Battling Hearts and High Scores: A Teenage RomCom

Battling Crashes and Cheers

Breathe in. Breathe out. I tell myself as I practically meditate in the hallway of Sunset Heights High School, my team and I are about to cheer for the basketball team—the Hornets.

"Don't tell me you're nervous," Vivian's voice comes from right behind me as she stands in line.

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? We're down by six points, and I have a competitive streak," I confess, my attempt at meditation interrupted by the stress of the game.

"I mean, why would you be? We've practiced this routine a hundred times. Besides, you're not the one being thrown up into the air," she points out, resting her hand, still holding her gold and blue pom-pom, on my shoulder.

"Alright, halftime in two minutes, girls. Are you ready?" Coach Reid asks, her face betraying some nerves as well. She knows what's at stake—if we lose this, our high school might not make it to the championship.

"Yeah, I think we're ready, with just the same nerves as you," Anya says, but we all know her anxiety isn't just about the game.

Finn's been training nonstop to lead our school to victory. This championship means everything to him, especially since there are scouts in the crowd today evaluating the players' performances. Becoming a professional basketball player has been Finn's dream for as long as I can remember. He's worked hard for it, and he's not going to let anything stand in his way. If someone on the team isn't pulling their weight, Finn wouldn't hesitate to talk to Coach Iverson, who listens to his every word. In a way, it's like Finn runs the team himself.

Everyone knows when Finn doesn't get his way, he handles it like a "player"—and I don't mean in a basketball sense. He just finds a new girl to spend his time with.

"Anya, are you okay? You look a little paler than usual," Izzy asks, her Afro puffs styled bigger than ever, staring at Anya, who's rapidly nodding her head as if it might shake the question away.

I glance at my cheer squad behind me, all of us sporting the same hairstyle and outfit—gold and blue cheerleading skirts, matching tops and bows, pom-poms in hand, white knee-high socks, and sneakers. Every last one of us has our hair styled into two high ponytails, like we're some sort of peppy uniformed army.

"Alright, girls, halftime in fifteen seconds," Coach Reid announces, eyes glued to the final moments of quarter two through the narrow hallway window. "Ten... nine... eight... seven... six... five... four... three... two... one."

My legs spring into motion as we jog out to our side of the bleachers, the entire town seemingly packed into the gym. My heart races, my hands start getting clammy, and the crowd goes wild. Every time I cheer, I push myself to outshine my last performance. Girls in the crowd already look up to me—literally and figuratively—and I can't let them down now.

The music kicks in, and we nail the start of the routine. The crowd chants our names as we hit our marks, flip, and dance through the two-minute performance. Everything's going perfectly. Then, it's time for the big moment.

The cradle.

We get into position, and Vivian steps into the middle, ready to soar. I cup my hands for her to stand, and we exchange a look. My heart is pounding in my ears, and I'm not even sure why. Vivian's hair, long and pin-straight, falls right into Izzy's face as she tries to keep her balance.

Izzy spits out a chunk of hair and scrunches her face in disgust. "Girl, I'm basically tasting avocado conditioner and swallowing your sour personality at the same time!" she mutters, earning a stifled giggle from me.

Vivian climbs with ease, Anya standing in the back for extra support. Her smile is radiant, and I can't help but feel proud. We lift Vivian higher, and she executes her arm movements flawlessly. Then comes the grand finale—Vivian flexes her core and jumps. Our arms stretch, supporting her even more as she twirls in the air.