The moment I stepped inside the house, I felt it.
Jeanette was waiting for me.
She stood near the base of the stairs, arms crossed, her expression unreadable—but the sharp way her gaze settled on me told me everything I needed to know.
I had barely shut the door when she spoke.
"You’re late, Bethany."
I swallowed, bracing myself. "I was invited to a party. Lost the track of time I guess, sorry."
Her eyes flicked over me, scanning my dress, my slightly disheveled hair, the faint smudges of makeup.
Then, she hummed. Judgmental. Appraising.
“Bethany, darling,” she began, her tone back to sweet but laced with condescension. “I actually wanted to talk to you about dinner earlier. I couldn’t help but notice things seemed… tense between you and Stacey. Is something going on?”
“I don’t know, Jeanette.” I crossed my arms, already bracing myself for whatever game she was about to play. “Maybe it’s the fact that Stacey’s been sabotaging everything I’m doing.”
“Oh, Bethany.” Jeanette’s face fell into a look of mock sympathy. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Stacey can be a little competitive, but she’s not trying to hurt you. She just wants to stay on top, that’s all.”
“Right.” I laughed bitterly. “Because humiliating me in front of the whole school and stealing my diary was just part of her ‘competitive nature,’ huh?”
Jeanette waved a hand dismissively, her smile tight. “Look, I know Stacey can be… intense. But you have to understand, she’s under a lot of pressure. And frankly, Bethany, you can be a bit… defensive.”
My jaw tightened. There it was — the subtle blame. The suggestion that this was somehow my fault.
“Defensive? She’s been attacking me since day one.”
“Sweetheart,” Jeanette sighed, her eyes flicking to the side, as if she were growing bored of the conversation, “you have to learn to pick your battles. Stacey’s always been ambitious, and she’s worked hard to get where she is. Maybe you’re taking things too personally. I mean, you’re living in her house, after all.”
There it was — the real message. This wasn’t my house. It was Stacey’s.
I was just the outsider, the charity case Jeanette tolerated to keep my dad happy.
“Right,” I muttered. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“Good.” Jeanette stood up, smoothing her clothes one last time. “I just don’t want things to get worse between you two. You’re sisters now. It’s important to find common ground, don’t you think?”
I didn’t answer. I wasn’t about to fall for her fake concern. Jeanette smiled sweetly, clearly satisfied with her little lecture.
“Sleep well, Bethany,” she said, gliding out of the room like some kind of queen exiting her court.
Jeanette would never see Stacey for who she really was. To her, Stacey could do no wrong.
And me? I was just in the way.
I retreated to my room, defeat felt bitter on my tongue. Brent's missed calls mock me from my phone screen – seven attempts to reach me when I needed him most.
Now his voicemail greeting feels like another door slammed in my face.
Sleep comes fitfully, wrapped in promises to myself. They want to break me? Let them try. I'll show them what this fat girl can do.
* * *
The week passes in a blur of sweat and determination. Our routine takes shape under Jade's relentless guidance – each move sharper, each formation tighter.
When Lucy reveals our uniforms, emerald green and black like warrior's armor, something shifts in our collective energy. We're not just outcasts anymore. We're a force.
The game arrives with electric anticipation.
The Unseen had built something incredible—something powerful, something impossible to ignore. And when we finally stepped onto the court for our performance, the crowd exploded with cheers.
We moved in perfect sync—flips, formations, energy radiating through every movement. We weren’t just good. We were unstoppable.
And when we finished, panting but grinning, I could feel it—we had changed something.
Our performance hits every mark – the crowd's roars tell us what we already know.
Stacey's squad watches with thinly veiled hatred, but it doesn't matter.
And when the basketball game ended with Marcus’s team securing victory—the real shock came after. Because Tristan personally invited our team to the celebration afterparty at Roy’s house.
Me. Lucy. Carlos. Sasha. Jade.
All of us.
And for the first time, I realized—we weren’t invisible anymore. We had been seen.
Victory tastes sweet on my tongue.
* * *
I left the gym late, the adrenaline still buzzing in my veins. The others had already gone ahead, but I needed a moment alone. That was, until I stumbled upon them.
Marcus and his father – voices sharp with tension, cutting through the evening air.
The tension was so heavy, it felt like you could slice through it with a knife. And before I could back away—I overheard.
"That was pathetic, Marcus." His father’s voice was sharp. Cold. Cutting. "If that’s the best you can do, I don’t know why I even bothered to come."
Marcus stood rigid, his fists clenched at his sides. His usual arrogance, his smirk, his unbothered attitude—gone.
"Sloppy footwork." His father's voice drips with disappointment. "You're getting complacent. Three missed shots? That's not excellence, Marcus. That's mediocrity."
I should walk away. This isn't meant for my ears. But I'm frozen, watching Marcus's walls crack under his father's relentless assault.
"I scored thirty points," Marcus says, but his voice lacks its usual confidence.
"And missed opportunities for fifteen more. You let your guard down on defense. If I were your coach, I’d have benched you."
I shouldn’t be hearing this. I should have left already. But I couldn’t.
Not when Marcus looked like that—shoulders tense, jaw locked, like he was fighting every instinct to explode.
That's when Marcus sees me.
His expression shutters, rage and shame warring behind his eyes. His father turns, following his gaze, and suddenly I'm caught in the spotlight of his calculating stare.
"Ah," he says, smoothing his designer suit with practiced ease. "And who might this be?"
Marcus’s entire body went still.
I swallowed hard, forcing my legs to move, stepping forward despite the weight of Marcus’s stare on me.
"Betty," I said cautiously.
His father hummed, then turned back to Marcus, his lips curling slightly.
"Your girlfriend?" His father's assessment feels like a physical touch, cold and clinical.
"My... she's in my Physics class." Before I could process it, Marcus suddenly grabbed my wrist, grip almost painful. "I promised to drive her home after the game, gotta go."
He pulls me away before his father can respond, before I can process the lies and truths tangled in that moment.
"Come on," he muttered, voice rough, frustrated. His father arched a brow but said nothing as Marcus pulled me away.
"Wait— Marcus, where are we—"
"I promised to drive you home," he cut me off, his grip tightening just slightly.
Liar.
But for the first time, I saw something in Marcus Archibald I never expected.
Weakness.