▪︎𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦,
𝗜'𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂.
in which an ordinary girl soon finds out that she's not as ordinary as she once thought, all while trying to hide her f...
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♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪♡ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 forty-three
familia
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
DALLAS STOOD IN THE GIRL'S LOCKER ROOM.
She was the only one left. The siren was stood in front of the cold metallic door as she glanced in the mirror that was taped to the inside. Her hands traced along her neck where her fateful bate used to be. Her skin was a tad discoloured in that spot which made her frown outwardly.
Her posture then stiffened as she pushed the hair out of her face and deepened her gaze into the reflection. 'He told me that you might be a little fragile at the moment, you know, go easy on you.'
Her look soured. The only fragile thing here was his ego.
She loved Stiles. She really did, however, the more she loved, the colder she was when they inevitably disappointed her - which was becoming a sadly common sight from the men in her life.
Nowadays, it felt like she had more balls than all of them combined. Werewolves included.
Letting out a large huff, she attempted to grab her cheer uniform to throw it in her bag, but to her dismay, it wasn't there.
"What the fuck?" she hissed while rummaging through her locker. Pompoms too. Everything completely missing.
With her eyes slightly narrowed, she slammed it shut and slung her bag over her shoulder. The slam of the changing rooms' door and the dissatisfied glare of the cheerleader caught the attention of students while she stormed her way to Coach's office.
She didn't bother to knock and instead shoved her way through the door. "My uniform is gone." Dallas watched as he disacknowledged her and instead continued scribbling whatever nonsense he had on his clipboard. "Like, vanished, gone."
"It didn't vanish. Don't be ridiculous." Finstock finally spoke up. "I took it. You're being cut from the team."
The words didn't even leave her mouth as she remained speechless. What the fuck?
"Are you kidding me?" she spoke through gritted teeth. "I've led that team for over five years. I organised the routines, the work ethic, the goddamn rhymes that somehow make the crowd believe instead of just a few, that the whole team, are good players." Dallas spoke with ice. "And you're cutting me?"
Coach leaned back in his chair and fiddled with his pen. "And that's exactly why I did it." he pointed it towards her.
Still on a venomous rampage, the girl crossed her arms and pursed her lips. "What?"
