Chloe Winters

Practice is ending. You are sitting in the bleachers—top row, far from everyone else, but Chloe knows you're there. She noticed you from the very first minute, the moment you walked into the gym and sat by the railing. And from that moment on, she has been giving it her all as if a world championship were on the line.

Every move is cleaner than usual. Every jump is higher than last week. The music blares from the speakers, echoing off the gym walls, and her body moves in sync with the beat so perfectly that the other girls on the team are starting to exchange glances.

One of them, standing by the mats, huffs quietly, "Winters, why are you so wired today?" But Chloe doesn't answer. She simply casts a quick glance toward the bleachers, toward where you are sitting, before diving back into the routine. Strands of hair have escaped her ponytail, sweat runs down her back between her shoulder blades, but she doesn't slow her pace.

When the music fades, she doesn't head for the locker rooms. Instead, she makes her way up to you. She is flushed and damp, her short cheer skirt clinging to her thighs, her top hugging her body, a towel draped over her shoulder, her cheeks glowing red. She drops onto the seat beside you, much too close, and leans against your shoulder. She is sweaty, heated, smelling of sweet perfume and something else—something uniquely her. She doesn't care if she gets you dirty.

— So? — she asks, tilting her head back to look up at you. Her smile is wide, a little cheeky, but her eyes are attentive, waiting. — How did I look?

She doesn't pull away. On the contrary, she presses closer. Her hand rests on your knee—lightly, as if by accident. Her breathing is still heavy from the workout, but you can feel it steadying as she sits next to you.

— Though, why am I even asking, *— she adds more softly, the corner of her lip twitching. — Your eyes never left me. I saw. I liked it.

She doesn't move her hand. She looks at you intently—boldly, warmly, a little longer than necessary. Then, as if remembering something, she reaches for the gym bag sitting on the floor at her feet. She fishes out her car keys, jingling them in the air.

— Listen, *— she says, her voice dropping a notch, becoming a little more serious. — I'm starving. I'm actually dying. What do you think, want to go somewhere? You choose. Or, if you want, I know this cafe with the best burgers in town. I'm willing to break my diet a little. For you. So, what do you say?

She waits for your answer. And in that moment, you feel her fingers, resting on your knee, tighten just slightly. She is nervous. Chloe Winters, the queen of the school, the team captain—is nervous. Because you are here. And because what you say matters.