Queerleaders

by Olivia A. Cole, Ashley Woodfolk

Genres: YA Contemporary Romance; YA Romance

Synopsis

Two cheerleaders find themselves inconveniently tumbling head over heels for each other in this satirical, sapphic teen rom-com that’s Bring It On meets She Drives Me Crazy.

Oak Haven High doesn’t have cheerleaders—it has queerleaders.

It’s a fun coincidence that every new varsity cheerleader since Davie Cathee took the squad by storm three years ago is—or soon comes out as—queer.

But when a rumor sparks that this season, newly minted captain Davie has been specifically recruiting queer members only, Davie is accused of “discrimination” against straight students. She’s given an ultimatum: recruit a straight athlete for the team or the funding for their competitive cheer season will take a major tumble.

Enter Kendall Hayes, the edgy, mysterious new girl. When Davie sees that Kendall has a boyfriend, she quickly convinces her to join the squad. Problem solved.

Until she finds out that Kendall’s actually bisexual…and newly single.

Now Kendall and Davie are faced with having to keep those details under wraps until nationals, which only gets more complicated when they start falling hard and fast for each other. Can Kendall go back in the closet long enough to save the squad? Or will Davie find the courage to love her new crush out loud, even if it might mean the end of the queerleaders?

Release date: May 19, 2026

Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 288

Sample

Chapter 1: Kendall CHAPTER 1 Kendall
Boobs are bouncing, pecs are pulsing, and I’m just trying to breathe.

The cheerleading team at my new school is practicing less than thirty feet from my car, and I’m counting like I’m out there stepping along with them, hoping it will calm my activated fight-or-flight.

“One, two, three, four,” I whisper to myself. “I wanna melt into the floor.”

I’ve never been a cheerleader, but I used to dance. I was good, but not obsessed or anything, and because my mother—lover of all things that require discipline and intense practice, hardcore “girl mom,” and type A overachiever who wants her kids to be the same way—liked it more than I did, I stuck with it longer than I would have otherwise. It was too rigid for my liking, and the costumes were horrific, so I told my mom I didn’t want to dance anymore. She didn’t listen to me until I started hiding when it was time to leave the house for rehearsals. And even then we fought about it for another month. It wasn’t until the third time I refused to perform in a recital because I hated the costume that she finally let it go.

More than dancing, it turns out, fashion is my real passion, so as I glance back over at the squad, I appreciate that the cheerleaders’ practice shorts match the ginkgo trees that have already gone golden on either side of the school building. There’s something soothing, in my hour of distress, about the incidental color coordination.

Then, from where I’m hiding in the back seat of my car, I reread the text messages that sent me into my latest spiral.

We need to talk.

It won’t take long.

I can come to you.

No emojis. No “LOLs.” The periods are so loud. If there’s one thing I know about my boyfriend of the last seven months, it’s that the kid loves a lighthearted, random T-Rex or roller skate emoji to defuse text tension.

There’s none of that here. Because Orlando Song—the kindest, cutest guy on the planet, and my bestie-turned-boyfriend—is probably coming to dump me.

I have this problem: Often when I say something, everyone around me misses the point. So a month ago, when I told Ori that I was contesting our school’s new dress code because I’m queer and not because I was simply “being a good ally” like he thought, his face changed in a way that made me think he heard, Yeah, bro! You didn’t know? I’m super gay!

I lie flat on my back and squeeze my eyes shut. Try to breathe in. Hold it. Then let out a slow exhale. “Five, six, seven, eight. I wish I could evaporate.”

I stare at the ceiling for a few more shuddering breaths before I groan and sit up. “Get it together, Hayes,” I whisper to myself. I text back and tell Ori to meet me here, by the track and field at my new, crappier school. I’m not gay, by the way, I consider sending. Or, not exactly gay.

But I just watch the cheerleaders again.

