The Star Player's Plus-Size Obsession

Emily's POV The cheer locker room at Westfield University smelled like hairspray and vanilla body mist. I sat on the end of the bench by the door, the spot nobody else wanted, with a pile of red pom-poms in my lap. Across the room, Ella was fixing her blonde ponytail in the mirror. "Did you see Enzo Watson sink those three-pointers last game?" I asked. She did not turn around. "Everybody saw it, Emily." "Three in a row. In the last two minutes." I hugged a pom-pom to my chest. "I could not stop watching. The way he moves on the court is just..." I could not find the word. Enzo did not run like the other players. He glided, like the ball belonged to him. Ella spun around with a bright smile and a bundle in her arms. The smile was not for me. "Perfect timing," she said. She dropped a pile of sweaty towels on top of the pom-poms. "These need washing. And my water bottle needs to be refilled." The bottle hit the bench next to me with a thud. "Sure," I said. "Cold water, right? With lemon slices?" "Duh." She walked away without a thank-you. I did not expect one. "Ella, wait. Do you want me to wash your practice shorts too?" "Would you?" She tossed them over her shoulder. "You're a lifesaver, Em." I caught them and smiled. Every great cheerleader had to start somewhere. Mine started at the laundry basket. Joyce came out of the shower area with a towel wrapped around her wet hair. She was the closest thing I had to a friend on the squad. At least, she still answered my texts. I jumped up so fast that two pom-poms rolled across the floor. "Hey, Joyce." "Hey." She sat at her locker and dug through her bag. I stepped closer and lowered my voice. "Did you talk to Brooklyn about me? About joining the squad?" Joyce let out a long sigh. It was the kind of sigh people use before they say something you do not want to hear. "Look, Emily, you know how it is." "No, I don't. Tell me." "The squad has certain standards." She rubbed lotion into her arms. "Brooklyn is picky about who wears the uniform." "I've been practicing the routines at home every day," I said. "The new halftime one too. I know every count. I can do the toe touch now, Joyce. I hit it three times last night." "Three times. Wow." "I can show you right now." "Please don't." She looked up at me then. Her eyes moved from my face to my stomach, down to my thighs, and back up again. "Honey," she said, in a voice so soft it made it worse, "practicing won't change that you are fat." My cheeks burned. I wanted to pull my hoodie lower over my hips, but I kept my hands at my sides. "I sent you that money last week," I said. "And the week before. You said it was going toward squad expenses." "It did." "Then why hasn't anything changed?" Joyce shrugged. "Guess it wasn't enough to make a difference." Two hundred dollars. Money from my shifts at the campus bookstore. Money I needed for groceries. I swallowed hard. "I can send more tonight." A slow smile spread across her lips. "Smart girl." "How much?" "Another two hundred should do it." She patted my arm the way people pat a dog after a trick. "Maybe then I can convince Brooklyn you have other qualities." "Like what?" "I'll think of something." I nodded. I did not know what she meant, but I held onto it anyway. Hope was a stubborn thing. The locker room door swung open, and the whole room went quiet. Brooklyn walked in with her dark hair shining and her captain's jacket hanging off one shoulder. Two girls followed behind her like bodyguards. Her eyes landed on me, and her smile died. "What are you doing in here?" "I was just bringing the towels and..." "This room is for cheerleaders only." She looked me up and down. "Not whatever you are." Somebody giggled behind me. I did not need to turn around to know it was Ella. "I know," I said. "I'm sorry. I just... I want to be on the team so bad, Brooklyn. I'll do anything. Water girl, equipment manager, anything." She tilted her head. "Anything?" "Anything." Brooklyn glanced at Joyce. A look passed between them, one I could not read. "Nora's out sick," Brooklyn said. "Flu or whatever. We need someone in the Wildcat suit tonight." The Wildcat. Our mascot. A big furry head, giant paws, and a tail that dragged on the floor. It was not a uniform. But it would put me on the court, in front of the whole crowd. Close to the squad. Close to Enzo. "For real?" I asked. "I can do that." "Can you dance in it? It weighs a ton." "I can dance in anything." "Can you fit in it?" one of the bodyguards asked. The room laughed. I laughed too, because it was easier than crying. Brooklyn held up a hand, and the laughter stopped. "If you don't embarrass us, maybe, just maybe, we can discuss a more permanent arrangement." My heart pounded so hard I could hear it. "Yes. Thank you. I'll go get changed right away." "The suit's in the equipment room," Brooklyn said. "Second shelf. You can't miss it." I grabbed my bag and almost tripped over the pom-poms on my way to the door. Behind me, Brooklyn's voice floated across the room. "This should be entertaining." Then the whole room burst out laughing, louder than before. I pulled the door open and walked straight into a wall of muscle. A tall boy in a black jersey with the number 23 stood in the hallway, a basketball tucked under his arm. His dark eyes moved past me to the laughing girls, then came back to rest on my face. "What's so funny?"