~001: The nerd in the cheersquad

Calla

“Do I look like someone who knows how to cartwheel?”

That’s the first thing I say when Blaire, my best friend, dumps a pair of cheer shoes on my desk like it’s a done deal.

She grins. “No, but you look like someone who wants a stronger med school application.”

And damn it, she’s not wrong.

“Calla Evernight, loosen up a bit… I mean, how am I supposed to introduce my best friend to a prince charming if she won’t even leave the lab?” Blaire huffs, hands on her waist, hips tilted like she’s in a rom-com standoff.

I glance up from behind my glasses. Her nipples are poking through the paper-thin tank top, and the denim shorts clinging to her thighs look like they were stitched directly onto her skin. Of course she looks like that — she’s Blaire.

“Very simple,” I deadpan. “A biology major, pre-med, lab rat, and someone currently drowning in Organic Chem and late-night tutoring shifts. Please, Blaire. I’m exhausted. I just got back from the lab, I need to study for the test.”

I adjust my glasses, turning back to my textbook like that should settle it.

She clicks her tongue dramatically. “God, that’s such a turn-off.”

“C’mon, Ava. Talk to her,” she throws over to my roommate, who’s been fixing her eyeliner ever since her boyfriend called thirty minutes ago.

Ava doesn’t even look up. “Girl, you know that means she’s giving up her bowl of pasta and meatballs. Cal, will you survive?”

Blaire flops backward onto my mattress like I just told her the Earth’s flat, moaning in defeat. We all crack up.

I avoid anything that smells remotely like attention. So joining the university’s elite cheer squad? Not even on the back up list.

But here I am anyway, standing in the middle of the polished gym floor, surrounded by girls who look like they drink protein shakes for dessert and guys who could throw me across the court like a paper ball.

“This is a bad idea,” I mutter, already pivoting to walk right back out the door.

But Blaire grabs the back of my hoodie and yanks me with zero effort like I weigh as much as a throw pillow. What the hell? How is she this strong even though she’s built like a pencil?

“Before you run away, think of your GPA. At least let that be the fuel that keeps you here,” she says, gripping my wrist tight, but not tight enough to bruise me.

I sigh, defeated. “Fine. But if I break a bone, you’re feeding me soup through a straw for the rest of the semester.”

Blaire smirks. “Noted. Now stop talking like someone’s grandma.”

The gym smells like sweat and coconut hair mist, and the echo of thudding sneakers bounces off the high ceiling. There's music blaring from portable speakers, something with a heavy beat that sounds more like a battle anthem than a pep song. And then—bam—one of the girls launches into a standing backflip like gravity doesn’t exist. Just casual.

My jaw drops. “What the hell was that?”

“That,” Blaire says with a wink, “was Serena. Co-captain. And yes, her I*******m is terrifying.”

Serena. Blonde, toned, with eyes like frosted glass. She’s talking to another girl while doing leg stretches that look like they belong in Cirque du Soleil. The rest of the squad is scattered across the gym floor, doing warm-ups that seem less about stretching and more like they're preparing for war.

“Line up!” a sharp voice yells from the front of the room. Everyone snaps into a formation like soldiers. I shuffle awkwardly to the back, clutching the spare uniform Blaire shoved into my arms. It smells like someone else's sweat. Great.

A girl two rows ahead turns around and gives me a once-over. Her eyes drag slowly from my tangled ponytail to my oversized hoodie. “You lost, Hermione?”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

She snickers. “The library’s that way.”

There are snorts around us, and I suddenly feel like I’m back in middle school. I force a tight smile. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to return your personality to the lost and found when I’m done.”

Blaire whistles low beside me. “Okay, Evernight. Didn’t know you had teeth.”

I swallow the anxiety curling in my gut. I don’t belong here. I should be in my room, sipping burnt coffee and memorizing the glycolysis cycle. Not here, about to die from public humiliation.

“Alright, newbies!” Serena’s voice slices through the chatter like a blade. “We’ll start with basic tumbling. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

“Basic?” I whisper. “I can barely forward roll without seeing my ancestors.”

Blaire nudges me. “Just do your best. Fake it. Or fall dramatically. Either works.”

One by one, girls start doing cartwheels, then round-offs, some even pull off clean back handsprings. Blaire, naturally, lands a handspring into a split and waves like she’s Miss America. The crowd claps.