It shouldn’t be legal for every aspect of your life to fall spectacularly apart all at once. But here I am. In the last two weeks I’ve been kicked out of my prestigious prep school, gotten into two fender benders, ruined my sister’s birthday, and disappointed my parents, and now I’m moments away from being dumped, dissociating in my car while staring at… cheerleader chests. I know Mercury is in retrograde, but this is ridiculous.

With that in mind, I look up my horoscope, which doesn’t exactly help. Turns out not only is Mercury in retrograde, but it’s stationed in Aries—my sign—and that equals… chaos. With cosmic confirmation of what’s coming, I reapply my eyeliner, exit Savvy (my black Subaru), and head toward the bleachers, desperately thinking that maybe Ori won’t dump me if there are enough witnesses. He’s a Capricorn. Too practical to make a scene.

I’m here, he sends about five minutes later. This place is massive. Where are you?

Still no emojis.

I look across the vast red-and-green expanse of the track and field. It’s busy. In addition to the cheerleaders, the football team runs drills near the end zone. A few other kids are jogging around the track, and I’m one of about a dozen people in the bleachers. I finally spot Ori near the fence. He’s still in his uniform, looking around like a lost little kid as his soft, curly ’fro blows in the wind.

My old school, Baldwin Preparatory Academy, is housed in a tasteful three-story brick building. The classrooms are spotless, the hallways and cafeteria are orderly, and the courtyard at the heart of the campus is kept in pristine condition. They admit only about seventy-five kids each year, so there are never more than three hundred students in attendance. Until two weeks ago, I was one of them.

Oak Haven High, on the other hand, sprawls like a shopping center across an acre or two, and that’s not even counting this monstrosity of a football field. There are easily a few thousand kids at this school, which is good for anonymity but bad in literally every other way. It’s crowded. It’s hot. It’s loud. And it’s like whoever built this place had no idea of the upkeep required to sustain a building with that many humans moving through it for nine months of the year, so every inch of the school is sort of… gross. I survey anew the peeling paint along the window frames, the overcrowded parking lot, the rusty bleachers. I was gonna sit down, but I decide to keep standing. With my luck, I’ll get tetanus.

I lift my hand to get Ori’s attention, and when he spots me, he smiles so big, something in my chest crackles like static. But I can’t smile back. He starts in my direction, maroon blazer folded over his arm and white collared shirt unbuttoned a little too much at the top. His tie is missing in action.

Soon Ori’s right in front of me, looking delicious, his brown skin glistening in the sun. When we hug, he presses his lips to my temple.

“Aren’t you looking slutty,” I say. He laughs, and it reminds me of an ASMR video, all breathy and softly scratchy, like a freshly sharpened pencil on paper.

“How did it go, driving over here this morning?” is the first thing he says.

After the expulsion I helped my mom with a few events. All was going well, and it was a nice excuse to get out of the house, until she asked me to drive to a local florist to pick up a few extra bouquets for a wedding. I backed into a mailbox and dented my mom’s bumper trying to parallel park in front of the flower shop, then shattered the driver’s side mirror on my way back when I sideswiped a city bus. Needless to say, my nervousness behind the wheel has since escalated exponentially.

“It… went,” I reply. “Hell is other drivers, and I’m not much better. Plus, Nia is still refusing to speak to me, so she took the bus out of spite.”

This confession earns me a commiserating pat on the shoulder.

“And the rest of your day?” Ori asks next. “It couldn’t have been worse than the last couple of weeks, right?”

His dark eyes, lined by bone-straight, mile-long lashes, are trained on me as if I’m the only thing he can see. It’s why I like him. It’s why I’ve always liked him. He’s as attentive as he is hot.

“Your face isn’t real,” I say instead of answering. “You’re so pretty for a boy.”

He smiles again, so I use it as a salve for my terrible first day here, just another in a string of terrible days. “Is that why you like me? Because I’m pretty?”

“Maybe,” I reply, and flick his collar.

