERENA:We’re still doing “princess,” huh? What does that make you?
CHASE:Your knight in shining armor.
SERENA:More like the stable boy.
It’s late afternoon on Thursday and the cheer coach office is the usual bustle and noise. Tanya is at a meeting with management. Daisy and Liv are working on the next routine. I’m half listening, half chipping in as I update the official social media accounts. The cheer team aren’t due to practice until six, but there’s been a steady stream of girls coming in and out today, ordering a new piece of uniform or pleading with us to give them a shot on the front line.
Daisy taps a green board pen against her plump lips. “What do you think about adding a ripple kick sequence after the hip-hop combo?” she asks, flicking back a tumble of blonde ringlet-curls. Daisy and I joined the squad the same year, but while I chased the adrenaline of performing, she realized after one season that she preferred the pace of coaching. For years she volunteered on the sidelines, living off her trust fund, before finally stepping into a paid role.
Liv studies the board. “But who do we move to the front line? Riley would be the obvious choice but she’s only just back from injury.”
“What about Briana?” I suggest.
Liv considers it. “She’s hungry for the shot. What do you think, Serena?”
“I’ll talk to her tonight,” I reply. I glance at the clock and my stomach drops. “Shit! I’m supposed to be meeting Ryan for coffee. He said it’s about my job. Have either of you heard anything else about management wanting the coaches to go part-time?”
Liv shakes her head. “Nothing.”
“That might be a good thing,” Daisy says, though her tone doesn’t sound convinced.
I wish I could believe it. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I call, “See you at practice later.”
“Good luck,” Liv calls back. “And don’t forget Nacho Night.”
The reminder tugs a smile out of me. Nacho Night has been our ritual for years. Me and Liv loading the table with tortilla chips, salsa, guac, and cheese piled so high the oven tray barely fits, and then curling up on the couch with bowls in our laps while we watch the latest Netflix rom-com. Between her wedding planning and my fake dates with Chase, it feels like forever since we had an evening that was just the two of us in the apartment, like old times. I try not to think about how our old times are numbered. That in a few months, Liv will be moving out. I still haven’t done a single thing about finding someone else to move in, or about finding another place to live.There’s still time, I tell myself firmly. Once things with Chase go back to normal, I’ll throw myself into it.
I hurry out of the stadium and head to Hank’s. Ryan and I might not be dating anymore, but I still remember how much he hates to be kept waiting. I don’t want this coffee to be any more awkward than it’s already going to be.
Hank’s is quiet as I push through the doors. The lull between lunch and dinner, I guess. I find Ryan already sitting in a boothat the back. And despite the fact he looks handsome in a white shirt, clean shaven and brown hair styled perfectly, the sight of him makes my skin crawl. I’ve managed to avoid him in the weeks since the Hearts of Denver awards, but time has done nothing to soften the unease of that night.
There are already two drinks on the table as I slide into the booth opposite him. He pushes one toward me. “You weren’t here so I ordered for you,” he says.
“Thanks,” I reply, taking a sip before fighting back the disgust. It’s too creamy and heavy on the pumpkin spice. Not a drink I like or one I’d ever have chosen for myself. Was it a passive-aggressive move? Punishment for being five minutes late. Or did he just forget and assume all women drink pumpkin spice in fall?