Finding my way to the football field turned out to be more of a challenge than it should've been. Royal Beacon High was absurdly large—a small city masquerading as a school. Seriously, who designed this place? If they didn't want people constantly lost, maybe they should've skipped the labyrinth layout.
Frankie mentioned the cheer team would be practicing there after class, but instead of waiting for her to drag me along like some overexcited tour guide, I figured I'd navigate it myself.
The problem? I had zero idea where to start.
Fortunately, the school had an app for that. Yes, an actual GPS app specifically for finding your way around campus. The irony of needing one for a high school wasn't lost on me, but I downloaded it anyway. It lit up my home screen with an obnoxiously bright icon.
Once it opened, I typed in Main Football Field, and the app immediately mapped a route. A dotted blue line appeared on the screen, guiding me toward my destination.
The path seemed straightforward enough, but with how unnecessarily complicated everything was here, I wasn't taking any chances. I kept my head down, following the glowing line as it led me through the winding hallways.
The first landmark was the library. It was massive, with arched windows that caught the late-afternoon sunlight and gave it this almost cathedral-like vibe. Outside, a few students sprawled on the grass, chatting in hushed tones with books open in their laps. I thought about stopping to look around, but the idea of Frankie throwing a tantrum if she couldn't find me pushed me forward.
Next, I passed the science building. The air smelled faintly of chemicals, a mix of bleach and something metallic, and a small group of students lingered by the entrance. One of them glanced in my direction and whispered to the other, who promptly turned to look at me. I ignored it. People staring was nothing new.
The GPS beeped softly, reminding me to take a right at the next hallway. I followed the instructions, the corridors growing quieter with every step. For a second, I wondered if the app was playing a joke on me, sending me to some forgotten part of the school.
Then I heard it—distant shouting, curses —of course— and the rhythmic pounding of feet against the ground. The field had to be close.
I quickened my pace, watching the blue dot on the screen inch closer to the final destination. Stepping outside, the soft glow of the setting sun hit me. It was barely past four, but the light had already started to shift, casting long shadows across the grass.
There it was—the football field. Sprawling and pristine, it looked like something straight out of a school brochure.
On the sidelines, the cheer team was already in motion. Their bright blue and gold uniforms popped against the green turf as they moved in unison. One girl stood front and center, ponytail swaying as she barked instructions at the others.
I sighed, slipping my phone back into my bag and walking toward the nearest bench.
It wasn't hard to spot a good spot to sit—there was one right near one of the goalposts, where a few of the girls had tossed their bags. I settled there, crossing my legs and resting my bag on the second bench beside me.
The cheerleaders were busy chatting, some stretching lazily while others mimicked moves the captain demonstrated.
I leaned back slightly, crossing my arms as I watched. Cheer practice wasn't exactly my idea of entertainment, but at least I'd found the place without getting lost.
A few minutes into sitting there, the girl at the front of the cheer squad—the one barking orders like a wannabe drill sergeant—suddenly stopped when someone whispered something to her.
Her head turned slowly, and her gaze landed right on me.
I met her stare without flinching, refusing to look away. She said something to the girls behind her, who started giggling, and then began walking toward the bench where I sat.
The sound of her sneakers tapping against the ground grew louder until she came to a stop right in front of me. She was shorter than me, even with her perfect posture and hands on her hips, but the high ponytail and bright red lipstick were clearly meant to make up for it.
"I'm sorry, who are you?" she asked, with an absurd high pitched voice.
I tilted my head slightly, taking a moment to process the ridiculousness of her tone. Before I could even respond, she raised a hand, palm out, like she was directing traffic.
"You know what? I don't care," she continued, her words rushing out in a tone that was part dismissive, part dramatic. "This is a private cheer practice area, and the girls are uncomfortable with you around. We want you to leave."
I blinked at her, then let out a short, dry laugh. "Private cheer practice area?" I repeated, leaning back slightly on the bench. "Don't be such a Becky. This is a football field. I didn't know schools were handing over public spaces to cheerleaders now."
Her jaw tightened, and I could tell she wasn't used to being talked to like that. "FYI," she snapped, "our actual practice area is under construction. So we're using this temporarily. Now leave before we call the boys to come and push you out."
Oh, she thought she was tough. How cute.
"Go practice, Becky," I said flatly, crossing my legs and turning my attention back to the field. "Unfortunately, I'm not interested in whatever's going on. I'm just waiting for someone. You all bore me with your ridiculous attempt to make a 2-1-2 pyramid anyway."
Her mouth opened, probably ready to spit out another high-pitched insult, but before she could, Frankie came barreling onto the field, practically breathless. She was already in her cheer uniform, which meant she'd wasted no time after class.
She tossed her bag onto the ground with a loud thud, and one of the other girls rushed to hand her a bottle of water and a towel like she was some kind of celebrity. Frankie took a quick sip before setting the bottle down near her bag and dabbing the sweat off her forehead. Once she was satisfied, she turned toward us, flashing that annoyingly cheerful smile of hers.
"Heyyy, I guess you've met Blakely," she said, her voice bright and chipper, as though she was reuniting two long-lost siblings.
The girl, still standing stiffly in front of me, frowned. "Who?"
"My step-cousin, Blakely Torres," Frankie said, walking closer. "First day of school. You should know her—she owns Aura. You know, the store Fancy Nancy said she got her shoes from?"
Becky's head snapped back toward me, her expression twisting into disbelief. She stared for a long moment, her gaze darting from my face to my shoes, to my bag like she was trying to piece it together.
"That's absurd," she finally said, scoffing as she turned back to Frankie. "Having the same name as the founder of Aura doesn't mean she owns it. Keep feeding into her delusions, though." She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes with the kind of dramatic flair only someone like her could pull off.
Frankie didn't even blink. "You can search it later if you want," she replied, shrugging it off. She turned to me, still smiling. "Anyway, B, this is Sasha—"
I waved my hand lazily, cutting her off with a fake yawn. "Yeah, I'll just stick to Becky."
Frankie's smile faltered for half a second before she laughed, probably unsure if I was serious or not. Sasha—or Becky, as she now was—stiffened, her eyes narrowing like she was deciding whether to yell or walk away.
For once, I hoped she'd choose the latter. She wasn't worth my energy.