Real interesting moves you got there. Chase hung back slightly, his phone wavering as he filmed. His usual smirk seemed forced, nervous. "Leave us alone," Danica said quietly, her voice level. "We're just trying to practice," Logan's smile widened.
"Oh, we want to see you practice up close and personal. " He moved suddenly, shoving Deja hard against the fence. The metal rattled. "Hey. " Danica started forward, but Brent was already there, grabbing at her skirt with one hand while keeping his phone steady with the other. "Come on, show us those special moves," Brent laughed. "Maybe do a little dance for the camera. " Time seemed to slow.
Danica felt a familiar calm settle over her. Years of training taking over. She caught Deja's eye. A lifetime of silent communication passed between them in that split second. Deja moved first.
As Logan reached to shove her again, she shifted her weight, redirecting his momentum. Her hand shot out, catching his wrist in a perfect lock. Before he could process what was happening, she twisted, using his own force to slam him face first into the fence. Simultaneously, Danica dropped into a low stance. Brent's grip on her skirt gave her the perfect pivot point.
She spun, her legs sweeping out in a precise arc that caught him behind the knees. As he stumbled, her elbow found his solar plexus with surgical precision. Chase backpedled, his phone clattering to the ground. Wait, I didn't. Danica was already moving.
Two quick steps brought her within range. Her palm strike to his nose was almost gentle. Just enough force to break cartilage without causing permanent damage. Blood sprayed. Logan tried to push off the fence, but Deja had his arm hyperextended.
She applied just a fraction more pressure, making him gasp. "Stop, please," he wheezed. Brent was curled on his side, struggling to breathe. Each shallow gasp sent spikes of pain through his ribs. Chase sat in the dirt.
Blood streaming between his fingers as he clutched his nose. The entire exchange had taken less than 10 seconds. Deja released Logan's arm with a small push, sending him stumbling. He caught himself against the fence, eyes wide with shock and fear. The twins stood straight, their movements precise and controlled as they adjusted their uniforms.
Not a hair was out of place. Their breathing remained steady, unchanged. Three phones lay scattered on the ground, screens cracked, but still recording. Danica picked them up one by one, deliberately dropping each into a nearby puddle. Our aunt taught us more than just dancing, she said softly, her voice carrying in the stunned silence.
The boys stared up at them, their earlier bravado replaced by confusion and terror. Blood dripped from Chase's nose, marking his white Letterman jacket. Brent made small whimpering sounds as he tried to stand. Logan just gaped, his mouth opening and closing without sound. Deja brushed some dirt from her skirt, her movements unhurried.
"You should probably get some ice on that," she told Chase, gesturing to his nose. Her tone was almost kind. The twins gathered their practice bags, movements synchronized as always. Their posture remained perfect, shoulders back, heads high, just as they'd been taught both on the mat and off. If anyone asks, Danica said calmly.
We were just stretching, right? None of the boys responded. They didn't need to. The message was clear in their wide eyes and trembling hands. Without another word, Danica and Deja turned and walked away.
Their steps were measured, controlled. Behind them, they could hear Brent's ragged breathing, Chase's muffled sniffling, and Logan's soft groan as he slid down the fence. The back lot returned to silence, broken only by the gentle splash of water as the phones sank deeper into the puddle, their screens flickering out one by one. The whispers started before first period. Danica noticed them as soon as she and Deja walked through Milstone High's front doors.
Students huddled in clusters, conversations dying as the twins passed. Some stared openly, others quickly looked away. Did you hear? A sophomore girl whispered too loudly to her friend. They went crazy on the football team.
I heard they're like secret ninjas or something, another student muttered. Deja kept her head high, but Danica saw her sister's jaw tighten. They'd expected this, but the way truth twisted in the hallways still stung. Collins sisters. A sharp voice cut through the murmurss.
Ms. Peterson, the front office secretary, stood at the end of the hall. Her face was pinched with disapproval. Principal Harland wants to see you immediately. The twins exchanged glances.
Without a word, they followed Ms. Peterson through the administrative wing. The click of her heels echoed against the polished floor, a countdown to confrontation. Principal Harlland's office door was already open. She sat behind her massive oak desk, hands folded precisely in front of her.
Vice Principal Wexler hovered nearby, clutching a manila folder like a shield. Sit down, girls. Principal Harlland's voice was silk over steel. She gestured to two chairs positioned directly under the harsh fluorescent lights. The twins sat, backs straight, hands folded in their laps, mirror images of composed dignity.
We've had some disturbing reports about yesterday afternoon. Harland began. Three of our star athletes claim they were viciously attacked unprovoked. That's not what happened, Deja said quietly. Really?
Harlland's eyebrow arched. Because Chase Dunning has a broken nose. Brent Ashford has bruised ribs. Logan Mitchell's wrist is sprained. Would you care to explain that?
They cornered us behind the gym, Danica replied evenly. They were filming us making threats, grabbing at our clothes. Where's this video? Wexler interrupted, speaking for the first time. If they were filming, surely there's evidence.
Their phones fell in a puddle, Deja said. Harlland's laugh was sharp, dismissive. How convenient. And I suppose the security cameras in that area just happened to malfunction yesterday. The twins stayed silent.
They'd noticed the camera's red light was already dark when they'd arrived at their stretching spot. "This is a serious matter," Harland continued. "We have three respected students with documented injuries. We have your history of confrontational behavior. " "What history? " Danica's voice remained calm, but her eyes flashed. "We've never been in trouble before.
Your attitude during practices has been noted. Wexler chimed in. Coach Thompson mentioned you've been resistant to feedback. The football coach? Deja frowned.