Silla's Busting Advanture

  Part 1 — Erin’s POV I was sitting in the cheerleaders’ room, our so-called headquarters, a space that smelled like hair spray, perfume, and faint traces of sweat from endless routines. The walls were lined with mirrors from floor to ceiling, making everything look bigger than it was, like we were practicing inside a glittering fishbowl. The trophies sparkled from the cabinet in the corner, relics of championships we’d won back when we still believed our only purpose was to make the football boys look good. The mats were rolled up, the pom-poms stuffed into bins, and the speakers still had Ariana Grande queued up from last night’s practice. It was our world, our refuge — the one place in Hawthorne Ridge High where boys weren’t allowed to swagger in and stink it up with their cologne and cocky grins. If you asked me why I even joined cheerleading in the first place, I’d probably give you the honest answer: boys. I was sixteen, hormonal, and eager to catch the attention of someo...

  Part 5: The Cup The ring smelled like rubber and spotlight heat. The ropes gleamed under the white-hot lights, taut like the strings of some cruel instrument. My boots squeaked against the mat as I stepped inside, and for a second, just a second, I felt like I belonged here. Not as a fighter—I was no fighter—but as a spectacle. And tonight spectacle was enough. I shook my hips as if I were loosening tension, but really I was trying to feel the weight of the cup. It hugged me tight, snug against denim that squeaked faintly when I bent. I grabbed the mic suspended from above and gave my groin a little shake like Elvis, announcing to the entire arena, “Men are ready to be the winners tonight!” The crowd split instantly: a wave of male voices roaring their approval, and an equally sharp volley of female cheers crashing back in Sabrina’s favor. On one side of the ring, I caught my dad pumping his fist in the air like this was a hockey game in ‘94. Mr. Carpenter, traitor turned a...