Ava looked away. Brooke studied her fingernails. I can track routines and take notes, Danielle offered. Sierra's eyes narrowed. So, you're just going to sit there while everyone else works?
Typical. This is why we don't take transfers with attitude problems. Before Danielle could respond, the gym doors banged open. Tyler, Logan, and Ethan swaggered in, sweaty from football drills and radiating hostile energy. Well, look who's still hanging around, Tyler called out, his voice echoing through the gym.
Thought you might have quit by now." Logan snickered. "Maybe she should try the senior citizens cheer squad." "Do they even let grandmas be cheerleaders?" Ethan added, drawing laughs from several squad members. Danielle kept her face neutral, focusing on writing notes about the routine forming in front of her. Tyler, irritated by her calm, moved closer. "You know what your problem is?" he said, leaning in so close she could smell his sweat.
"You think you're special because you know how to throw a punch." Sierra called the squad to attention, but Tyler ignored her. "Nobody's going to believe anything you say," he continued, voice dropping lower. "A woman who fights like a man? They'll call you unstable, aggressive, dangerous." Danielle met his gaze steadily, but said nothing. Her silence seemed to infuriate him more than any comeback could have.
"Say something," he demanded, his mask slipping. "I don't need to," she replied quietly. Practice dragged on with Tyler and his friends making loud comments from the sidelines. When Sierra finally dismissed the squad as dusk fell, Danielle's whole body ached from tension and pain. She walked slowly to the parking lot, fishing her keys from her bag.
The day's last light cast long shadows between cars as she approached her old Honda. Danielle stopped mid-step. Both front tires lay flat against the asphalt, deep slashes visible in the rubber. From somewhere behind the gym, Tyler's distinctive laugh floated through the evening air. The parking lot lights cast long yellow cones between the cars.
Danielle stood beside her Honda, the front end sagging on two ruined tires. The slash marks were clean, deliberate, not the random damage of accident or weather. Noah circled the vehicle, phone in hand, capturing photos from multiple angles. Get the timestamp visible in the shots, Danielle said quietly. And the stadium in the background.
Noah nodded, adjusting his position. I'm documenting everything. The cuts, the parking spot, the security camera position. He pointed upward toward a dome-shaped device mounted on a light pole. Which probably doesn't work or will mysteriously have no footage.
A campus police cruiser rolled slowly into the lot 15 minutes after they'd called. Parking at a distance as if approaching a minor nuisance rather than a crime scene. Officer Benton stepped out, a heavy-set man with thinning hair and the bored expression of someone counting years to retirement. You reported vehicle damage? He asked, not bothering with a notepad.
Vandalism, Danielle corrected, gesturing to the tires. Someone slashed both front tires after threatening me earlier today. Officer Benton barely glanced at the damage. Looks like student mischief to me. Happens during foundation week.