Chapter 6: Jaylee

In the last class, I hurriedly left and texted Samantha that I had a late practice.

I'm afraid to tell her I can't be seen with her. Amber words. She'd ask me to choose between her and being a Hot Shot member. I love Samantha, but I always dreamed of being a part of the team, and now I am. I can't drop it so easily.

Amber is a devoted cheerleader and, as a nerd, obsessed with receiving high grades in every subject. Practice goes on for 4 hours. I was breathless on the gymnasium floor when we were finally through.

"You did great." Amber extended a hand to help me up.

I smiled while taking it.

We take a quick shower in the girl's locker room and arrange to meet again at the same time tomorrow.

The place is almost dark when I go outside.

Without asking if I needed a ride, everyone got into a car with their partner and drove off, leaving me alone.

I try calling my mom, but it goes straight to voicemail.

I guess I'd have to take a taxi. I go from the school compound to the bank of the road.

I try calling my mom again, hoping she will pick up this time, but still no answer.

"What a good mom you are for not caring about where your daughter is at this time." My voice rises in anger.

As I turn, I am stunned to see the guy I'm dared to kiss in the corridor driving a dark red Chevrolet car past me. One of his hands hangs from his car, and he smirks when he sees me in a cocky way.

My heart skips a beat at his reaction.

He stops his car before me.

"I'm heading straight, going my way," he asks.

I am tempted to remove the nerdish glass that is obstructing his attractive appearance, even though he is adorable.

"No," I say.

I was heading straight as well, but I was bothered that he saw me as a loose girl and wanted me in his car, hoping to have a good time with me.

"By offering you a ride, I'm not flirting with you," he states after observing my expression.

"I see a girl alone, and I want to help by asking her for a ride."

He's driving away.

"Wait," I stop him.

"I'm going your way," I say.

As I walk around his car to the front seat, he extends his body to open the door.

I get in, and he drives off.

The inside of the car is unlit—not enough for me to steal a glimpse of him. He fixed his attention on the road.

"So, you're a new student here?" I ask.

"Yes," he says.

His voice was raspy and manly enough for me and probably for all the girls he kissed.

"It's strange for a new student to be leaving school late, so soon." I'm curious why he's just leaving the compound.

No club goes on so late; training for sports and cheerleaders, yes, but never a club.

"And it's strange for a girl begging a guy she doesn't know an eerie dare to join some cheerleading team," he says.

He gets me on that one, and so I shut up, seeing that he isn't in any mood to talk.

A guy would be happy to be alone with a cheerleader, and I'm curious about his past life at his former high school. I could never ask that.

The car was producing a rattling sound, raising my concern.

"What is happening?" I ask.

The car slows down next to a gas station. He frightened me when he hit the wheel in frustration.

"Why do you have to break down now?" he complains, getting out of the car.

"Should I come out as well?" I wonder if I should.

I didn't know anything about a car, and though the car was going to explode, I felt it was best to safely get away from it.

"No, stay," he orders.

I sat worried and watched him as he went to lift the hood of the car.

I heard him tut in annoyance.

"What is wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says, and soon he's coming from the hood of the car and shoves his sweater in the back seat. I spot the lubricant stain on his sweater right after eyeing his long athletic arms, and I'm left open-mouthed to see a dark tribal tattoo that looks like a flash of lightning on both of his inner arms.

"Give me a minute," he says, returning to repair the car.

He isn't a nerd. He can never be. I observe his back as he walks away. It broadens with layers of muscle and makes the neck wider at the base. He's fit for a nerd. No nerd I've known has a muscular body. They were too busy training their brains, and, worst of all, they would never get a tattoo.

Like a kid awoken by the sight of sweets, I lean into the seat to glimpse his body. He reclines over the car; his eyes focus on whatever he is doing, and his hands toil. My gaze halts at his chest, jutting from his white t-shirt. His body rises, and I pretend as if I weren't watching him. The hood of the car locks, and he goes to the bathroom. He returns, no longer having an oily hand.

He gets in the car, and I watch his tattooed hand turn on the engine and thrust the gearstick, going back onto the road. I'm burning with curiosity if there's more tattoos beneath his shirt.

"How far is your home?" he asks, his eyes focused on the road.

"5 minutes away," I say.

I received a message on my phone. Amber texted me in the squad group.

I'm sorry, I went off without asking you for a ride. She texted.

I smile before answering it. It is thoughtful of her.

It's okay. I got a ride, and I texted back.

Our conversation ends with a smiling emoji.

"This is my stop here," I say.

I realize that I didn't get his name. I was too bewitched by his body to ask him.

The car slows down at my house—a white 2-story house with neatly trimmed lawn grasses.

"I'm Jaylee, by the way, and your name is," I say before leaving the car.

"Nate," he responds.

I thank him and leave the car.

I watch his car as it drives off, slowly vanishing into the distance.