Chapter 171
Summer's POV
The air smelled like fried food and teenage sweat. I stood at the edge of the athletic field, my fingers digging into the fabric of my warm-up jacket, watching Brooke Martinez's squad finish their routine. Eight girls in perfect formation, their white pleated skirts swishing in unison as they executed a flawless pyramid. Brooke perched at the top, her smile so bright and sharp it could cut glass.
My stomach twisted. The custom uniform underneath my jacket suddenly felt like it was burning through my skin—the gold vinyl letters spelling out CROSS 47 on my back might as well have been branded there.
"Summer." Mia's hand found mine, warm and steady. "Breathe. We've practiced this a million times."
I wanted to tell her that practice didn't matter. That no amount of rehearsal could prepare me for what I was about to do—walk out in front of the entire school wearing Kieran's name like a declaration of war. But my throat felt too tight, so I just squeezed her hand back and tried not to think about the way Blake Sutton had looked at me in the hallway yesterday, his smirk promising trouble.
The crowd erupted in applause as Brooke's team stuck their final pose. Even from here, I could see her chest rising and falling with carefully controlled breaths, her ponytail swinging as she waved to the bleachers. She looked like she'd stepped out of a cheerleading catalog—polished, perfect, untouchable.
Everything I wasn't.
"You ready?" Ashley appeared on my left, Zoe flanking my right. Both wore the uniforms I'd made them, the fabric fitting exactly as I'd designed. Ashley's voice held no warmth, but there was something else there—maybe curiosity, maybe grudging respect. I couldn't tell.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I said, which was a lie. My palms were sweating so badly I had to wipe them on my jacket.
Brooke's squad jogged past us toward the sidelines, their sneakers crunching on the gravel path. I caught Brooke's eye for just a second. Her gaze flicked to my warm-up jacket, then back to my face, and her perfect smile turned into something colder, sharper—like she'd been waiting for this moment, like she'd known exactly what was coming. My eyes darted sideways to Ashley, who was suddenly very interested in adjusting her ponytail, her face carefully blank. Then to Zoe, whose jaw was set a little too tight, her gaze fixed determinedly on the ground.
Of course, I thought bitterly. Of course they told her.
The announcer's voice crackled over the loudspeaker. "And now, please welcome our second performance—Summer Hayes and her team!"
Mia gave my hand one last squeeze before letting go. "Show them who you are."
My legs felt like jelly as I led our small group onto the field. The sun was too bright, the bleachers too crowded, the weight of hundreds of eyes too heavy. I forced myself to keep my chin up, shoulders back, just like Mom had taught me this morning. You're a Hayes, she'd said. Hayes women love without shame.
I reached the center of the field and turned to face my team. Ashley and Zoe stood behind me, their expressions carefully neutral. Mia gave me an encouraging nod, her eyes bright with something that looked like pride.
This was it. The moment I'd been rehearsing in my head for weeks.
I peeled off my warm-up jacket.
The reaction was immediate. A ripple of whispers spread through the bleachers like wildfire. I felt every pair of eyes lock onto my back, onto the gold letters that spelled out CROSS 47 in that handwritten font I'd chosen because it felt personal, intimate. Like something meant only for him.
My face burned. My ears burned. Everything burned.
But I didn't look away. I found the section where the physics competition team always sat, scanning the rows until I spotted him—Kieran, sitting between Logan and some other guys I didn't know. His posture was rigid, coiled tight like a spring about to snap, but his eyes—God, his eyes were locked on me with an intensity that made my breath catch. Even from this distance, I could see the way his jaw had tensed, the way his hands gripped his knees so hard his knuckles had gone white, and the deep flush that had spread from his neck to his ears. He'd seen the photo Mia sent him, I knew that, but seeing it in person—seeing me wear his name in front of the entire school—was clearly hitting him differently. His gaze burned into me, fierce and possessive and something else I couldn't quite name, something that made my heart race even faster than it already was.
Someone in the bleachers laughed. Someone else whistled. The whispers grew louder, more pointed.
"Oh my God, she actually put his number on her back."
"Is she serious right now?"
"That's so desperate."
I felt Mia shift beside me, her presence grounding. Ashley and Zoe stood frozen, clearly not expecting this level of attention. But I'd made my choice. I'd spent weeks making this uniform, weeks planning this moment, and I wasn't going to back down now.
The music started—a pop song with a driving beat that I'd picked specifically because it was nothing like what Brooke's team had used. We weren't trying to be perfect. We weren't trying to be traditional. We were just trying to be real.
I lifted my arms and began the routine.
My body moved on autopilot, muscle memory taking over where my brain couldn't function. Kick, turn, clap, jump. The movements were simple compared to Brooke's elaborate stunts, but they were ours. I'd choreographed them myself, built them around what we could actually do rather than what looked impressive.
Halfway through, I made the choice that would either cement my reputation or destroy it completely. I turned to face Kieran's section directly, locked eyes with him across the field, and brought my hands together to form a heart.
The crowd lost it. Some people screamed in support. Others laughed like I'd just told the world's funniest joke. I heard Blake's voice cutting through the noise, loud and mocking, but I couldn't make out the words over the pounding of my heart.
Kieran hadn't moved. He sat perfectly still, but his gaze never wavered from mine, burning with something so raw and intense it felt like a physical touch across the distance between us.
Please don't hate me for this, I thought. Please understand what I'm trying to say.
The music ended. We held our final pose—simple, nothing fancy, just the four of us standing together with our arms raised. The applause that followed was scattered, confused, like the audience wasn't sure if we'd been good or if they'd just witnessed some kind of social suicide.
I didn't care. I'd done what I came here to do.
We jogged off the field, and I was already reaching for my warm-up jacket when Brooke stepped directly into our path. Her squad flanked her like backup dancers, all of them wearing identical expressions of barely concealed disgust.
"Well," Brooke said, her voice dripping with venom disguised as sugar. "That was certainly... something. I mean, I've seen desperate, Hayes, but this? This is a whole new level of pathetic."