Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,2

and moves on down the line of cheerleaders. I’m not offended. She’s one of my BFFs but can be intense AF. She is actually down-to-earth when not in cheerleader-domination mode.

Mia arrives at a cowering junior and scans her body.

“Emily, how hard is it to match your socks? I’m being super serious because I want to help you. Help me help you on this sock thing, Emily.”

I’ll admit it, Mia’s control issues have control issues. But her heart is in the right place . . . most of time. She’s perfected the head-cheerleader look: long blond hair, not a zit in sight ever, dating the all-state linebacker, drives a Mustang convertible, and her socks always match.

I watch the freshmen hurry up the walkway and try to imagine what I looked like three years ago. I remember it being terrifying, humiliating, and I basically wanted to die the whole time. My game plan was to keep my head down, walk fast, and then go cry in the bathroom.

Shocking news—I was not cool in middle school. I had braces, loved horses, and started my period at the seventh-grade semiformal. The theme was “Under the Sea,” but my theme was “Under the Red Sea.”

High school would be a fresh start. I was determined to change my narrative at Hillcrest. On my hurried freshman walk of shame, I was almost to the steps leading to the big red doors unnoticed when a cheerleader caught my eye. She was easily the coolest girl I had ever seen. I stopped cold. I noticed two things: her flawless skin and her pixie haircut.

She not only looked at me. She smiled at me. Time stopped. Birds sang. I felt special. I felt chosen. So special that about a week later, I tried to give myself the same pixie haircut. Want to guess how that turned out?

It didn’t matter, I had realized my high school destiny: to be a popular cheerleader.

And here I am, a popular cheerleader. To be honest, I thought it would feel different.

A pom-pom hits my head. I look over and see Lauren in bad shape.

“Georgia, I’m going to toss my cookies,” she says with wide eyes while clutching her stomach. Someone went out with her boyfriend last night and is hungover today.

I woke up this morning to a flurry of late-night texts from Lauren at some bar, riding—no joke—a mechanical bull. I didn’t even know there was a mechanical bull in Addison, but it’s Texas—maybe they’re mandatory in every city.

Lauren Vargas is tall and beautiful, with long, wavy black hair. She’s a cheerleading wunderkind and insanely smart. We joke that she has the face of a young Salma Hayek and the brains of Jeff Bezos. We have been BFFs since pre-K. Lo knows all my secrets and I know all hers (in case she tells the world any of mine).

She has been with Matt for two years. They are totally in love and totally adorable, and it’s totally disgusting. Matt is a party animal, which means Lauren parties all the time too. He’s captain of the soccer team with the whole David Beckham shaved-head thing.

I snag a selfie with Lauren in the background looking sick as a dog. When I go to post, I count twenty-five new followers. The fishmen are circling.

“Mia!” Lauren yelps. “I need to get out of here.”

Mia runs over to investigate. She would go ballistic on anyone else (aka me), but this is Lauren we’re talking about—the secret weapon of our team, with the sickest flips and tricks. Mia can’t get to the Cheerleading National Championship without her cheer ninja.

Mia feels Lauren’s head for a temperature. “Are you going to pass out?”

“Maybe,” Lauren mumbles.

Mia puts her hand on her hip. “Didn’t you have a date with Matt last night?”

I jump in. “I think her date was with a mechanical bull!”

Lauren shoots me the Look of Death. “That was a secret!”

Shit. I suck at secrets. What can I say? I’m an unreliable cheerleader.

“Ten more minutes,” Mia says. “You can do it, girl!”

Once Mia is lost in the crowd, Lauren sits down on the dry brown grass. I throw her pom-pom into her lap. “My bad, the mechanical bull made me say it.”

Lauren is nearly perfect but for one small glitch: she won’t stand up for herself. Especially to Queen Mia. Lo wouldn’t send a meal back at a restaurant if there were a million hairs in it. My girl would eat it with a smile.

A big dancing brown bear emerges from the crowd.