LL

The music in the East Compton gym was always louder, more alive, than the pristine, perfectly counted tracks back at Rancho Carne. But tonight, the beat felt like it was thumping directly against my ribs. I leaned against the bleachers, pretending to adjust the bow in my hair just so I’d have an excuse to look at her. Isis. She was commanding the floor, her movements sharp, flawless, and completely mesmerizing. I was a Toros cheerleader—Torrance’s little sister, a sophomore trailing exactly one year behind her perfect, legacy-carrying shadow. By all the rules of the high school cheer pyramid, Isis was the sworn enemy. The Clovers were our rivals, the fierce crew my sister’s squad had been accidentally robbing for years. But looking at Isis now, rivalry was the absolute last thing on my mind. Suddenly, Isis caught my eye. The fierce, untouchable captain of the Clovers let out a soft laugh, breaking formation to jog over to where I stood. "Hey, Rancho Carne," Isis said, her voice dropping into that smooth, low tone that always made my stomach do a dangerous flip. She reached out, her fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "You look tense. Don't tell me the little Toro is getting cold feet before Nationals." "In your dreams, Isis," I fired back, though my cheeks flushed instantly. "We're ready for you." "Good," she whispered, leaning in just close enough that I could smell her vanilla perfume. "Because I like a challenge. See you outside after practice?" I nodded, completely breathless, watching her walk away with a triumphant smirk. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. What I didn't see, just a few feet away, was Jenelope watching the entire exchange with her arms crossed. Once Isis walked out of earshot, Jenelope cornered her by the equipment mats. "You're doing good, Isis," Jenelope muttered, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "The kid is completely whipped. By the time we hit Nationals next month, she’s going to be so distracted by