Hadassah

pom pom attack

Game day was always electric. The sun beat down, and the smell of fresh grass and adrenaline filled the air. I took my spot on the field, trying to lock in on the game plan and keep my head clear. But let’s be honest, my brain was a chaotic mix of plays, song lyrics, and stray thoughts about Patrick Mahomes.

Scanning the sidelines, I saw the moms gathered, dressed in miniskirts and tops that screamed look at me! They were cheering like their lives depended on it, flipping their hair and pulling off high kicks that would’ve fit better at a club. I almost snorted. Typical. It was like a show, and I was just waiting for one of them to break out into a full routine.

But then my eyes landed on Dad #1—Isiah Pacheco. My jaw almost hit the ground. He was decked out in the same cheer uniform as the moms: a tight miniskirt, crop top, and knee-high socks that made him look both ridiculous and, weirdly, like he was ready to steal the spotlight. And he was in full cheer mode, pom-poms shaking like he was born for this.

“Come on, Haddie! Let’s go, team!” he yelled, adding a little hop that made his skirt fly up in a way that had some parents gasping and others laughing. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to burst out laughing.

“Dad!” I called out, half in embarrassment, half in love. He looked over and gave me a wink, then went right back to his routine, doing a cheer spin that made his pom-poms shimmer under the sun.

But the real distraction was Dad #2—Harrison Butker. He wasn’t cheering. Nope, he was standing a few feet behind Isiah, arms crossed, eyes glued to him with an expression that was… honestly, kind of dirty-minded. You know that look that says someone’s mind is definitely not on the task at hand? That was him.

As I jogged back to the huddle, I heard him mutter under his breath, “I better get tail tonight.”

“Pops!” I yelled, my voice cracking with both surprise and secondhand embarrassment. He looked up at me, wide-eyed and caught off guard, before quickly straightening up and pretending to watch the game.

Isiah paused mid-pom shake, turning to give Harrison a knowing smirk. “10 p.m., Harrison, when Haddie’s asleep,” he said, just loud enough for me to catch it as I passed by. My face flushed, and I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.

Kyle, one of my teammates, leaned over, eyebrows raised. “What was that about?”

I groaned. “Don’t ask,” I said, trying not to laugh as Butker’s face turned a deeper shade of red. The rest of the team was lining up for the next play, but I couldn’t shake the image of Isiah in that uniform or the look on Butker’s face.

We ran the play, and the ball soared through the air, but even as I sprinted down the field, my mind couldn’t help but wander back to the scene on the sidelines. The game ended with a win, and the crowd erupted into cheers. Isiah did a celebratory cartwheel, and I cringed as the skirt flipped up a little too high.

Later that night, as the house settled into its usual evening quiet, I heard the muffled sound of laughter and whispers from the living room. I rolled my eyes as Isiah’s voice carried down the hallway, “Told you, 10 p.m., Harrison.”

I stuffed my pillow over my head and groaned. Life in this house was never boring.

Then I heard booming over and over again.. what the hell ....