It’s not that I don’t like Melissa. I’ve known the girl half my life, and while neither of us has ever excelled at friendship—especially me—we’ve always done a good job of playing the part for each other. But what Melissa doesn’t get is that in order for me to succeed, she must fail. At least in regard to our school’s dance team, the Clover City High School Shamrocks. We’re textbook frenemies, and I don’t even mean that in a bad way. But next year, only one of us can be captain.
I rotate my neck, my cheek hovering over the floor. Yep, still smells like balls down here. Hanging just above us are various athletic banners, boasting of district championships and even a couple of state wins, too.
The biggest banner watching over us, though, is practically a family heirloom. The title of 1992 National Dance Team Champions belongs to none other than the CCHS Shamrocks. Not only was it the only time we won Nationals in any sport, it was the only time CCHS made it to a nationwide competition at all. And the most extraordinary part? The team was led by my mother. It also happened to be the year a huge judging scandal was uncovered in the dance world, on all levels from district to Nationals. Lots of teams were temporarily banned, but I’ve seen the tapes. The 1992 Shamrocks were on fire.
The Rams, our football team, has one of the worst records in Texas, and still they get a brand-new state-of-the-art indoor training facility, while the Shamrocks, the most winning team on campus, are relegated to practicing in the band room. Like my mama says, if it smells like bullshit, it probably is.
“Sam is late again,” Melissa tells me over the cacophony of female voices echoing through the gymnasium.
“You wanna be the one to call her out?” I ask.
Melissa rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Sam is a senior and our team captain. What Melissa doesn’t get is that Sam is late on purpose. She’s testing us. Melissa and I are both second in command to Sam, as co–assistant captains, which means we are next in line to the throne, but only one will ascend. And I never lose.
Until then the two of us have to do a pretty decent job of working as a team, at least until Sam is ready to name her replacement.
But it’s not all competition. Pieces of what Melissa and I have are the real deal. Like when her parents got divorced in ninth grade and she spent three weeks at my house, because things at home were way too lethal. Or the time Mrs. Gutierrez, Melissa’s mom, began speaking to me in Spanish when she found out I was half Mexican. I was a little embarrassed because I can only pick up on a few words here and there and I’m definitely not confident enough to have a conversation. Melissa, on the other hand, comes from a large, traditional Mexican family. In fact, they lived here before Clover City could even be considered Texas. I swear, she could speak Spanish and read English while doing a Shamrock routine at the same time. But when Melissa saw my cheeks flush, she cut in, casually translating what her mom had just said. She never even brought it up after. Just pretended like nothing had happened.
Melissa pulls me even deeper into the stretch. “We’re supposed to meet with Mrs. Driskil after practice.” I twist my hands free and pop up on my feet.
“Whatever,” she says. “That woman’s just phoning it in. She doesn’t care about being our faculty sponsor. All she cares about is the stipend from the district.”
“It’d be so much worse if she actually gave a shit, though,” I remind her. “Remember when she suddenly decided our bikini car wash was inappropriate and she made us do the whole thing in rain ponchos?”
Melissa laughs. “Okay, that was totally tragic. But it was hilarious when you just cut circle holes around your boobs and ass. She had no idea what to say.” She laughs again, pointing a finger at me as she imitates Mrs. Driskil. “Young lady, your goodies are hanging out.”
I bump hips with her. “At least my goods are worth seeing,” I say. “Voted Best Ass three years running and Hottest of Them All this year. Don’t you forget it.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, we know. You would never let any of us forget. All hail Callie Reyes’s ass.”
I grin devilishly and clap my hands together once, silencing the rest of the team’s chitchat. “Y’all! Let’s get this going. Sam’s running a little behind, so we’re gonna start. Melissa,” I call, “cue the music.”
I begin rotating my hips a little to loosen up. “Okay, ladies, State is in three weeks, and we’ve got some serious ground to cover. We slayed at Regionals, but let’s be real: our competition wasn’t stacked the way we know it will be at State. So let’s run through the routine two or three times, and then I’m going to step out and diagnose the problem areas.”
The music starts. It’s the perfect mash-up of pop songs everyone knows by heart and EDM that no one has ever heard of. Sam’s got good taste. The opening verse of “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. kicks us off.
I close my eyes for the first few counts. I can practically feel the San Francisco breeze. I’ve never actually been to San Francisco. In fact the only person in my family who’s been farther west than New Mexico is my older sister, Claudia, who went to San Diego for an opera singing competition when she was still in high school. But since Nationals are in San Francisco this year, that won’t be the case for long. Last year we came in a heartbreaking second place at State, but Copper Hill, the team that took first place, is in total shambles after half their team was caught hazing their incoming freshmen.
My plan is to at least make it to Nationals, so we can build early momentum for next year. Maybe we’ll even place. And then next year, we’ll be in Miami for my senior year, and I’ll lead the team to first place. I’ll be accepted at the college of my choice, and I’ll get the hell out of Clover City before the ink on my diploma even has a chance to dry. That’s the plan.
I enter the stage—well, actually the gymnasium floor—in the second wave of dancers. Our first run-through is a little clunky, but it’s only our first go, and yesterday was a conditioning day. Already I can feel Melissa’s frustration mounting. If she had it her way, she’d have torn into these girls already. But that’s also why she’d be a shitty captain.
“Okay!” I shout the moment the music stops. “That was a decent warm-up, but we gotta pick up the pace. I think some of you are still having trouble with that triple pirouette. Jess, can you get out here and show us how it’s done?”
Jess, a tall black sophomore and my pick for captain when I’m out of this hell hole, steps forward. She spins and spots effortlessly, which is most likely because she moved here from Dallas, where she went to some fancy-ass ballet school. The rest of us grew up at good old Dance Locomotive, which isn’t really known for putting out quality dancers.
Jess slows it down and answers a few questions about momentum, hand placement, and spotting before we do our routine a couple more times. After that, Melissa and I sit out and watch, taking notes.
“I’m still not sure about that jeté combo,” Melissa says. “I just don’t think we can get even height on the jump. I mean, Jess’s jump is way too high. She has to scale that back for the rest of us.”
This choreography is my baby, and Melissa knows it. “Maybe it’s not about changing the choreography,” I say. “Maybe we just all need to be better. Like Jess.” I turn to her. “And do you wanna be the one to challenge Sam?”
Melissa shakes her head. “You’re right.”
After we give our notes, the whole team stands in a huddle before we break for the lockers.
“Look at all those tight asses!” Sam shouts as she jogs in to meet us. Sam is the kind of girl who, unlike me, actually looks like she could be related to my blond mom and even blonder little sister, and a small part of me hates her for that. Tall, white, strawberry-blond hair, and a straight frame built for ballet and the type of dresses that just graze your skin.
Sam squeezes into the circle. “Sorry I’m late, ladies. Had a few captain admin things to attend to.”
I step aside to give her the floor. The key to a successful transition of power? Always know your place.
She smiles at me. “Wrap it up, Cal. You got this.”