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svictorious · 3 months ago

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Denial is a team sport!

Tryouts series | A.A

[content warnings:] bullying, sexual tension, talks of virginity, language, physical violence, heartbreak. R! Hates the world! Enemies to lovers. Slightly unserious.

wc: 4.4k

notes: sooo I made some edits to the prologue after I wrote the first chapter, so I do highly recommend you at least go back in skim read it!

series masterlist | previous ch

Abby swore she had a plan.

Let the liquid courage run through her veins and finally make a move on the girl she had been eyeing since move-in day. Especially now that the same girl was finally single. To be completely honest, she wasn’t sure what you seen in her teammate in the first place.

She didn’t realize her own mouth would be her worst enemy—until it was too late. The usual suave that made girls swoon? It almost earned her a slap to the face.

And as much as she hated hearing her roommate say it, she really felt like such an idiot. Now, she had a bigger problem than just her failed first impression.

The art of making a scene was a skill you and Abby Anderson had mastered. Worse, you mastered it together.

And now, in the reflection of the ticking, large brown and cream clock behind you, there you both sat—side by side in the dean’s office.

The room was quiet, a hum of an old fan and the scratch of a pen dragging across paper. Blue ink detailing your most recent development just an hour prior.

The dean exhaled sharply, finally looking up.

Your arms were crossed, one leg over the other, while Abby sat comfortably still—just as over it. Matching busted lips like accessories.

“You two just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?”

Abby exhaled a small laugh—until you shot her a glare. Before either of you could defend yourselves, the morning came rushing back.

Denial is one hell of a drug.

And right now, you were all drowning in it.

Abby was trying—and failing—to shake off her drunken slip-up. She shot up in bed, eyes snapping to the clock. Fuck. She was already late.

Dina was desperately trying to keep you away from the video currently making its rounds on social media.

And you? You were pretending none of it bothered you.

It’s fine. Everything is fine.

You were fine last night. And you were totally fine now as you set your duffel bag down on the bench.

The girls were quiet. But you knew they wanted to ask, to poke and prod. Everyone had seen it. Joked about it. Like it was some kind of championship replay.

It shouldn’t even be a big deal. People bicker all the time. What even was said? Then you heard it again.

“At least I didn’t let one bad breakup ruin my life.”

You whip your head around. Two teammates are hunched over a phone, the sound of your own voice mixed with Abby’s echoing from it. Oh right. The conversation was less than friendly.

“Hey! Turn that off and get to warm-ups,” Dina snaps, her captain voice demanding.

They scramble off, the video disappearing with a click, but it’s too late—you’ve already heard it. Again. Just another reminder of how right she was. You’ve been a mess, internally and on the field.

“Hey.” Dina’s voice is softer now, a hand resting lightly on your back.

“Hi.” You reply, setting out your water bottle and uniform bow, rolling your shoulders like you can physically shake off the drama.

There’s no usual pep in her tone. She knows you—knows how this is affecting you—but this is a side of you she hasn’t seen in a long time. Down, gloomy, and set off if someone even chewed too loud.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” You nod, smiling—faker than the extensions in your hair. You straighten your posture, trying to seem put together.

“Help stretch me out?” you ask, already moving toward an open mat, desperate to push past the painfully obvious.

Dina nods, sitting beside you, helping you stretch your thighs. But it’s impossible for her not to notice how off you are, how forced your words sound with each syllable.

“ lying, It doesn’t suit you.” Her hand settles on your knee as she continues. “Don’t pull the ‘I’m fine’ bullshit with me. You’re definitely not.”

“Oh, right, because I’d fall apart over some drunken argument?” Stretching an arm across your chest. “I’m saying it’s fine because it is.”

Dina shifts, turning to face you head-on now.

“I know you. And I’ve seen how you’ve been acting these past few months. I could read you in my sleep. You can lie to everyone else, but not to me. You’re cracking—you’re—“

“—Jesus, Dee! Can I just fucking stretch?”

You groan, throwing your hands up before leaning back on them. Your voice is louder than you intended, ringing out across the field.

“See? There it is. That attitude I’ve been seeing all season.” Dina is pushing now, and she knows it. But she’s tired of your bullshit.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it. I know you’d rather just bottle it up until you explode. But seriously? You’ve got to stop running yourself into the ground.”

She stands up abruptly, ponytail swinging.

“So yes, you can stretch. Alone.”

“Dina, wait—” You sigh, crossing your arms, feeling the weight of a few stares and pointedly ignoring them. God, this is all Anderson’s fault. The thought loops in your head like a curse, her being the chosen person for blame.

Dina’s footsteps slow, but she doesn’t turn. Her voice carries in the air just enough to let you know she’s done. “What? I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t.” You pause. “But please just—sit, okay? I’m sorry, I’m just… overwhelmed, I think.”

