Cracks beneath the surface

Maya stood in the center of the school gymnasium, surrounded by mirrors, mats, and too many unfamiliar faces. Her reflection blinked back at her—ponytailed, polished, and painfully out of place.

The sharp squeak of sneakers and booming bass of the speakers echoed off the gym walls. The other cheerleaders chatted effortlessly, most of them girls who had been in the squad for years. They tossed their hair, laughed at inside jokes, and eyed Maya like she was a new exhibit in a zoo—something to be studied, maybe tolerated, but never fully accepted.

Kennedy stood beside her, all sunshine and energy, stretching with practiced ease. “Just relax,” she whispered, bumping her shoulder lightly against Maya’s. “You’re going to kill it.”

Maya forced a smile. Her stomach churned.

She didn’t belong here. She never did.

The coach clapped her hands. “Alright ladies, warm-up time. Maya, to the front.”

Of course.

Heat crept up her neck as all eyes turned toward her. She obeyed silently, taking her position at the front of the formation. Every movement felt heavier than it should have—her limbs stiff, her breaths shallow.

As the music began and she moved through the routine they’d learned yesterday, Maya tried to block out the whispers behind her. Tried to focus on the rhythm. On the beats. On anything other than the flicker of judgment in the other girls’ eyes.

But it was hard.

Too hard.

⸻

The scent of antiseptic filled her lungs.

Maya was twelve again, curled up on a stiff white hospital bed, her arms bandaged, her voice lost.

Her mother’s voice was somewhere outside the room, harsh and cold.

“Why would she do this to herself? What does she want from me—attention? She has a twin sister for God’s sake. What more does she want?”

Maya stared at the ceiling tiles, her heartbeat a quiet thud. The nurse had said she was lucky. The cuts weren’t too deep.

Lucky.

She didn’t feel lucky. She felt tired.

⸻

The memory snapped like a rubber band, yanking her back to the present.

Maya stumbled on the next beat. Her foot landed wrong. One of the girls behind her scoffed under her breath.

“Lead cheerleader, huh?” someone muttered, not softly enough.

Maya’s throat tightened, but she kept going. Pretended not to hear. Pretended it didn’t pierce. Pretended she didn’t feel like she was twelve years old again—raw, unwanted, and invisible in all the wrong ways.

Coach blew her whistle. “Reset. From the top. Maya, focus.”

She nodded mechanically.

Kennedy leaned in. “You’re doing great. Ignore them. They’re just bitter.”

But it wasn’t bitterness that frightened Maya.

It was recognition.

She had seen girls like them before. Smiling while they stabbed. Pretending while they tore you apart with whispers and glances. She had been surrounded by them at her old school—right before everything broke.

⸻

Another flash.

This time, the bathroom floor.

Amaya’s voice outside the locked door, panic rising. “Maya, please. Please open up. What happened? What did they say to you?”

Maya pressed her back to the door, blood buzzing in her ears, the cruel words carved into her memory like a blade.

“Attention-seeking freak.”

“Slut in disguise.”

“She copies Amaya because she has no identity of her own.”

They weren’t lies. Not entirely.

Not when you believed them.

⸻

“Hey!”

Zara—the girl with the perfect eyeliner and colder eyes—snapped her fingers in Maya’s direction, jolting her back.

“You zoned out again. This isn’t ballet, sweetheart. Keep up or get out.”

Laughter followed her words. Not loud. Not cruel. But sharp enough to slice.

Maya stiffened. Coach looked like she might intervene but didn’t.

Kennedy stepped forward. “Back off, Zara. She’s new, not deaf.”

Zara raised an eyebrow. “If she can’t take a little push, she shouldn’t be leading anything.”

Maya swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Let’s just run it again.”

But she wasn’t fine.

She was fractured—barely holding herself together under the weight of old scars and new eyes.

⸻

They ran the routine three more times. Each time, Maya did better. But each time, her mask cracked a little more.

By the end of practice, sweat clung to her skin, and her muscles trembled with exhaustion. She grabbed her water bottle and sank to the floor near the bleachers while the other girls huddled around Zara, laughing over something on a phone screen.

Kennedy dropped down beside her. “They’ll come around.”

“No, they won’t.” Maya’s voice was quiet. Honest.

Kennedy studied her for a moment. “You’ve got them scared, you know.”

Maya blinked. “What?”

“You didn’t just show up. You stood out. You made them feel small. They don’t like it.” She nudged Maya’s arm. “But I do.”

Maya smiled, small and shaky.

Then her eyes drifted to the gym doors.

Zane stood there, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, eyes on her.

Just watching.

Not smirking.

Not mocking.

Just seeing.

Their eyes locked for a heartbeat longer than it should have. Then he turned and walked away without a word.

Maya exhaled, her heartbeat racing again—for a different reason this time.

Kennedy noticed. “So… are we pretending that wasn’t super intense?”

Maya rolled her eyes, but her cheeks betrayed her.

She didn’t know what scared her more—Zane looking at her like she mattered…

Or the part of her that wanted to believe it.