Logan Mitchell and Brent Ashford. Marcus's fork paused halfway to his mouth. The quarterback and that rich kid. What did they want? They were just being jerks.
Deja said, pushing her rice around her plate. Making stupid comments about our uniforms and the way we move. Coach Riley tried to make them leave, Denika added. But they just made fun of her, too. Aunt Renee, who had been quietly eating, set down her fork.
Her dark eyes studied the twins intently, noting their controlled movements, the tension in their shoulders. Did they touch you? Rene's question was soft but direct. No, both girls answered quickly. Not yet, Deja muttered under her breath.
Marcus frowned, his protective instincts visible in his clenched jaw. Maybe I should talk to their parents or the principal. Dad, no. Denika shook her head. That'll just make things worse.
We can handle it. Besides, Deja added, stabbing a green bean with more force than necessary. Logan's dad is on the school board, and Brent's family donates a ton of money to the athletic department. They never get in real trouble. Aunt Renee remained silent, but her gaze never left the girls.
She watched how they held themselves, how they controlled their anger, how they chose their words. Her own hands, calloused from decades of martial arts training, remained perfectly still on the table. Still, Marcus insisted, "If they're harassing you, we're fine, Dad. " Denica cut in. "Really? They're just trying to get a reaction because they're mad about the attention the squad's getting. " "Yeah. " Deja forced a smile.
They're just being typical entitled jerks. Nothing we haven't dealt with before. The conversation shifted to other topics. Marcus' work at the auto shop, Aunt Renee's community law clinic, upcoming tests at school. But the tension lingered, especially in the way Renee watched her nieces, noting every subtle sign of their contained fury.
The twins continued eating, their movements as precise and controlled as their cheerleading routine, while their aunts sharp eyes followed their every move. The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the girl's locker room, casting long shadows across the rows of metal lockers. Danica adjusted her burgundy practice uniform, double-checking the bow in her hair when something caught her eye in the mirror. Her hands froze mid-motion. Taped to the glass was a crudely printed meme.
The image showed black cheerleaders edited to look like monkeys with racist text scrolled beneath. Denika's stomach clenched, but her face remained carefully blank as she reached up and pulled it down. The paper crinkled in her fist. She glanced around the empty locker room, noting how the image had been placed at exactly her eye level. This wasn't random.
This was targeted. The locker room door swung open as Deja walked in. Her phone clutched tight in her hand. Her usually bright expression was dark with anger. Did you see what they did?
Deja thrust her phone toward her sister. Danica smoothed out the crumpled paper. You mean besides this? They added me to some group chat. Deja's voice shook slightly as she pulled up the messages.
Look at what they're posting. Denica leaned in to watch. Videos filled the screen. Clips from their practices and competitions, but edited with racist music and captions. Comments from Logan, Brent, and Chase filled the chat, each one more degrading than the last.
Ghetto routine," Deja read, her voice tight. "Maybe they should stick to hip hop. They even edited monkey sounds over our regional performance. " Danica's jaw clenched. "How many people are in this chat? At least 20. " They just scrolled through the member list.
Mostly football players, but some other guys, too. Chase added me this morning, probably by accident. He removed me right after, but I already took screenshots. The twins stood in silence, sharing the weight of this latest attack. The locker room felt smaller, suddenly less safe.
We should tell Coach Riley, Danica said finally, folding the meme carefully and tucking it into her bag. Why? So she can report it and nothing happens again. Deja slammed her locker shut. You know, Logan's dad will just say it was a joke or claim someone else did it.
We need to document everything, Dena insisted. Build a record. A record of what? How they can get away with anything. Deja's voice rose slightly before she caught herself.
She took a deep breath, centering herself like they'd been taught. Sorry, I just I'm tired of being quiet about it. Danica touched her sister's arm. I know. Me, too.
They finished changing in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The morning passed in a blur of classes, with pointed looks and whispered comments following them through the halls. Logan and his friends made sure to bump into them between periods, always with that same smirking, "My bad," that fooled no one. By afternoon practice, the tension had built to a physical presence. Coach Riley noticed their distraction during warm-ups.
"Everything okay, girls? " she asked during water break. "You seem off today. " "We're fine," they answered in unison, their practiced response automatic. After practice, the twins stayed behind as usual for extra stretching. "The back lot behind the gym was their preferred spot, quiet, away from prying eyes with enough space to really extend their muscles. As they walked across the empty parking lot, the sound of footsteps and low laughter drifted from behind them.
Danica didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Three sets of footsteps trying to move quietly and failing. The laughter grew closer. Paper crinkled, probably more printed memes. A phone camera clicked.
Deja's shoulders tensed, but she kept walking, matching her sister's steady pace. They'd been trained too well to show fear or lose composure. The back lot came into view, isolated and empty as always. The perfect place for extra practice away from distractions or the perfect place for an ambush, more laughter, closer now, the sound of a video starting to play. Their regional routine with those edited sounds.
Danica felt the shift in the air, the weight of malicious intent growing heavier with each step. Without looking back, she flexed her hands at her sides, subtly cracking each knuckle one by one. The familiar pop of joints loosening was oddly comforting. She could sense Deja doing the same, their twin instincts perfectly aligned as always. Years of training hummed just beneath their skin, carefully contained but ready.
The footsteps behind them quickened slightly. Logan, Brent, and Chase were barely trying to hide their approach now. Their confidence built on months of unchecked harassment and a lifetime of privilege. The twins kept walking, their pace unchanged, their movements fluid and controlled. The back lot waited ahead, empty and isolated, just as it always was this time of day.
The back lot was eerily quiet as Danica and Deja reached the chainlink fence that marked their usual stretching spot. The footsteps behind them grew louder, more deliberate, no longer trying to be subtle. "Hey there, Collins girls. " Logan's voice dripped with fake friendliness. Having a private practice session? The twins turned slowly, maintaining perfect posture.
Three phones were already out recording. Logan stood in the center, flanked by Brent and Chase. Their football Letterman jackets gleamed in the late afternoon sun. You know, Brent said, taking a step closer. We've been watching your routines.