Darcy was right next to me in formation, and though she was smiling and standing tall with her hands on her hips waiting for the first beat drop of our routine, her gaze slid to me with her brows pinched slightly.
She was asking silently if I was okay.
If I looked anything on the outside how I felt on the inside, I knew she had her answer before I could even attempt to mask it.
I realized Iwasstill breathing — it was just shallow and strained. I tried to pull in another inhale, deeper this time, but it didn’t quite land right, like my lungs couldn’t expand all the way. I forced a smile anyway, lifting one pompom in a small wave I wasn’t sure they even saw, because they were already cheering louder, jumping higher, so excited it made my chest ache.
I should have felt nothing but joy.
Instead, my pulse was like the stampede of a hundred antelope running for their lives.
The music started, loud and immediate, snapping me back into place whether I was ready or not.
My body moved on instinct, hitting the first counts clean and sharp, exactly how we’d practiced. I leaned into the choreography, into the familiarity of it, letting it carry me while my mind struggled to catch up. Each step, each turn, each extension of my arms was something I knew better than my own name.
But everything felt just a fraction off.
It wasn’t enough that anyone else would notice, not enough to throw the routine.
But it was enough that I could feel it.
The timing was there, but my breath wasn’t. My chest still felt tight, my inhales too quick, my exhales too shallow. I forced myself to focus, to lock in, to let the rhythm anchor me instead of the riot of unsteady emotions building under my skin.
The crowd roared at a formation change, and I turned, hitting my mark, smiling like nothing in the world was wrong.
Somewhere on the sideline, Braden was watching.
Right there in the front row, my parents were, too.
I pushed harder, danced bigger, gave them something worth watching, something worth being proud of, even if my heart was beating too fast and my thoughts wouldn’t quite settle.
We moved into the final section of the routine, the energy building, the music climbing toward its peak, and I knew what was coming next.
My tumbling pass.
I stepped back into position as the others cleared, my grip tightening slightly on my pompoms before I tossed them aside in one clean motion. My hands flexed at my sides, and I rolled my shoulders once, trying to shake out the lingering tension.
It didn’t fully leave.
I could feel it in the way my weight shifted, in the way my balance didn’t feel as centered as it should have. My body knew the sequence, knew exactly what to do, but something underneath it all felt just a little misaligned.
Don’t fuck up, Emily.
They’re watching.
They came to see you.
Make them proud.
Make them see.
I glanced forward, not at anyone in particular, just grounding myself in the field, the lines beneath my feet, the space ahead of me.
It was all muscle memory from here. It was training and practice and repetition.
I had done this a thousand times, and I’d do it again right now.
I took a breath, as full as I could manage, and went.