Then it’s my turn.

I freeze.

Serena tilts her head, arms crossed. “What are you waiting for? An invitation from the dean?”

Heat climbs up my neck. “Uh… I don’t—this isn’t really my thing.”

“Clearly,” someone behind me mutters.

I attempt a cartwheel anyway, if you can call what I do a cartwheel. It’s more of a desperate sideways crab scuttle. My foot slips halfway through and I crash sideways onto the mat.

The room goes silent for two seconds before someone coughs into a laugh.

“God,” the Hermione girl says, “we’ve got a rescue mission on aisle nerd.”

My face burns. “I’m pre-med. I know how to treat a concussion if I get one.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Serena says, walking over, her tone all sweet venom, “you’re gonna need more than that to survive here. We’re not doing lab experiments. We’re performing. Competing. Protecting the pride of this campus. Can you even lift your own body weight?”

“She can lift a microscope,” someone adds.

Laughter ripples again.

“I lift books,” I mutter.

“What was that?” Serena snaps.

“I said I lift books. Heavy ones. Like Physiology & Anatomy by Marieb.”

Blaire chokes beside me. I elbow her.

Serena’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s see how that helps you with our next routine.”

The music starts again. The whole squad explodes into motion — stunts, flips, sharp coordinated dance moves. I watch, frozen, as bodies fly and twist and land with eerie precision. No one misses a beat. They don’t even look winded.

How are they not tired? That routine would murder the average human. I look at their legs — lean, powerful. Their arms? Ripped. And yet they’re not bulky. They’re… honed. Like predators dressed in spandex.

When it’s over, they stand in formation. Silent. Breathing in sync.

It’s unsettling.

I clap a little. “Wow. That was… impressive.”

Serena just smirks. “That was our warm-up.”

My legs already feel like noodles. “Oh.”

“Alright, partner up for lifts!” she announces. “We need a flyer.”

Every single girl steps forward except me.

“Not you,” Serena says, locking eyes on me. “You’re base material. Grounded. Heavy.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“It’s not an insult. Nerds usually are.”

Blaire steps forward. “Okay, can we not start a hazing ritual? She’s here to try. That’s more than most.”

Serena shrugs. “Trying doesn’t save you from the scoreboard. Or the spotlight. This isn’t pity practice.”

Blaire pulls me aside and whispers, “Look, just get through today. One session. If you hate it, we bail. Deal?”

I nod stiffly.

I spend the next hour being flung into half-stunts I barely understand, sweating through my hoodie, getting bruised, and trying not to cry. Every time I stumble, someone laughs. Every time I get it right, no one says a word.

By the end of practice, I’m on the floor, back flat, arms spread.

“I think I’m dead.”

Blaire plops beside me. “You survived. And you didn’t even puke. That’s a win.”

I close my eyes. “I’m gonna fail my midterm. I can feel my neurons disintegrating.”

“You might also be growing quads.”

I groan. “Is this what hell feels like?”

A voice cuts in above us. Serena. “You’ll either quit in a week or shape up. I’m not babysitting. We don’t have room for passengers.”

I sit up slowly. “I don’t need babysitting. I just need time.”

“Time doesn’t make you less of a liability,” she replies flatly.

Her words sting harder than I expected.

Blaire jumps to my defense. “She’s smarter than all of us combined. You think a few backflips make you untouchable?”

Serena turns. “Smart doesn’t win championships.”

“And championships don’t get you into med school,” I fire back.

Serena pauses. Then — unexpectedly — she smiles. “We’ll see.”

As we gather our things, the hockey team walks into the far end of the gym. I spot them immediately. They move like a shadow — uniformed, controlled, intimidating. Eyes hard. Jawlines are sharper than my scalpel set. Their energy is different — cold, magnetic. Dangerous.

One of them looks up, his eyes meet mine. Silver eyes, and for some reason, my whole body goes still.

My fingers twitch..My chest feels… off. Tight. He holds my gaze for a second too long, then looks away.

“Hmm! Someone’s already drooling over those sweet-looking guys!” Blaire’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Tch! Wipe that off your mouth. I’m not interested in dating jocks,” I scoff, brushing her off as I chug down my water like my life depends on it. “I’m just trying not to collapse from thirst.”