Backseat Serenade

PROLOGUE: got my heartbeat racing

APRIL, LAST SEASON

BLAIRE

🫀

A wave of rancid air hits me as Skylar hunches over the toilet and retches, her pale shoulders convulsing violently. Wincing, I try to keep as much distance between myself and the source of the acrid stench of vomit as humanly possible whilst holding back her mussed brown hair and rubbing comforting circles over her back. Beyond  the bathroom stall, the music in the club is a canned echo, fading in and out as the door to the women's  restroom swings open and shut with a plaintive groan as girls come and go.

"Blaire..." Skylar croaks, her red-rimmed eyes shiny with tears and guilt as I hand her a tissue to wipe her mouth with. Inebriated, Skylar had seemingly regressed into the form of a baby, and as much as I wanted to get back to slinging shots with Addy and the seniors, I couldn't find it in myself to leave her behind. "Blaire,  I'm sorry..."

"Don't talk," I sigh, my tone firm, equal parts exasperated and affectionate. "Just get it all out and we'll get  you some water, okay?" 

It's definitely too early to be this drunk, especially since we'd just made it to the club, but it's a universal  fact, widely known to the cheerleading team since the day we joined, that Skylar Quinn always takes it too  far on a night out. Which makes it my job, as one of the club's co-social secretaries, to make sure she hasn't  succumbed to alcohol poisoning. 

Here's the kicker: we'd just lost our last competition of the season, not by a point margin, but by a horrific  disqualification, which means that Skylar wouldn't be the only one who's out of it tonight. Still, I know the  moment we get some water into her, she'll be up and back on the dance floor in no time. Rinse and repeat.

So, while I'm out here running damage control and trying to keep all these girls alive, or, at least in a state  where they wouldn't regret any of the choices they make tonight, I don't have time to mourn the fact that I  am excruciatingly sober on our last night out with the whole team for the academic year.

"No..." Skylar whines, sniffing slightly. "No, not about this. I should've been better. I'm sorry, B. I let it drop."

Lips pulling into a tight line, I can only give Skylar a stiff nod as she whips back around and sprays another  disgusting jet of vomit into the toilet. As one of my bases, I'd trusted Skylar with many things. I trusted her  to toss me ten, twenty feet into the air and to catch me when I fell. I trusted her to save every stunt, to keep  me up in the air, a Titan at my feet, and more than anything, I trusted her with my life.

During our main stunts, Skylar had slackened her grip, had let me slip through her fingers, so the stunt wobbled and eventually went into a slow topple. I hadn't been that upset, considering there wasn't much I  could do as a flyer except play it off since all eyes were on me at the moment, but I knew that Skylar would  be beating herself up for costing us that fraction of a point where I should've been in the air a couple counts  longer. The mistake was obvious enough that our captain, Emily, wouldn't have been able to argue with the  judges for a recovery point.

Granted, that wasn't even the worst part, but I didn't feel like rehashing the events of yesterday's horrific  loss. 

On the bus back from Nottingham, a crestfallen silence had befallen us, the air stiff with a chemical, emotional tension. Most of the girls on the team were seniors in their final year of university, meaning, like  Skylar, they wouldn't have another chance to redeem themselves. For them the entire year, we'd poured our blood, sweat and tears into our routine, which had been so solid we'd taken first place in Regionals, then again in Nationals. We'd expected to take the win, like we usually did, at Championships, riding on the high of our strong start and hungry to round out our season with another strong finish.