Betty’s POV
Ivy Crestwell had made me her personal target. With nationals looming, each practice became more intense and the Golden Eagles were finding new ways to get under our skin every single day The Unseen was coming together better than I’d ever expected. I could feel their determination in every move, every jump, every shout of encouragement.
“Look who’s actually trying,” Ivy drawled after we’d nearly nailed a difficult sequence, arms crossed as she eyed us like a hawk. “Putting in all that effort just to make a fool of yourselves on stage.”
I felt my blood simmer. “We’re here to win, Ivy. So don’t waste your time.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about you winning,” Ivy said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’m just curious how long it’ll take for you to mess up that little routine of yours. Nationals are for professionals, not misfits.”
The words stung more than I wanted to admit. Before I could respond, a voice cut through the tension like a whip. “Funny,” Stacey said, stepping forward. She stayed close by during practice, occasionally offering advice to Carlos or adjusting Sasha’s stance during a move. I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of camaraderie. Whatever her reasons, Stacey had become an unexpected ally. And in that moment, I realized that maybe, just maybe, we could finally be on the same side. “You’d think someone as ‘elite’ as you wouldn’t have time to come check out what a team of misfits is doing. What’s the matter, Ivy? Afraid of a little competition?”
Ivy’s eyes narrowed. “Afraid? Please. Just making sure you all know your place.”
“We know exactly where we stand, Ivy.” Stacey said, folding her arms. “And when nationals come around, you might just be surprised.”
For a moment, Ivy seemed at a loss, her confidence shaken. But she quickly recovered, giving us all a disdainful glance before turning on her heel, her squad following her out. Only when she was gone did I let out the breath I’d been holding.
I turned to Stacey, genuinely surprised by her support. “Thanks for standing up for us.”
She shrugged, brushing it off like it was nothing. “I just hate bullies.”
It was a simple answer, but there was something in her expression that suggested more. In that brief moment, I saw Stacey as more than just my step-sister or a former rival. She was someone who’d been hurt, too—someone who, just like me, had struggled to find her place.
“Let’s show this bitch what we’re capable of.” She smirked.