UNEDITED VERSION
To break free of the stereotypical box that high school placed her in, Charlie must team up with Liam, the new soccer player on the team her dad coaches.
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Girls fall at Liam's feet - except Charlie. She...
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Fastidious (adjective)
- excessively particular, critical, or demanding; hard to please.
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As I specified before, I hated stereotypes. I disliked that everybody judged us, particularly us cheerleaders. I'd said it once and I'd say it a thousand times more until those small-minded people understood what I was saying.
No, us cheerleaders were not sluts. No, we didn't sleep around all the time. No, we didn't philander with each guy at every game. And yes, we wore tight uniforms and cropped tanks and tiny denim shorts but that did not mean we were looking for male attention. Dressing up, it always made me feel attractive. I admired the way I looked and I could wear tight clothes if I wanted to. That didn't mean I was looking to get laid.
Cheerleaders weren't feeble-minded blondes either. I wasn't the smartest person in my class, presumably somewhere around the middle, but that didn't mean that I was as dumb as a rock – not like how we were portrayed in movies or books. And the most significant thing that irked me, was the fact that everyone assumed all we did was dance around in a short skirt. Cheerleaders were stereotypes, and we were made so by people who had never even attempted trying what we did.
Our routines consisted of dangerous stunts and amazing tumbling. I literally got tossed in the air from one person to another. It took hard work and commitment. One wrong move could ruin the entire thing. Cheerleading was voted the most dangerous contact sport. Why? Because of the stunts we did. You could get dangerously injured if something were to go wrong – like right now as I sat with a throbbing ankle.
Nolan stood opposite me, staring down at my place on the bench. His green eyes were stubborn, angry at Hannah who allowed this to happen. Part of me knew that we couldn't entirely blame it on her. We all got sidetracked at some point. How many times had I looked to Liam? I just succeeded to snap back into concentration quicker.
"Nolan," I groaned, hearing the cheers from outside the locker room. "The second half is about to start."
The raven-haired boy tensed his jaw, looking at my swollen ankle which rested on a folded sweatshirt. "You're injured."
"No shit, Sherlock," I attempted a joke to alleviate the mood but Nolan didn't crack. He stood there with a guarding look on his face and I sighed, knowing that he needed to be on the field at that moment. "Noles, I'm fine. You have a game to play."
"You're injured," he echoed, green eyes snapping to mine and I could see the panic in them. "You're injured, Charlie. And I'm not gonna leave you alone."
As much as it warmed my heart to see how much he worried for me, he needed to be on the field. "Nolan, you're the striker –"
"And you're my best friend," he cut me off, stepping forward to crouch in front of me. His hands were clammy as they rested on my knee. "Fuck the team. I'm staying with you."
