Two weeks after making the cheer squad, Amaya was staying late after practice to work on a new tumbling pass. The gym was nearly empty. Coach Williams had stepped out to take a phone call, and most of the other cheerleaders had left. Marina, a quiet junior who rarely spoke during practice, was the only other girl still there, organizing the equipment closet.
Outside, the fall afternoon was fading into evening, casting long shadows through the high windows of the gymnasium. Amaya was mid-backflip when the gym doors banged open.
Brett sauntered in, followed by Troy, Kyle, and Mason. They were still in their football practice gear, grass stains on their knees.
"Well, look who's still here," Brett called out, his voice echoing in the empty space. "The star of Westbridge Prep."
Amaya landed her flip and straightened, her guard immediately up. "Practice is over. Cheerleaders only right now."
Brett laughed, looking back at his friends. "Hear that? We're not welcome."
Troy stepped forward, twirling a football in his hands. "That's not very school spirit of you."
Marina emerged from the equipment closet, saw the boys, and froze. Her eyes darted nervously between them and Amaya.
"Hey, Marina," Mason called out, his tone softer than the others. "Coach wants to see Amaya in his office. We said we'd let her know."
Marina hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn't hear anything about that."
"Just got the message," Kyle added smoothly. "Something about the routine for the game tomorrow."
Amaya looked skeptically at the boys, then at Marina. "Where's Coach Williams?"
"Phone call," Marina said. "She's been gone about 10 minutes."
Brett stepped closer to Amaya, his smile all charm now. "Look, coach is in a hurry. He sent us to get you. The boys' locker room has been converted to an office space this week during renovations. Didn't you get the memo?"
Amaya didn't believe him for a second, but she also didn't want to appear intimidated. "Fine, I'll go check. Marina, you can head out," Brett added. "We'll make sure Amaya finds her way."
Marina looked torn, her eyes meeting Amaya's briefly before she nodded. "Okay. See you tomorrow, Amaya."
As Marina gathered her things and left, Amaya felt a flicker of unease, but she squared her shoulders and followed Brett toward the locker rooms, maintaining a careful distance.
"So, new girl," Brett said as they walked. "How are you liking Westbridge so far?"
"It's fine," Amaya replied curtly.
"Just fine? With the way everyone's fawning over you, I'd think you'd be loving it."
They reached the boys' locker room. Brett pushed the door open and gestured for her to enter.
Amaya hesitated at the threshold.
"Ladies first," Brett said with a mocking bow.
"I'm not going in there," Amaya said firmly. "If Coach wants to see me, he can find me in the gym."
Brett's friendly facade dropped. "Don't be difficult. We're just trying to help."
Amaya turned to leave, but Troy and Kyle had moved to block her path. The hallway was empty, the sounds of the school distant and muffled.
"Move," Amaya said, her voice steady despite the fear beginning to creep up her spine.
Instead, Troy grabbed her arm. Instinctively, Amaya twisted, breaking his grip just as her father had taught her. But before she could escape, Brett seized her from behind, pinning her arms.
"Let go of me," she shouted, struggling against his hold.
"Not yet," Brett said, his voice now cold. "First, we need to have a chat about respect and tradition."
Kyle and Mason moved to the doors, standing guard. Troy grabbed Amaya's legs as Brett wrestled her into the locker room. Despite her training, two against one left her at a disadvantage, especially when caught by surprise.
Inside, the locker room smelled of sweat and industrial cleaner. Brett forced Amaya onto a bench, keeping her pinned while Troy held her legs. Mason stood nervously by the door, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.
"What are you doing?" Amaya demanded, still fighting against their hold.
Kyle approached, pulling something from his pocket. The overhead lights gleamed off the metal surface of a pair of scissors.
Amaya's eyes widened. "Don't you dare."
"Your hair's too distracting during routines," Brett said with mock concern. "We're just helping you with a little makeover."
"The team voted," Troy added with a cruel smile. "This is a Westbridge tradition for new members who need to learn their place."
Amaya knew it was a lie. She'd seen no evidence of such a tradition with any other cheerleader. This was targeted. This was personal.