I press the lock code from memory, my brain not even registering the numbers before the metal locker door swings open. A purple pen drops from one of the disorganised top shelves of the narrow space, falling onto the featureless tiles with a click. I ignore the pen, shoving my notepad into my locker, increasing the already hastily stacked pile of books.

There are two shelves on the upper part, a mess of colourful notebooks and textbooks, markers, highlighters, and pencils. A half-used chapstick lays forlornly alone in the corner, next to my three-quarter litre water bottle. I pull it out, and then I hook my fingers into the stars of my duffel bag at the bottom of the locker, yanking it out.

I kick my pen into the now cleared space, letting it thwack against the back of the locker.

Poor guy, I think sorrowfully as I shut the door. To get kicked around like that.

I hike the duffel bag onto my shoulder and untangle the earphones I store in the side compartment. Plugging it into my phone, I hit my favourite playlist and start walking out of the busy hallway. School finished uneventfully, no big first-day fights or sad announcements, SRC campaigns or sports events. The first day was awfully ... anticlimactic.

And I was all for it.

I headed to the back of the school, the strong scent of freshly lawned grass and painted track drawing me in. This side of the school was quiet, leaves rustled in the quiet, cold breeze, and a bird came from high up in one of the trees. The grounds were empty, the grass unnervingly bright, and I dumped the duffel bag on the bleachers at the far end of the lined field.

The cheer coach was here already, but I saw none of the team. Speaking of which – I didn't see anyone from the football team or staff present, as well.

"Good afternoon, Carey," Coach Grey tells me with a hint of a smile. "How are you?"

"Afternoon, ma'am," I incline my head, rubbing a sore spot on my shoulder. "I'm good. I would've been better if there wasn't any school today."

Coach's smile widens. She's always liked me, even though I wasn't even a cheerleader. A tall, intimidating woman, Coach Grey was not a person to be messed with. A straight-to-the-point, no-nonsense lady, who trained the girls (and some boys) vigorously. She took cheer extremely seriously, and those who mocked it old often face her ferocious wrath.

If not a cheer coach one might assume Coach Grey was the warden at a women's prison.

"Good to see you, Carey," Coach grants me reprieve for my ill-timed joke.

"Likewise," I grin. "So, what's on today's agenda?"

Grey gets out her clipboard as the cheer team starts filling in from the change rooms, along with the football jocks. They're all dressed in uniforms, orange, and white stripes with the emblem of a fox to represent our school. The footballers hold helmets under their arms, and some are still tugging on their cleats, whilst the cheer kids swish their skirts or chat with the two boys on the cheer team.

The anticipation in the air builds up as feet touch the field, adrenaline seeping into the air like fog and excitement making everyone giddy with hyperactivity. The energy is contagious as some cheerleaders do spontaneous somersaults, and the jocks whistle. Laughter bubbles, hands are high-fived, and fist pumped, arms linked as the school's sports team matches onto the field, united as a front. Words of welcome are exchanged amongst them, voices floating in a cacophony.

"Hey!"

"It's nice to see you!"

"Yo, what's up?"

"Dude, it's been ages!"

"How were your holidays?"

The football coach, Ashwood steps out from between the flock of orange and white and blows his whistle. Silence falls over his team – a funeral cloak shrouding the happiness, snuffing out the light. I notice Jake amongst his group of friends, but someone is missing.

"Boys, with me!" Ashwood yells, yanking his squad to the other side of the field.

My eyes follow Jake as pulls on his helmet and kisses Clarissa on the mouth. A match made in heaven the two of them and Junior year's power couple. They've been going out since freshman year, a romance that the whole school revered.

"Ooh!" Several girls sigh dramatically as the IT couple whispers to each other, Jake all big smiles and Clarissa softly giggling.

My lips turn up in the corners at the sight. Clarissa and Jake are perfect for each other, and I mean that in the best way possible. It's not that they're just outrageously good-looking, and very popular, but also because they're two of the nicest people on the face of the planet. Jake was unnecessarily nice to me this morning, and from every interaction I've had with Clarissa, I know she's equally as sweet.

"Settle down, everyone," Coach Grey's voice booms as she steps forward. Her smile is gone, and her lips are pulled into a grim line, her eyes sharp as a Hawk. "And step into a line."

At once, the cheer squad are obeying her orders, shuffling as they stand in formation. Clarissa is in the front and centre, taking the lead as cheer captain, and I spot a couple of other familiar faces flanking her. Rosa, a short, pretty girl with dark skin and big hair, Lisa, with her tall, slender frame and pale skin. Dale stands with his girlfriend Bree, and next to them is Felicity, a freshman girl I know from my neighbourhood.

