Remember, no effort that we make to attain something beautiful is ever lost.
—HELEN KELLER
IN MID-JANUARY, two nights before I leave for Nationals, I’m supposed to hang out with Royce. But he cancels at the last minute.
“I’m sorry, Jas,” he says. “I have a dinner for my dad.”
He’s spending a lot of time with his dad lately. I want to ask him why he can’t bring a date. Or is it that he doesn’t want to bring me, that maybe I’m not good enough for this fancy benefit he’s going to? But I don’t say anything.
“It’s all right. I’ll see you when I get back,” I say.
“You’re going to kick ass,” he tells me. “I wish I could be there.”
I’m disappointed that I’m not going to see him, but don’t let it distract me like I did before. Winning Nationals won’t be easy—just like winning the deportation case won’t be easy. The case may be out of my hands, but how well I lead the team is something I control. I need to focus for my team, for our sisterhood. Millie’s right, I can’t let life distract me from what I want.
The plane ride to Florida the next day is filled with turbulence. I hold hands with Kayla, who hates airplanes, until we land in Orlando.
“You all right?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m good,” she says, but she has a faraway look in her eye. I realize that we haven’t talked about what happened at Lo’s party. I think she was embarrassed that Mason hit on her in front of Dylan.
It’s warm here. Sticky. We get to the hotel, which is less than a mile from Disney World, where the competition is taking place. We have a team meeting, then we go to the beach to relax. I scoop up some sand to put in a bottle for my collection. At practice the next day, the girls are nervous, but I tell them to have confidence.
We went to Nationals last year, but only came in third place. This time we have to win it all. “We’ve done everything possible,” I say at our final meeting just before we compete for the Universal Cheerleaders Association National High School Cheerleading Championships. “We’ve put in the time at practice. We’ve trained our bodies and perfected our moves as much as we can. It’s all a mental game now. You girls got this. I believe in you.”
Coach Davis doesn’t even have to talk. She simply steps back and watches us prepare. We begin our stretching routine as the other teams compete at the center of the auditorium. The girls are so focused on the moment that no one’s talking anymore. I keep my mind off everything except for my stunts and my girls.
After a few minutes of stretching, Coach tells us we’re next up to perform our routine. We all get up and check each other’s ponytails and shoelaces as the emcee announces Chatsworth High over the speaker system.
I yell at the girls, trying to pump them up. I briefly worry about Kayla, who’s kept to herself a bit on the entire trip. But when I catch her eye, she nods, determined, and I know she won’t let us down.
“You’re all champions. So act like it!”
The girls follow me onto the performance mats. Hundreds of people are watching us standing under the spotlights. We bow, tuck our chins toward our chests, waiting for the music. When the beats blast through the speakers, I count out our start.
We start off strong with our tumbling, hitting all our backflips and full twists. Our stunt sequence begins, and the bases pop us flyers up into perfect scorpions. Each group sticks their marks right on the beat. We fly through the rest of the routine—tumbling, cheering, stunting—with barely any mistakes. After the music ends, I can’t believe how well the girls have done. The entire audience gives us a standing ovation.
I know, even before they announce it over the loudspeakers at the end of the event, that we’ve won.