In Between Codes

Chapter 11

With hearts pounding and adrenaline surging, the squad stepped onto the field.

Tamy could feel the weight of every gaze—students, parents, teachers—all watching. But she pushed the pressure aside. She focused on her breath, on the rhythm of the music, on the joy of movement. She smiled wide, radiating energy and grace, determined to embody the femininity and strength she'd worked so hard to claim.

Performing on grass was a curveball. Their practices had always been indoors, and the uneven surface threatened to throw off their timing. Tamy stumbled once—just barely—but caught herself before it showed. Step by step, move by move, she nailed it.

When the final pose landed, the team erupted in celebration. Cheers, hugs, laughter. Laura threw her arms around Tamy, and they jumped together, giddy with pride. They had done it. Every hour of practice had paid off. They felt ready—not just for this moment, but for the competition ahead.

But then Stephanie called them to the sidelines. The Wild Cats' cheer squad was about to perform.

What followed wasn't just a routine—it was a spectacle.

Their cheerleaders launched into a full-blown gymnastics display: aerial flips, pirouettes, synchronized spins that defied gravity. It was polished, powerful, and leagues beyond anything Tamy's team had prepared. One by one, the smiles faded. Tamy, Stephanie, Laura—all of them watched in stunned silence. The realization hit hard: they weren't ready for their competition. Not yet.

And as if the emotional blow wasn't enough, the Wild Cats scored just as the second half started..

The stadium fell into a hush. Only a small pocket of fans dressed in black stood and cheered, their voices slicing through the silence like a knife.

But the Dragons weren't ready to surrender. With grit in their hearts and fire in their legs, they pressed forward, carving out three golden chances to score. But each time, the ball veered wide, or was snatched by the Wild Cats' goalkeeper. The crowd groaned. The tension was unbearable.

And then, just as the Dragons hit their stride, disaster struck.

A foul near the box gave the Wild Cats a free kick. The shot was flawless—curving past the wall and into the net. 2–0. Only fifteen minutes left.

It was a dagger to the heart.

The stands began to thin. Parents gathered their things. Students slumped in their seats. The energy drained from the field like air from a balloon. It felt over.

But not to Tamy.

As if something deep inside her had snapped awake, she stepped forward. Alone. She began to chant—softly at first, then louder. Her voice rang out across the field, defiant and clear. She moved into a small routine, pom-poms flashing, feet dancing, heart pounding.

"Rise up, Dragons, feel the flame! We fight, we fly, we win this game!"

It was a lonely sound. A fragile flame in a storm.

Some people laughed. Others whispered. Tamy heard it all—Moe's cruel shout, "She's actually a man," the murmurs of judgment, the sting of rejection. Even her teammates hesitated, unsure whether to join or shrink away.

But Tamy didn't stop.

She kept cheering. Kept moving. Kept believing.

And then, something shifted.

Laura stepped forward. Then Stephanie. They couldn't bear to see their friend standing alone, pouring her soul into the silence. They joined her, voices rising, movements syncing. One by one, the rest of the squad followed. The rhythm grew stronger. The chants louder.