By Monday morning, Briarwick was still drunk on the Eagles win.

The whole school acted like they had personally tackled Fairmont into the ground. Boys replayed the final touchdown beside lockers. Freshmen yelled "Who owns the sky?" at random people in Ravens hoodies. Someone had printed a picture of the scoreboard and taped it to the trophy case with black and red ribbon.

Roxie walked toward the science wing with Karen and Angela, trying to look like she had slept more than four hours and was not thinking about Zac Prescott.

She was failing at one of those.

Karen scrolled through her phone as they walked. "This picture of us after the final chant is actually cute."

Angela leaned over. "Send it to me."

"I will after I crop Kendall."

Roxie looked at her. "Karen."

"What? She’s ruining the symmetry."

"She was standing beside us."

"That was her first mistake."

Angela laughed.

Roxie kept walking.

People kept calling out to them as they passed.

Karen blew them a kiss.

Angela looked embarrassed for all of them.

They reached Mr. Callahan’s room before the warning bell.

Roxie stepped inside first.

Then she stopped.

There was a drink on her table.

Cold cup. Whipped cream. Caramel drizzle. Some fall-flavored thing with a yellow sticky note on the side.

Karen almost bumped into Roxie’s back. "Why did we stop?"

Angela looked around her. "Oh."

Roxie stared at the cup.

Her first reaction was anger.

Her second reaction was that she wanted to look at him.

She stopped herself.

Instead, she walked to her table, pulled out her chair, and sat down like apology drinks appeared on her desk every Monday.

Karen and Angela took the seats in front of her, then turned around at the same time.

Karen’s eyebrows went up. "Pfft. He’s looking at you."

"Stop it," Roxie said, staring at the drink.

Angela glanced toward the back of the room. "He looks guilty."

Karen followed her gaze. "He looks like he got kicked out of his own party."

Roxie picked at the corner of the sticky note. "Both of you need hobbies."

Karen leaned closer. "Do not get dragged in by how he looks. You should punish him more."

Angela frowned. "Karen."

"What? I’m on Roxie’s side."

Roxie looked up. "That’s enough."

Karen’s mouth closed.

Angela’s expression shifted, quieter now.

That was worse.

Karen and Angela knew the easy version. Zac had pushed too far. Roxie had been angry. They had gone off somewhere to talk. He had stayed away from her for the rest of the night.

They did not know why the party mattered.

They did not know what he had said.

They did not know about her house or the ugly little pieces of Roxie’s life she had spent years keeping away from Briarwick.

That was the part that sat badly in her chest.

Karen and Angela had been her friends for years.

They had survived cheer drama, Kendall, locker room politics, cafeteria wars, Coach Miller’s moods, and enough pep rallies to qualify as community service.

Still, Zac knew things they didn’t.

That felt wrong.

It felt like betrayal, even though Roxie had done it to herself.

Angela touched the edge of Roxie’s desk. "You don’t have to drink it."

Roxie looked at the cup.

The sticky note stared back.

Sorry.

"I know," Roxie said.

Karen’s eyes narrowed. "You’re going to drink it."

"I didn’t say that."

"You moved it closer. Girl, you’re folding too fast."

"I moved it because it was sweating on the table."

"It has a napkin under it."

Roxie looked down. It did have a napkin under it.

Karen crossed her arms. "He thought of everything."

"Face front."

Karen turned around, but her shoulders were shaking.

Roxie peeled the sticky note off the cup and folded it once under the table.

She should have thrown it away.

Her hand tightened around it instead.

She could not just put it in the trash. What if someone nosy checked and started a new rumor?

She slipped it into the front pocket of her bag.

She was only doing this to avoid more drama.

Behind them, a group of girls came into the room, talking loudly enough for everyone to join whether they wanted to or not.

"I’m telling you, if we wait until homecoming week, all the cute dresses will be gone."

"That’s why we go this weekend."

"My mom said we can drive to Westbrook Mall."

Angela turned around fast. "Wait. We should go shopping for homecoming dresses."

Roxie’s stomach dropped.

Karen groaned. "It’s too early."

"It is not too early," Angela said. "The pretty ones will be gone, and then we’ll be stuck buying whatever has weird sleeves."

Karen made a face. "I hate weird sleeves."

"Exactly."

Angela turned back to Roxie. "We should go this weekend. All three of us."

Roxie looked at her notebook.

Homecoming meant a dress.

A dress meant money.

And the envelope she had been saving was empty.

The coins she counted on the gas counter had taken the last tiny bit of pride she had left that night. At least she had already paid Marcus back for the store credit.

She had enough for a cheap thrift-store dress if she got lucky, and even that was a maybe.

Going shopping with Karen and Angela meant real stores. Bright fitting rooms. Salesgirls asking if they needed sizes. Price tags Karen and Angela could complain about because buying was still an option for them.

Roxie would have to act picky.

Wrong color. Wrong shape. Cute, but not her.

The real answer was simpler.

She could not afford to stand there and pretend she was a normal teenager.

Roxie forced her face to stay easy. "I might be busy."

Karen turned in her chair. "Busy with what?"

"Things."

Angela smiled. "We can go Sunday too."

"I’ll check."

Karen studied her for another second. "You’re being weird."