She huffs but sits back down, crossing her legs, fully facing you. “Overwhelmed? Or just in denial?”

“Denial?” You scoff. “Please. Everyone seems highly aware of what’s going on in my life, so that’s not even possible.”

She rolls her eyes. “Everyone’s ‘highly aware’ because they have eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re not yourself.”

Her gaze scans your face, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. “You’ve been snapping at people left and right. Hell, you’ve chewed my head off more than usual.”

You lower your arm, a creeping discomfort settling in. The breakup, the humiliation, the anger—it’s all piling up. Your shoulders sag. “That bad, huh?”

She nods, her previous irritation fading into concern. “Yeah. Pretty bad.”

She hesitates, then presses on. “Look, I get it. Martinez messed you up, and you’re pissed.”

“It’s not about her—” you cut in, hating that name hitting your ears.

“Please. If I got screwed over like that, I’d be pissed, too. But you’ve been like this since the breakup, and now you’re just lashing out at everyone.”

The more she spoke, the more the reminders came. The tears. The weight loss from barely eating. Dina dragging you through the shared house just to make you shower. Rock bottom—all from one girl. Realizing she’s touched a nerve, she sighs, dragging a hand through her raven hair. She remembers just how bad the fallout was. Letting someone in, only for them to shut you out. Burying themselves in your heart without caring if they left traces behind.

“Look, I know you’re not gonna wake up tomorrow and turn into sunshine and rainbows, but you’ve gotta do something. Because right now? You’re on a one-way road to a full-blown breakdown town.”

A pause. Then—

“I was talking with Coach, and… maybe you need a break. Tryouts are coming back up, so it’s not like we’d be down a spot—”

You had to stop her, not wanting to hear that finished thought. “What—? Hold on, you can’t do that. You know I’ve been looking forward to redeeming myself this time around. Now you think I’m just going to sit out?”

“Yes. Yes, I do think you’re gonna sit out. Because you’re a mess right now. This isn’t about redemption. This is about you pushing yourself to the brink because you can’t get over that sorry ass.”

“I’m sick of it. The coaching staff is sick of it. Hell, even the girls at Kappa are sick of it.”

She exhales sharply, leaning forward.

“We’re taking you off the roster for a minimum of two weeks. That’s all.”

Your head snaps up so fast you’d worry it would break. You’d never been taken off, ever. If anything, you were first pick next to Dina, Caitlyn, and a few others who were almost just as polished but not quite. With the heavy shelf full of trophies, medals, and countless pictures with a proud smile from elementary gymnastics up to now—this was a part of you. All of you.

“No—no! Don’t do this to me. Please, it’s the only thing keeping me sane right now—”

Dina’s expression softens, her tone lowering into a gentle whisper—almost as if she genuinely felt sorry for you.

“Yeah, that’s the problem. Cheer shouldn’t be the only thing keeping you ‘sane.’ It’s not supposed to be your entire identity.”

She reaches for your shoulder again, her hand resting on the black fabric of your tank top.

“You’ll thank me later once you’ve gotten your head on straight again.”

You love Dina, but in this moment, all you want is to wrap your hands around her throat. Despite the violent urge, you stay silent.

Instead, you meet the eye contact you’ve been avoiding since last night, knowing her big puppy eyes will pull you back to reality. She’s trying to help, you know that. But what are you supposed to do for two weeks? Fourteen days. 335 hours.

Maybe for someone in a clear headspace, two weeks of rest sounds nice, but for a girl who can’t separate herself from the uniform she wears, it feels like hell.

Dina waits for the snappy reply, the angry words, or maybe just your jaw clenched so tightly your teeth might shatter. Instead, she hears a quiet:

“Yeah, Okay.”

Then, the weight of your head settles on her right shoulder. Dina lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. This was the girl she missed—the softer version, even if you’d been moping around. She knew it would pass, just hoping you didn’t push her away before the gray cloud lifted, making way for a bluer sky.

For a moment, it felt nice. The intelligible chatter reminded you of your surroundings—until, suddenly, you felt out of place where you least expected it.

Your throat tightened as you blinked away the burning in your eyes. You had to push it down. You couldn’t cry now. So you quickly muttered something to get yourself out of there.

“Alright, I’ll see you at home then?”

“Yeah,” she agreed softly, patting your knee once more. “See you at home.”

Dina watched as you stood up, slinging your duffel bag over your shoulder and making your way across the open field. The loud whistle redirected her attention. She brushed off the few strands of grass clinging to her legs, giving your retreating figure one last glance.

The coach’s sharp voice cut through the lingering conversations. “Alright, bring it in!”

Dina pushed herself up, stretching her arms over her head before glancing at the rest of the girls. “She just needs to cool off,” she said, more to herself than anyone. “She’ll be fine.”