There was only one thing I was happy about when it became clear I’d be enrolling in public school: no uniforms. I was so excited to wear whatever I wanted, to not have to deal with the same BS that got me kicked out of Baldwin. I picked out this vintage cable-knit sweater and pleated skirt, and wore penny loafers I (permanently) borrowed from my aunt to complete the look. When I miraculously arrived in one piece after my treacherous commute, I was so happy with my outfit that I recorded a little fit check in the parking lot. But then a girl walked by and asked if I was wearing my mom’s shoes, like, as an insult. I told her to keep talking if she wanted to spend first period digging the shoe out of her ass.

The day only went downhill from there.

At least at Baldwin I knew who to stay away from (the Snob Knobs™) and where I fit (with Ori and my sister and Jules). At Oak Haven I have no clue yet.

“You’re avoiding the question, Ken,” Ori says. He leans down and tilts my head up so I’ll look at him again.

“It was… busy,” I say, still not wanting to get into it. “How’s Baldwin without me?”

He shrugs. “A lot more boring. But Principal Langley found another one of your posters this morning in his filing cabinet. How’d you even get into his office, let alone his locked closet?”

I smirk. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

He takes a step back from me, grabs my hand, and tugs me farther up the bleachers. “Let’s sit?”

My heart jolts, but I play it cool and follow him up a few levels. His legs are long, like his sister Bianca’s; she just started at UNC–Chapel Hill playing DI basketball. Their mom played in college too. If this conversation goes the way I’m thinking it will, I’ll miss going to Ori’s house after school—the way his mom would tie up her long salt-and-pepper locs before challenging us to pickup games in their driveway; the way his dad would come home from Tigerlily with a box full of mooncakes and baos and stuff us full of them.

“So,” Ori says once we’re sitting. He’s still holding my hand. “You know I love you, right?”

I swallow hard. Nod while staring at our hands. Then I force myself to smile and look up.

“Duh. I love you, too. That’s what you wanted to tell me? Great. Got it. Next time don’t be so intense about it. Should we go get milkshakes? Maybe make out in my car after?”

I stand up.

“No, Kendall. Wait.”

I freeze and look back down at him. At his pretty, pretty face.

“The thing is, I just don’t think I’m in love with you. I don’t know if I ever was. And look, don’t make that face, because I don’t think you’re in love with me, either.”

I press my fists against my eyes until I see stars. I don’t want to beg him to stay with me, but I can’t handle this right now.

“But, Ori… weren’t we having fun?” I ask. “Why do this if we’re having fun?”

“See!” he replies, pointing at me like I’m proving him right.

“See what?”

“You didn’t even say that you are in love with me! You’re not even upset that I said I’m not in love with you.”

“That’s… not the point,” I say weakly. “The point is this month has been hell. This day has been hell, and now, on top of everything, you’re dumping me.”

“Ken, listen. I just—”

“You just what? My life is messed up enough as it is. Everything is changing. I don’t want to lose someone else right now.”

“You’re not losing me; that’s what I’m trying to say. I still wanna be friends.”

“So what’s the point of breaking up, Ori?”

“I guess lately it seems like you want to explore your… options. I see how you look at other people, Ken. And it’s cool. I’m not sad about it. Which is part of the problem. I feel like I would be upset if I was in love! Maybe we’re just together because it’s easy.”

“I like easy!” I cry. It makes my throat ache. But I’m wondering if this isn’t just him twisting my words, misunderstanding that when I say I’m queer, I don’t mean straight-up gay.

I could love a boy. I could love him.

“When I… came out to you… I didn’t do it because I don’t want us to be together.”

Ori glances down at his shoes, then back up at me through his lashes. It’s diabolical when he looks at me like that.

“I guess I wonder if I’m holding you back. From whatever. Or whoever.”

