Lead Me Home

1

The sun is beating down against my skin, reminding me to look down hesitantly at my sheet-pale shoulders between each kick, each cheer and each goal. Just to check that they're not turning a suspicious shade of red.

My best friend, Carly Mitchell; a petite girl with a face that says she might be a little wild, ginger curls tamed back into two messy pigtails and paint smudged across her freckled face reflecting the school spirit colours, elbows me in the ribs when her eyes catch me. "Stop it, your head swivelling is giving me a headache" her thick southern accent glides along the words and makes me glare at her out of the side of my eye.

I flick my eyes to my shoulders and mentally say goodbye to my smooth skin and hello to lathering on aloe vera later today. I give in to this Alabama summer heat and look over at the shorter girl. "I forgot sunscreen, I think I'm gonna die. You're gonna lose your best friend" I groan, stumbling dramatically into my best friend with a hand over my forehead.

Carly shakes her head with an amused smile and pushes me off of her. "You're so dramatic, G" she eyes me, and when her eyes flick to my shoulders I cross my arms.

"Stop looking! They're frying!" I bury my burning face into the palms on my hands with pure exaggerated grief. Carly laughs next to me and rolls her eyes through her false lashes at my dramatics. She's used to me by now.

Carly Mitchell has been my best friend since the day she taught me my first swear word under the slide of the local playground. I was 6, and went home to tell my religious southern raised mother that I had learnt a new word. Safe to say her eyes grew to saucers and I became friends with the corner wall of our kitchen.

Me and Carly have been attached at the hip ever since my mother allowed us to see each other again after praying for me.

"They are looking a little pink" Carly almost mocks, poking my shoulder and I smack her hand with an undignified gasp. I open my mouth to chew my best friend out, maybe tell her she should keep her eyes on her own skin considering her hair colour, but I'm cut off by the stands erupting in loud cheers and a blaring horn cutting through the air.

From the side of the field, both of our hands drop from annoying each other and our eyes snap up to the scoreboard. A touchdown. It puts us at a dead tie. I ruffle the poms in my hands as the tension in the stands grows. Everyone is holding their breath.

"Let's go Tigers, let's go!" We all step up and chant. I clap my poms, doing a few waves and jumps with a few cheers to keep spirit up. Across the field, my eye catches the reason I'm on the sidelines in the first place.

And that reason is looking right at me with that stupid twitch of his lips he always gets when he mocks me for being a cheerleader.

Brooks Adams. He's running across the field and taking off his helmet, chest bumping his friends. He wears his name across his back followed by the number 01. He's team captain, and the whole of Alabama Prep is in love with him.

He's your standard jock type.

Abnormally tall, dark curls that stick with sweat to his forehead, a charming smile and muscles that stick out at angles. But to me, he's just Brooks. My best friend since we were in diapers.

I shake my head and roll my eyes at his theatrics at the touchdown that wasn't even his own, he's celebrating like it was his own. He's celebrating a team win.

"Brooks is doing his victory lap" Carly laughs beside me and shoves me in the arm as we finish our cheer and I groan. "I swear that boy was put on this earth to annoy me" I grumble as Brooks turns and points at me like we're some long lost lovers with a cheeky smile, and I just flip him off. He laughs so loud I can almost hear him from the other side of the field.

Brooks' mother was best friends with my mother, and so we were thrust together straight out of the womb and destined to be best friends. It felt like forever that Brooks Adam's was just the sad kid who trailed behind me like a shadow. I hit my growth spurt at the ripe age of 8 years old and I stood in front of him like a shield to the bullying he got because of his braces and his acne.

But suddenly when we hit high school, he came back after a long summer of apparently going through the entirety of puberty. And he was a different Brooks. Still followed me like a shadow but now towered over me and created a shadow with his height. It was definitely a huge adjustment.

I keep shuffling my poms as the game continues. We're winding down into extra time and ever the cheer team, half of which have no idea of the inner working of football, and leaning forward in anticipation.

Brooks has the ball.

"Holy shit" Carly grasps my arm and digs her nails in but I don't wince, I grasp her right back and huddle close as we're tight with anticipation. The clock is ticking down. And it seems to be in slow motion that Brooks dodges players left and right, and after a look over his shoulder that looked suspiciously like it landed on the sidelines, he pummels the ball into the ground and the crowd goes wild.

In the hot Alabama sun, there's a moment of pause before the horn blares and the time stops. Then it feels like the whole school stampedes down onto that field in a flood of greens and blacks. Everyone whooping, cheering, hugging and celebrating. The rest of my fellow cheerleaders are all squealing, chatting amongst themselves about celebratory parties.

I look for an opening in the crowd, ignoring my friends, and I make a giggling sprint onto the field. A grin on my face. And his broad shoulders turn around just fast enough to catch me in his arms and spin me around "Oh my god, Brookie!" I scream as I hug him.

I've always had stupid nicknames for Brooks, and he's always been scared of what will come out of my mouth. Especially when I grow that wild grin and look up at him with sweat-slick hair like a gremlin.

"That one's tame for you, Georgie" he puts me down and ruffles my hair which makes me bat his hand away. He laughs as he looks down at me. "You're holding back on me" his smile is wide and familiar.

"Ugh, you're dripping on me" I grumble sarcastically and push him back weakly. Shaking my head in disgust and screaming when he deliberately shakes his hair like a dog and sprays sweat onto me, laughing loudly and clutching his stomach.

Looking up at him, something in my gut squeezes. If you were to ask me if me and him have ever been anything more, I would say it's difficult to explain. I would say I don't even know myself what I'm feeling.

"Come on, give your best friend another hug" he taunts, breaking me out of my thoughts, and I take off in a sprint away from him while squealing but he's got damn long legs. Unfair if you ask me. And he catches me around the waist from behind and tackles me to the ground.

"Not so fast, G" he whispers in my ear with a victorious grin and I groan loudly.

"No fair! Mercy!" I'm sure I'm getting some very questionable looks as I writhe on the field like one of those old Shakespearean characters.

He shakes his head and pulls both of us from the ground.

"Always dramatic" he teases and I smack his hand away as he goes to ruffle my hair again and I huff.

"I hate you" I grumble and stomp off in a huffing mess back towards the cheerleaders. I hear him call "hate you too, Georgie!" Across the crowd as he's engulfed in both teammates and fawning fans alike.

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