Caitlyn leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “You think she’s good, though? She’s been kinda—”

“Intense?” Josephine, the blonde, chimed in. “Yeah, I’m kinda relieved she stormed off this time. Maybe now we can finish a damn drill without her biting someone’s head off.”

Dina shot her a look, lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah, maybe don’t talk about her like that when she’s not here to defend herself.”

Josephine scoffed, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying—”

The coach clapped their hands together, effectively cutting off the conversation. “Let’s go! I want focus this time!”

With that, they all fell back into line, shaking off the moment and refocusing on the drills ahead.

The walk felt aimless. If you went back home now, the questions would come. Admitting that your attitude got you put on timeout would sound too much like you were the loose cannon everyone said you were.

The sun beamed down on the exposed skin of your arms. Once the group was out of view, you sank onto the bleachers on the opposite side of the field, pressing your elbows against your thighs. The metal burned under you, but it was nothing compared to the frustration simmering in your chest.

From here, you could see the restrooms and the now-empty concession stands—during game nights, the lines were insufferable. Now, everything was still, and for the first time all morning, you could breathe.

Maybe some peace was needed after all.

Maybe you had been more intense since it happened.

And maybe you just needed a good cry.

Your shoulders sagged, defenses dropping. The tears burned as they fell, silent but unstoppable. What a shitty morning. Frustration took over, your hands moving without thinking, yanking your hair out of its perfectly tied updo. The strands fell loose around your face—messy, undone. Not so picture perfect. You hadn’t been in a while.

So bad, in fact, that they’d started calling you—

“Watch out, Time Bomb’s about to go off again.”

The snicker cut through your pity party. Laughter followed, the kind that made your skin crawl. So much for peace.

Of course, it’s one of those days—the kind where you’re forced to share the field with the rowdiest, cockiest group on campus. The ones who tackled each other for fun, who walked like they owned the place, who didn’t know when to shut the hell up.

One nudged the other with a elbow, grinning.

“Careful. One wrong move and she might start swinging.”

You should sit up, square your shoulders, act like you don’t hear them. Instead, your body felt heavy. The weight of the morning, the season, the past four months pressing down. So you ducked your head, staring at the ground like maybe—just maybe—if you didn’t acknowledge them, they’d move on.

Then came her voice. Annoyingly high-pitched.

“Knock it off.”

The condescension was thick. She didn’t actually care. You knew who it was before you even looked up. Savannah green, The replacement herself.

Long legs, smooth skin, lips always pulled into that pristine, porcelain smile. her arm lazily draped around Martinez like she had something to prove. And the look she shot you? Amused. Pitying. Like you were some kind of sad little joke.

Your jaw clenched. Nails dug into your palms.

God, you still hated her.

Hated them.

Four months earlier…

Virginity. Most girls lose it early—peer pressure, trying to catch up with their friends, or thinking they’ve found the one. They look at you differently once you share your body. Tie your soul to theirs, if you believe in that kind of thing.

But not you.

With a helicopter mom obsessed with appearances and a future in professional cheer ahead of you, relationships were hard to come by. Harder to keep.

Which is why you adored your first girlfriend.

At first She was sweet, understanding—the kind of girl who’d offer you her hoodie the second you muttered about being cold.

But lately, she’d been… pushy.

Her new group of friends had changed her, little by little. Since when was she so fixated on sex? What happened to I’m ready when you are?

So when her hand snaked into your jeans that night, fingers brushing against the fabric of your underwear, and her kisses swallowed your quiet protest—You had to fully pull back, laughing nervously.

“Woah, slow down.”

She groaned, running a hand through her dark hair. “You do this every time.”

Guilt twisted inside you. You reached out, cupping her cheek. “Babe, I’m just—”

“—Not ready. I get it.” With her head already turning away from you.

The air in the car shifted. You slowly slid back into the passenger seat. thing were so different now. Life pulling you both in different directions, those promises of being able to stick together through it all feeling emptier than the quick ‘love you’s she’d throw out like it automated reply.

She was different. The kind you struggled to recognize anymore. Before you could say another word, her phone buzzed.

You glanced down.

Savannah. That name again. The one she swore was just a friend. Just someone she passed notes with. Nothing to worry about.

Valeria let out a sigh, glancing at her screen before locking it again with a click. “I should take you home.”

“Oh—I thought it was date night?”

She only shrugged, shifting into reverse. “Yeah, well, it’s getting late.”

You should’ve known that night. Dina had tried to warn you, but that only earned her the cold shoulder.

She was right. She was always right. Because that night? Valeria didn’t go home. She found the first warm body that let her press up against them. The same girl she swore you didn’t have to worry about. Plastered all over that stupid Instagram page—Exposed UW. The one that thrived off campus scandals.