I sigh and turn away from him, wondering if he’s right, and my eyes land on the cheerleaders again. They’re doing a complicated pyramid, and it looks the way my emotions feel: like they’re piling up precariously. Cute guys and girls lift each other, legs on arms, fists on hips, an interconnected web of muscular body parts remaking themselves into a human mountain, and I watch them until they go blurry. Because an anxious rage-cry is making me want to scream.

And then I think I’m losing it because I hear one: A high-pitched scream (like the one I’m fighting to hold in) sounds from the field. And the beautiful-people pyramid that was stacked only a moment ago collapses into a pile of sexy bodies.

“Oh shit!” Ori says, jumping to his feet. He hops down from the bleachers and is on the field next to the heap of cheerleaders in less than a minute. I tilt my head back and whimper (because how could this day get any worse?), then stomp down to join him as the fallen squad scrambles apart to reveal a girl with a shiny black ponytail clutching her arm. I’m guessing she’s the screamer, and I instantly feel bad. She looks really hurt. Other people run over too, including half the football team and the coach.

“Oh no,” a person with curly brown hair and moss-green eyes is saying. They’re crouched beside the brown-skinned girl holding her arm. “Zari, Jesus. Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

The girl on the ground just moans.

“Considering the fact that she’s making those sounds and her arm is bent a way it ain’t supposed to bend, I’m gonna go with… yeah,” I say.

Ori, who, along with the football players, has been helping various people back to their feet, shakes his head at me, and a Black girl with mile-long nails who is also kneeling next to Zari says, “Davie. A little help?”

But it’s like Davie doesn’t hear her. She tucks some of her curls behind her ear and turns her green glare in my direction. “Who asked you? Who even are you?”

I do a little wave. “Kendall,” I say. “I’m new.”

Davie squints at me, then looks back down at Zari. “I really, really hope you’re okay. With Mikey gone, we can’t afford to lose you.”

The fallen girl, Zari, just makes more agonized sounds, and the Black girl says, “Dammit, Davie, help me get her up.”

“Oh my lord, Davie,” comes a voice that’s more Southern than most of ours despite the fact that we’re in the South. It’s coming from a white boy with hot pink hair and a thin gold hoop piercing his septum. “I know you’re not thinkin’ ’bout cheer ramifications and whatnot when Zari’s arm is clearly broken.”

“Broken?” Zari wails.

“?’Fraid so, honey bear,” the pink-haired boy says. He pats her on the shoulder.

“We’re so screwed,” says a girl with two long black braids hanging down her back. “Johnny, call an ambulance or something.”

The pink-haired boy pulls out his phone, but then another kid—with a buzz cut, pouty lips, and, like, eight earrings in one ear—says, “Already did.”

I shove my hands into the pockets of my skirt as I watch Ori retrieve his backpack and start handing out Band-Aids. I plop back down on the bleachers to wait for him, but then I realize that if I leave now, maybe I can pretend the whole breakup thing didn’t happen. I stand again, but before I can sneak away, Davie stops me.

“Kendall, right?”

I bite my bottom lip. Look her up and down. “Yeah?”

“Where you off to?”

“Oh, I was just…”

At the sound of my voice, Ori looks up. Dammit.

“Hey, Kendall, wait a sec. We should finish talking.” He zips up his bag, but not before handing Zari a bottle of water. “Hope your arm’s okay,” he says with a smile that could end a war.

“Your boyfriend’s nice,” Davie comments.

I sigh. “I know,” I say, looking at him.

“You’re not.”

When I look back at Davie, her bright green eyes are watching me.

I shrug. “Your point?”

Davie smirks and opens her mouth to say something else, but then we hear sirens and everyone turns to watch.

As the paramedics work to secure Zari to a stretcher, Ori comes back over to me and finishes what he started.

“I think we should see other people,” he says. “But I would miss you too much if you, like, disappeared. Please don’t disappear.”

He grabs me by the waist. Bats his beautiful eyelashes at me. “Friends?” he asks.

“Fucking fine,” I say. And then he smiles wide and hugs me long and hard.