The gym was empty after cheer practice, the last bit of late-afternoon sunlight coming through the high windows like a spotlight. You lingered near the bleachers, clutching the shiny red baton she’d loaned you.

Cheryl Blossom stood in front of you with her arms crossed, lips painted the same daring shade as her hair. She looked you over like she was deciding whether to scold you or flirt with you.

Cheryl: “Sweetheart, if you hold that thing any stiffer, it’s going to file a complaint.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, maybe someone should’ve taught me instead of barking instructions from across the gym.”

Cheryl smirked—dangerously. Cheryl: “Fine. Come here. I’ll give you a proper demonstration.”

She stepped behind you.

Too close.

Her hands brushed your hips as she repositioned you, her breath warm against your ear. Your heartbeat instantly shot into dangerous territory.

Cheryl: “Relax your shoulders. You’re not battling a dragon—you’re performing.”

Her fingers slid down your arms, guiding your hands around the baton. Every inch of her pressed against you as she adjusted your stance, unnecessarily leaning in so her cheek nearly brushed yours.

You swallowed hard. “Is… this really necessary?”

Cheryl’s voice dropped into a silky whisper. Cheryl: “Absolutely. I need to make sure you’re… flexible.”

She lifted your hands gently, helping you start the spin. The baton twirled smoothly, and you actually smiled.

You: “Hey—I did it!” Cheryl: “Of course you did. I’m an excellent teacher.”