"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.