Trained to Be Wanted

The hallway outside the gym was too loud, feet and laughter bouncing off the tile like nothing bad had ever happened there. "She's really doing this again," a voice said behind her, not even bothering to whisper. Marlowe Vance didn't turn around. She stood at the double doors with one hand flat against the cold metal, counting her own pulse instead of her breaths. Five years of this exact hallway. Five years of telling herself this time would be different, right up until it wasn't. She thought about turning around — she always thought about turning around but past these doors was a version of herself who didn't apologize for taking up space, and Marlowe had come back one more time to go looking for her. She pulled the door open before she could change her mind. Inside the gym smelled like sweat and floor polish. That was the first thing Marlowe noticed every year. The same smell. The same squeak of sneakers. The same banner that said ASHCOMBE CHEER TRYOUTS in glitter letters that were already falling off. She had been standing in line for twenty minutes and her hands would not stop shaking. "Number forty-seven," a voice called from the front. "Marlowe Vance." Her stomach dropped. She stepped forward. Her cheer uniform was borrowed from last year and it was a little too tight around the shoulders. She had practiced for three weeks in her dorm room. She had watched YouTube videos until two in the morning. She had even asked her roommate from last semester to count for her. "You got this," she whispered to herself. "Just don't trip." The entire gym was watching. Not because they were excited. Because they knew what was coming. Sable Winters was sitting on the judges table like it was her throne. Her legs were crossed. Her blonde ponytail was perfect. She was wearing the official captain's jacket and she was chewing gum slowly while looking Marlowe up and down. "Oh wow," Sable said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "She came back. Again." A few people laughed. Beckett Cole was leaning against the wall next to the hockey team. He was supposed to be there to support the cheer event. He had his arms folded and that easy smile that made every girl in school act stupid. Marlowe had liked that smile since eighth grade. She tried not to look at him. She failed. "Okay, Marlowe," Sable said. "Let's see if the fifth time is the charm. Music!" Someone pressed play on a phone. The song was too loud and too fast. Marlowe missed her first count. She jumped. Her foot landed wrong. She tried to do the turn she had practiced. Her arms were stiff. "Come on, nerd," someone shouted from the bleachers. "Do the robot!" More laughter. Louder this time. Marlowe felt her face go red. She tried to keep going. She lifted her arms for the final cheer pose and her voice cracked when she shouted the chant. "Go, Ashcombe!" Nobody cheered back. Sable stood up. She walked into the middle of the mat and put a hand on her hip. "Stop the music," she said. The music stopped. The gym went quiet in that horrible way where everyone is waiting for the mean part. Sable looked at Marlowe like she was something stuck to her shoe. "Sweetie, be honest," she said. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself? You can't dance. You can't even shout right. Cheerleading is for girls people actually want to look at." The gym exploded. People were laughing, pointing, recording on their phones. Marlowe could see the red light blinking on three different cameras. She looked at Beckett without meaning to. She wanted him to say something. Anything. Even just to look away. Beckett smiled. Not at her. At Sable. Like they shared a joke. "Maybe next year, Vance," he said. That was worse than anything Sable said. Marlowe's throat closed up. She could not breathe. She turned and ran. She ran past the bleachers, past the water bottles, past the glitter banner. She pushed the big gym doors open and didn't stop running until she was outside in the cold air. Tears were burning her eyes but she didn't wipe them. If she wiped them, it meant it was real. Five years. Five years of trying and they still looked at her like she was a clown. "I hate this school," she said out loud. Her voice was shaking. "I hate all of them." She walked back toward the dorm building with her bag banging against her leg. Students passed her and stared. Some whispered. The video was probably already in the group chat. Her dorm was on the third floor of the north building. Room 312. At least she could go hide there. At least no one would be there to see her cry. She fumbled with her key. Her hands were still shaking. She pushed the door open. And froze. There was a boy asleep on her bed. Not sitting. Asleep. On his back, one arm over his eyes, his duffel bag open on the floor and clothes spilling out. He was wearing a black t-shirt and sweatpants and his dark hair was messy. A hockey stick was leaning against her desk. Marlowe's brain short-circuited. "Hey!" she said, too loud. "Hey, what are you doing!" The boy didn't move. She took a step closer. "This is my room! You can't sleep here! Get out!" He groaned and finally moved his arm. He blinked at her. His eyes were grey and unfocused. "Who are you?" he said. His voice was hoarse from sleep. "Who am I? Who are you? This is Room 312! My room!" He sat up slowly. He looked around the room like he was confused. "Yeah," he said. "312. That's what they gave me." "No one gave you this room! I live here! I've lived here all semester!" He reached over to the nightstand and picked up a crumpled paper. He held it out to her. Marlowe snatched it. It was a housing assignment slip. Ashcombe Preparatory Academy Housing Office. Name: Kellan Ford. Room: 312 North Dorm. Bed B. "What?" she said. "No, that's impossible. There's only one bed in here. Well, there are two, but the other one is for storage. The housing office knows I asked for a single." Kellan rubbed his face and stood up. He was tall. Really tall. Taller than Beckett. "I just drove six hours to get here," he said. "They told me this was my room. If there's a problem, take it up with them tomorrow." He said it like it was reasonable. Like finding a crying girl in the doorway was normal. Marlowe stared at him. The tears she had been holding back all day finally spilled over. "Great," she said, and her voice broke. "Just great. I get laughed at in front of the whole school and now there's a strange guy in my room. Perfect day." Kellan looked at her properly for the first time. He noticed the cheer uniform. The red eyes. The shaking shoulders. He frowned. "Are you okay?" That question made it worse. Marlowe sat down hard on the floor, right where she was standing, and started crying for real. "No," she sobbed. "I'm not okay! I just embarrassed myself again and everyone hates me and now I have to share my room with you!" Kellan didn't say anything for a second. Then he sighed and crouched down in front of her. He kept a little distance, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to get close. "Hey," he said, softer now. "I don't know what happened out there, but nobody hates you enough to cry on the floor. That's my job. I paid for the floor crying spot." Marlowe let out a wet laugh without meaning to. She wiped her nose with her sleeve. "That's not funny." "It was a little funny," he said. She looked up at him. He was not laughing at her. His expression was calm, maybe a little annoyed that he had been woken up, but not mean. "I'm Marlowe," she said quietly. "Kellan," he said. "Kellan Ford. New transfer. Hockey." Of course. Another hockey player. "Let me guess," she said. "You're here for championship season and you're amazing and everyone will love you." "Something like that," he said. He stood up and grabbed his duffel bag. "Look, you can have the bed tonight. I'll take the floor. We'll go to housing in the morning and sort it out. Okay?" Marlowe nodded. She was too tired to argue. She climbed onto her bed and curled up, still in her uniform. She could hear Kellan moving around, laying out a blanket on the floor. "Goodnight, floor girl," he said after he turned off the light. "Goodnight, bed stealer," she whispered back.