❝She's one of those girls you just can't walk away from. One of those girls you will never forget, no matter how hard you might try.❞
BOOK ONE OF THE SCARLETT CHRONICLES |
After being kidnapped as a young child, seventeen year old Scarlett Grey is...
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BECAUSE A CERTAIN blonde-haired dance captain had assigned me homework to binge watch at least three "Bring It On" movies before game night, I knew what I was expecting when I ran onto the brightly lit lacrosse field. She'd also ordered me to pay attention to how proper cheerleaders looked when cheering on their teams, because apparently my facial expressions were more suited for a calculus exam or a funeral.
So I pasted on the brightest smile I could muster as I followed the rest of the dancers between the stands that were jam packed with students and parents adorned in vogue red and black outfits. I followed their lead, prancing around shouting like the cheerleaders we weren't and waving our arms trying to pump up our school.
Across the field, girls were dressed in sparkly navy and white spandex dresses. I nearly burst out laughing when I noticed the blue and white pompoms in their hands. They were also doing their best to drown out our school's cheering with that of their own, the Oceanview Prep Spartans.
Neither of the teams were on the field yet. In a few moments, Aurora and Violet would take to the podium at the side of the field to announce each player as they descended onto the field. Although we'd never rehearsed it, each player would be lead out by a dancer. I'd coincidently forgotten about this until this moment so as to not psych myself out.
On cue, Violet called us over to the side of the field, giving the Spartans the opportunity to take to the field for their cheer to introduce their own team.
Once we were all huddled around the dark haired girl, she produced a small drawstring bag. "Okay, girls. Pick a number and get your asses back there. The minute the Spartans finish up, Aurora and I will start calling the players out. Find your match and kill it when you come out. Got it?"
We each nodded and one by one shoved our hands into the drawstring bag for our numbers. I didn't bother to look at mine until everyone else had gotten theirs. As we were making our way quickly behind the stands to the field house, I unfolded my piece of paper.
On it was an elegant thirteen written in a bold red sharpie.
