“Since they’re getting all the attention lately, might as well see what all the fuss is about.”
“I said leave,” Coach Riley’s voice hardened.
“Or I’ll report this harassment to Principal Stevens.”
Logan laughed.
“Harassment? We’re just watching practice. Right, Brent?”
“Right. Besides,” Brent’s grin widened, “maybe if you focused more on coaching and less on being so uptight, they wouldn’t look so stiff out there.”
Several of the cheerleaders gasped.
Coach Riley’s face flushed red.
“That’s it. Practice is over for today, girls. Hit the showers.”
She pulled out her phone, already dialing the principal’s office.
As the squad gathered their things, Logan and Brent continued their commentary, just loud enough to hear.
“Look at them run away,” Brent sneered.
“So much for all that confidence. Guess the little nerds only perform when the spotlight’s on.”
“Yeah,” Logan added.
“All books, no balls.”
Danica touched Deja’s arm, feeling her sister’s muscles coiled tight with anger.
“Not here,” she whispered.
“Not now.”
The twins walked to the locker room with measured steps, their heads held high despite the continued jeers behind them. They changed in silence, their movements automatic after years of routine.
Later that evening, the Collins family gathered around their modest dining room table.
The twins’ father, Marcus Collins, had just finished serving his famous chicken and rice while their aunt Renee poured glasses of lemonade.
“How was practice today?” Marcus asked, passing the green beans to Deja.
The twins exchanged glances.
Danica spoke first, her voice carefully neutral.
“Some of the football players showed up. 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 calling us nerds.”
“Coach Riley tried to make them leave,” Danica 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?” Renee’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,” Danica 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,” Danica 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 aunt’s sharp eyes followed their every move.
The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the girls’ 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.
Danica’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.”
Danica 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. Look at the little nerds trying to be athletes.”
“They even edited monkey sounds over our regional performance.”
Danica’s jaw clenched.
“How many people are in this chat?”
“At least 20.”
They 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.”