Nobody could prove who had done it.
Coach Avery called an emergency team meeting.
“If I find out anyone on this squad is responsible, you are off the team.”
Nobody spoke.
Samantha sat with her arms folded.
Zaria watched her.
For the first time, she began wondering whether finishing the showcase was worth it.
She told Monica that evening.
Her mother listened.
Then she asked, “What do you want to do?”
“I want Friday to be over.”
“That isn’t the same as wanting to quit.”
“Then decide which one you mean.”
Zaria went upstairs.
She stood in front of her bedroom mirror for a long time.
Part of her wanted to walk away simply to regain peace.
Another part hated the idea that harassment could successfully remove her from something she had agreed to finish.
Finally, she opened her practice bag.
She took out the black shoes that had been placed in the trash.
She cleaned the soles.
Friday arrived.
The showcase went perfectly.
Zaria hit every tumbling pass.
Emily completed the stunt sequence without a mistake.
Samantha performed well.
When the final music stopped, the entire gym rose.
For four minutes, nothing else mattered.
Zaria remembered why she had once loved performing.
Not the uniforms.
Not popularity.
The feeling of twenty people executing separate movements until they became one thing.
Afterward, Coach Avery hugged her.
“You saved that routine.”
“We all did it.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
College recruiters spoke briefly with several athletes.
One asked Zaria whether she intended to cheer in college.
Samantha heard.
Zaria saw her listening.
“No,” Zaria told the recruiter.
“I’m probably done.”
He handed her a card anyway.
“If you change your mind.”
Zaria put it inside her bag.
She thought the conflict was over.
The showcase had passed.
Her temporary role was finished.
She was wrong.
Monday afternoon, Zaria returned to the locker corridor because she had left a black sweatshirt in the temporary locker assigned to her.
Most students had already gone home.
Cheer practice would begin in twenty minutes.
Zaria opened the locker.
The sweatshirt was there.
So was a plastic food container she did not recognize.
She picked it up.
The lid had cracked.
Old pasta and sauce had leaked into the bottom of the locker.
Zaria stared at it.
Then laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because she was tired.
She carried the container toward the large trash can near the end of the hallway.
That was when she heard voices.
Samantha entered with two cheerleaders.
One was Tiffany Lane, a senior.
The other was Brooke Ellis, a junior.
All three were already wearing red-and-white practice uniforms.
Tiffany saw the container in Zaria’s hand.
She laughed.
“Cleaning up again?”
Zaria did not answer.
She dumped the food into the trash.
Brooke whispered something.
Samantha smiled.
Zaria placed the empty container beside the can.
Then she turned.
“You know what?”
Samantha raised an eyebrow.
“I’m done pretending this is funny.”
Tiffany pulled out her phone.
Samantha stepped forward.
“What are you talking about?”
“The locker.”
“You’re blaming me again?”
“I didn’t say your name.”
Zaria almost laughed.
They had had this exact conversation before.
She faced her directly.
“I am.”
The hallway was narrow.
Lockers lined one side.
A long wooden bench ran along the other.
Brooke and Tiffany remained behind Samantha.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
Samantha seemed disappointed.
“I’m leaving.”
Zaria picked up her black bag.