Read Online Two Steps Back by Belle Payton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Belle Payton
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the edge of the bench tightly and waited. Was this a repeat of last year? Would it be ruled a touchdown? Had Greg gotten the ball across the line before he went out of bounds?
The crowd held its collective breath.
The refâs arms shot up.
Touchdown. The Cubs were ahead 12â7 and the clock read 0 seconds left to play.
The Ashland side roared and cheered. Then everyoneâs eyes focused on the cheerleaders. How would they respond?
Ava looked too. They were all standing up now. The Briar Ridge and Ashland cheerleaders were all standing together in a long line, linking elbows. A sign of unity? Ava wondered. Cameras flashed. The cheerleaders were definitely as big a story as the game being played on the field.
After the game, Ava walked with her team toward the locker room. As the rest of her teammates veered to the left to go change in the boysâ lockers, Ava turned to the right and stopped short. A big crew of reporters was standing in front of the doorway to the girlsâ locker room, waiting for her. Her heart sank. They barricaded the doorway, trying to force her to stop to talk, but she didnât want to talk.
âAva! Ava!â They all shouted questions at her. âCan you tell us about your decision to sit out? How do you feel about the fact that the game was played without you? Did you know about the cheerleadersâ protest ahead of time?â
Her father appeared out of nowhere and took Ava by the elbow.
âLet her into the locker room, please,â Coach said, cordially but firmly.
Avaâs heart swelled with gratitude to her father. How had he known theyâd be there?
As she entered, she glanced behind to see the reporters swarming around Coach.
âCoach Sackett! How do you feel about your daughter not being permitted to play?â
âWas it her idea or yours that she sit this one out?â
âWill this hurt Briar Ridge players in future recruiting decisions made by you and your staff?â
The voices faded away as the door to Avaâs locker room closed.
Alex locked her bike to a conveniently located bike rack, and then headed around to the side of a building, to the black stage door of the Press, as Tommy had instructed her. Inside it was dark after the bright sun outside, and her eyes took a minute to adjust. When they did, she found herself standing in a dim entryway. The black-painted wood floor was battered and scuffed. A velvet-curtained doorway led the way up a short flight of wooden steps to the performance area. She could hear music playing. Amazing music. She recognized Tommyâs piano part, having heard him practicing on his keyboard practically every night. But it sounded so much better on a real piano. No wonder he kept hounding their parents for one.
Alex rechecked her message from Marcy Maxon. Marcy had been lukewarm about Alexâs new idea, to do her piece about Tommy and his trio, but at least she hadnât said no. Alex clicked through to read the text for the tenth time:
Itâs not as strong as the football story. But Iâm willing to send my crew to film. If you can frame it as âCoach Sackettâs son, the artist born into an athletic family,â well then, possibly. But if I donât think the piece is good enough to air, I want you to know I wonât hesitate to kill it.
Alex cringed at the last sentence. Did journalists have to use violent metaphors like âkillâ? She swallowed. This would have to be a good story.
The music ended just as she poked her head through the side curtain. Tommy looked up. âYo, Alex!â he called. âCome meet my partners in crime. This is Harley and thatâs Jackson.â
Harley twirled her big double bass on its metal foot, and then turned and smiled at Alex.
Forget Marcy Maxon! Alex immediately decided that her new ambition was to look, dress, and act exactly like Harley by the time she was in high school, if not sooner. She goggled at the girl,
The crowd held its collective breath.
The refâs arms shot up.
Touchdown. The Cubs were ahead 12â7 and the clock read 0 seconds left to play.
The Ashland side roared and cheered. Then everyoneâs eyes focused on the cheerleaders. How would they respond?
Ava looked too. They were all standing up now. The Briar Ridge and Ashland cheerleaders were all standing together in a long line, linking elbows. A sign of unity? Ava wondered. Cameras flashed. The cheerleaders were definitely as big a story as the game being played on the field.
After the game, Ava walked with her team toward the locker room. As the rest of her teammates veered to the left to go change in the boysâ lockers, Ava turned to the right and stopped short. A big crew of reporters was standing in front of the doorway to the girlsâ locker room, waiting for her. Her heart sank. They barricaded the doorway, trying to force her to stop to talk, but she didnât want to talk.
âAva! Ava!â They all shouted questions at her. âCan you tell us about your decision to sit out? How do you feel about the fact that the game was played without you? Did you know about the cheerleadersâ protest ahead of time?â
Her father appeared out of nowhere and took Ava by the elbow.
âLet her into the locker room, please,â Coach said, cordially but firmly.
Avaâs heart swelled with gratitude to her father. How had he known theyâd be there?
As she entered, she glanced behind to see the reporters swarming around Coach.
âCoach Sackett! How do you feel about your daughter not being permitted to play?â
âWas it her idea or yours that she sit this one out?â
âWill this hurt Briar Ridge players in future recruiting decisions made by you and your staff?â
The voices faded away as the door to Avaâs locker room closed.
Alex locked her bike to a conveniently located bike rack, and then headed around to the side of a building, to the black stage door of the Press, as Tommy had instructed her. Inside it was dark after the bright sun outside, and her eyes took a minute to adjust. When they did, she found herself standing in a dim entryway. The black-painted wood floor was battered and scuffed. A velvet-curtained doorway led the way up a short flight of wooden steps to the performance area. She could hear music playing. Amazing music. She recognized Tommyâs piano part, having heard him practicing on his keyboard practically every night. But it sounded so much better on a real piano. No wonder he kept hounding their parents for one.
Alex rechecked her message from Marcy Maxon. Marcy had been lukewarm about Alexâs new idea, to do her piece about Tommy and his trio, but at least she hadnât said no. Alex clicked through to read the text for the tenth time:
Itâs not as strong as the football story. But Iâm willing to send my crew to film. If you can frame it as âCoach Sackettâs son, the artist born into an athletic family,â well then, possibly. But if I donât think the piece is good enough to air, I want you to know I wonât hesitate to kill it.
Alex cringed at the last sentence. Did journalists have to use violent metaphors like âkillâ? She swallowed. This would have to be a good story.
The music ended just as she poked her head through the side curtain. Tommy looked up. âYo, Alex!â he called. âCome meet my partners in crime. This is Harley and thatâs Jackson.â
Harley twirled her big double bass on its metal foot, and then turned and smiled at Alex.
Forget Marcy Maxon! Alex immediately decided that her new ambition was to look, dress, and act exactly like Harley by the time she was in high school, if not sooner. She goggled at the girl,
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