"Afternoon, everyone," Coach Grey greets the gathering, already enrapturing everyone's attention as she speaks calmly. Her posture is confident, self-assured, with her hands behind her back and her chin raised. "Ready for cheer?"

"Yes, ma'am!" The cheer squad roars in perfect harmony.

"Good," Coach tips her head, pleased at the energy. "We have a lot to go over for this semester, but first I need to speak with Coach Ashwood about this year's formation, in the meantime start stretching."

Grey then turns to me. "Get them started, Hudson."

"Yes, ma'am," I stand straighter, clipboard at hand. I cannot choose to hide in the shadows right now.

"And give them their kits."

"On it."

Clarissa is the first to move when Coach leaves, taking her cue to start the warm-ups. No one acknowledges me, thankfully, and I look over the clipboard, reading out coach's instructions for today. As a requirement, our school demands that each student must be part of one sports team. For what reason, I don't know.

And since I'm incapable of physical activity due to unfit laziness (and I'm awfully underweight according to my doctor), I chose cheer. Not to participate, of course, because that requires strenuous activity I'm not cut out for – but to be Grey's assistant coach. I'm honestly lucky to have landed such a role. And even luckier that the school allows my little loophole.

"Carey, hey," Clarissa walks up to me, hands on her hips.

"Hi," I reply guardedly.

She already started the stretching exercises with the others, basics to get them back into routine and now most of the team was warming up with push-ups. Across the field, I notice the football boys doing the same in their tracksuits. To my surprise, however – I realised I haven't seen Nash.

He's on the football team. I'm sure of it. So why'd he miss practice?

"What does Coach have for us today?" Clarissa asks, dragging me back to this side of the field as she pushes back her long caramel-brown hair into a ponytail.

"The usual warm-ups. Planks, push-ups, squats and stretching," I show her the clipboard with diagrams of different cheer routines and formations sketched haphazardly in pencil. Scratches and illegible markings splatter the page in dark grey. "This is what she wants to work on."

Clarissa turns to have a better look, ocean-blue eyes roaming over the page. She frowns a little, the mark denting her clear skin.

"What does it say here?" She taps a manicured finger on one of the scrawled words.

I cock my head a bit. "Handspring."

"Okay," Clarissa nods, studying the page a little longer. "Any other formations?"

I flip the page only to see a blank brown board.

"Nope," I shake my head. "I think she wants you guys to work on the basics. Get back into shape and all that."

"I guess that makes sense," Clarissa doesn't sound convinced, but she doesn't push it either. "Okay. Thanks, Carey"

"No problem," I put the clipboard on the bleacher and unzip the duffel bag. Clarissa starts calling out names, pulling everyone into formation with a few words. I empty out the orange and white pom poms and the plastic throwaway cups for the water tank.

"Here you guys are," I hold up two pom poms feeling ridiculous. I had nothing against gear, honestly, but it what's something I'd do for fun. Or as a sport. It seemed kind of silly, standing on the sidelines and yelling for your team, showing off when you could be doing the same thing from the bleachers within the sheltered comfort of the crowd around you.

"Nice pose," Chip grins when I toss him his cheer stuff.

"Nice catch," I smirk. There's no meaning to it. Chip is charming like this with everyone.

Chip and Dale. Twin Senior guys who were on the cheer team. They were poster boys for being bullied except the brothers never were, as far as I know – maybe it's because they're both broad and tall enough to take on a football player. And it doesn't hurt that they're both insanely handsome with their red hair and mischievous grins.

If it wasn't for the fact that Chip had silver piercings in his right ear, I would have never known the difference between the two. Now that Dale has a girlfriend though, it does make things a touch easier. Chip is the biggest flirt I've ever met, charming and full of nonsense, though I secretly wonder if it's because he has a girlfriend from another school.

He's got Finnick Odair written all over him.

"I know, right? I should try out for the football team," he says because everyone on the squad knows how much he hates playing football.

"You should, you'd be great," I say. "And the squad would do better too."

He gapes at me, mock hurt and throws a pom pom.

"Hey!" I warn, catching the item before it hits my face.

"Nice catch. Maybe you should try out for the football team," his grin grows bigger.

"Maybe I should," I say vaguely. Chip doesn't say a word, his green eyes alight with mischief. He's cute sure, but he wears his emotions on his sleeve.

Which means he could be the nicest happiest person on his good days but a truly descale person on his bad. It was inconsistent. Erratic. Something I hated.

Unlike Nash. I small part of my brain whispered wickedly. And I wondered what exactly made me think of him.