“We need to document everything,” Danica 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.
“Watch out for the nerds,” Logan would say just loud enough.
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 chain-link 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? Or just studying more nerd moves?”
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. Real interesting moves you got there. For a couple of bookworms.”
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. Or is that too advanced for the nerds?”
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 backpedaled, 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 ten 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 football bullies had mocked the Black twins as “nerds.”
Unaware they were ruthless black belts.