"I’m sitting in chemistry before eight in the morning. Everyone is weird."

"That’s fair."

Roxie wrote the date at the top of her page even though her hand felt stiff.

Mr. Callahan walked in carrying a stack of papers and the expression of a man who had already given up on them.

"Phones away," he said. "If I see one replay of Friday night under your desk, I’m giving your phone to Coach Hayes and letting him yell at it."

A few students groaned.

Roxie opened her notebook.

She tried to listen.

She really did.

But the drink sat beside her hand, cold and expensive-looking, with that stupid napkin.

He had apologized.

Again.

She wanted to be mad about the drink.

She also wanted to drink it before the whipped cream melted.

Those two things made her want to throw it out the window.

She lasted twenty minutes.

Then she took one sip.

Pumpkin. Caramel. Cold. Sweet.

Karen heard the straw and turned around with the slowest smile on earth.

Roxie pointed her pen at her. "Face front."

Karen faced front, still smiling.

When the bell rang, she threw the empty cup away before anyone could comment. The folded sticky note stayed inside her bag.

Practice after school was worse.

Coach Miller had them on the mats first instead of the stadium. That already meant trouble, punishment, or some new version of pain disguised as athletics.

The whole squad stood in lines while he paced in front of them with his clipboard tucked under one arm.

Coach Miller stopped pacing. "Friday night was impressive."

A few younger girls smiled.

"Do not smile yet," he said.

The smiles disappeared.

He looked back at the squad. "You performed under pressure. You recovered from a mistake. The crowd remembered you."

He paused.

"You also used a regional move in front of Fairmont, half the town, and every phone in that stadium."

The gym went quiet.

Lacey looked at the floor.

Coach Miller’s voice sharpened. "So now we’re going to adjust."

Kendall’s eyes flicked toward Roxie.

Coach Miller pointed at the seniors first. "This is your last year."

"You can leave Briarwick with a routine everyone forgets by dinner, or you can make them remember exactly who owned the mat."

A few girls shifted.

Roxie looked at Coach Miller. "We want them to remember."

Kendall nodded. "Obviously."

Coach Miller’s mouth tightened like he expected that answer and wanted to punish them for being predictable. "Then expect harder lifts," he said. "Harder transitions. Cleaner timing. If you want risk, you earn it."

He pointed at the mats.

"Groups. Now."

Practice turned brutal fast.

The new lift was harder than the regional sequence. The count had to be cleaner. The bases had to move together. The flyer had less time to find balance. One late hand, one early dip, and the whole thing turned ugly.

The first attempt barely rose.

Coach Miller blew the whistle. "Down. Again."

The second attempt wobbled.

"Down. Again."

The third got higher, but the flyer’s foot shifted, and Angela called the cradle before Coach could shout.

Roxie’s arms hurt by the fifth attempt. Her thighs burned by the seventh. Sweat stuck to the back of her neck, and her ponytail kept slipping loose no matter how many pins she shoved into it.

Coach Miller stopped them after another rough landing. "You are rushing the dip. All of you. Count together or keep the flyer on the floor."

Roxie wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist.

Karen bent forward, hands on her knees. "We can graduate without a title."

Angela nodded, breathing hard. "If this continues, that might be a good plan."

Roxie almost smiled.

Coach Miller clapped. "Again."

They reset.

One.

Two.

Dip.

Up.

This time the lift rose clean.

The room reacted before Coach Miller did. A few girls gasped. Lacey clapped once before catching herself. Karen called the next count, Angela held steady, Kendall’s side stayed tight, and Roxie locked her eyes on the flyer until the cradle came down safe.

Clean catch.

Coach Miller waited.

Then he nodded once.

"Better."

The squad let out a breath.

Roxie rolled her shoulder and stepped back.

Her phone buzzed inside her bag near the wall.

She ignored it.

Coach Miller gave them a water break ten minutes later.

Roxie grabbed her bottle, drank fast, then checked her phone before she could talk herself out of it.

Zac.

Her heart hit once, hard enough to annoy her.

The message was short.

Zac: I’m sorry. I meant it. I’ll give you space.

Roxie stared at the screen.

The gym moved around her. Girls drank water. Coach Miller talked to Angela. Kendall fixed her ponytail in the mirror. Karen complained about her arms. Lacey practiced counts under her breath.

Roxie’s thumb hovered over the keyboard.

She wanted to reply. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

That made her angry.

He had done exactly what she asked. He had stayed away at the party. He had left the drink and the note. Now he was giving her space.

So why did it still feel like he was everywhere?

Karen dropped beside her on the floor. "Who texted?"

Roxie closed her phone fast. "Nobody."

Karen looked at her. "I don’t need you to say it. Your face says it all."

Roxie ignored her and grabbed her water bottle. "Break is almost over."

Karen studied her for another second.

Then, for once, she let it go.

Coach Miller blew his whistle. "Break over."

Roxie stood and walked back to the mat.

Her arms hurt. Her legs hurt. Her head was full of homecoming dresses, empty money, regionals, the folded yellow note in her bag, and Zac.

Especially Zac.

She took her place in the formation and lifted her chin.

Her phone stayed in her bag.

The message stayed unanswered.

And Roxie fought herself through every count not to reach for it.