Abby had seen the post, too. Not that she’d been looking—it was impossible to miss. She still remembered the way your name had been tagged under the grainy party pictures, how the comments filled with half-hearted damns and yikes. The way she felt a little sick to her stomach reading them. Because sure, maybe she didn’t know you that well back then. But she knew enough to know She remembered thinking—Shit. She doesn’t deserve that. months later, you would still were holding onto that anger, looking at her like she was the enemy.

And Dina? She just patted your back as you screamed into your pillow, now wishing she’d brought earplugs.

“I hate her! I hate everything about her!”

Tears burned your face, breath hitching, body shaking as you chucked a fluffy pink pillow across the room. It bounced uselessly against the wall.

“She’d rather be the first whore to spread her legs than pick me?” Your voice ricocheted through the shared sorority housing. “Oh wow, congrats, Valeria! You’re a statistical cliché! So unique! So rebellious!“

You threw your hands up. “And her? Really? You wanted to date someone who looks like a Red Bull commercial come to life? ‘Oh, don’t worry, we’re just friends.’ Yeah, okay! Well, newsflash—friends don’t fuck each other!”

You grabbed your phone, scrolling furiously. “And this post? This post?” You shoved the screen toward Dina, voice in disgust.

“From head cheerleader to washed-up has-been? Some people peak in high school. Tough break.”

Dina winced hearing it read out loud, lowering the phone to see your face again. “You know that’s not true—“

“Washed. Up. Dina. Ugh!—says some loser who probably has no life of their own. so ‘ hey why not ruin someone else’s?’. Lame! “

You flung your phone onto the bed, hands flying to your head, Hair a nest of unbrushed strands. “Jesus, I mean—I suffered through hours of her indie garbage playlist just to impress her! And I—”

Your breath hitched. Eyes widening. A realization settled over you. The situation. What this meant.

“Oh my God.” You stumbled back. “I’m the tragic ex.”

“No, you’re not—”

“I am the tragic ex!” You shouted, to the ceiling.

Dina buried her face in her hands as you threw yourself dramatically onto the bed.

Back to this morning…

They just kept going, as if you weren’t even there. As much as you hated the nickname, they were lighting a match underneath you.

Walk away. Ignore them. Walk away.

With a deep exhale and a push of your palms, you stood up, preparing to do just that.

A small group straggled onto the field—probably the ones who overslept before practice. You barely registered them because another jag cut through the air.

With a fake pout, she continued, “Aw, you guys, don’t be mean. She’s had a rough time ever since, y’know…”

The audacity. The absolute gall to gesture between herself and Valeria, like she was doing you a favor by acknowledging it.

Valeria sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Savannah, chill.” She wasn’t even looking at you.

They were already moving on, setting up for practice like it was just another day.

That did it. Your vision blurred to crimson. A laugh escaped. “No, no. Let her talk. Since she clearly has so much to say.”

“Oh, I was just saying—”

Abby heard the taunting before she even saw the scene unfolding.

Still groggy from a late start to her morning, she stepped onto the field, body already bracing for a dreadfully long practice. And on top of everything, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about you. That stupid viral clip of your argument looped in her head like a bad highlight reel. She’d gone over it a hundred times, picking apart what she said, how she said it, how your face twisted right before you shot back. Nora told her to just rip the Band-Aid off and apologize already. But it wasn’t that simple.

Second chances existed—sure. She was still working through how. Then, voices cut through her thoughts. Loud. Mocking. Her dark brows furrowed as she scanned the field. A few teammates laughing like they’d just cracked the funniest joke in the world.

But even odder—you. Standing stiffly, like a cat waiting to pounce.

Abby followed your line of sight, locking onto Savannah, who wore that smug little grin like she was waiting to be crowned homecoming queen.

And she knew that look on your face. The same one you’d given her the other night when you told her to stop pushing.

A slow inhale. Shoulders tensing. Abby felt it coming before it even happened

She barely had time to react before—

A collective gasp rang out, cut off by the impact of the ground.

Before she knew it, Weeks of poking a bear with Pom Poms had finally caught up. You ticked like a timebomb reaching its final countdown.

Fingers curled into the ironed fabric of Savannah’s perfect little shirt, your other hand balled into what she had coming for her.

A fist, flying right for her face.

Blue irises followed the movements of your drawn-back arm as it pistoned over and over and over and—oh my God, somebody please do something.

No. She should do something.

Her own belongings now lost on the ground, Abby decided to act fast before Savannah’s face or your fist was permanently disfigured.

With a rushed, fluid movement, strong arms locked around you, restricting any further hits. But not before your hand swung back, catching Abby in the process of prying you off the girl beneath you.

“Jesus—really?” Abby managed out, wincing as her head snapped slightly to the side.

With a heaving chest, you heard her voice first. Then the others.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Savannah, breathless, clutching her bleeding nose.

“Did someone record that?”

“Is she okay?”

“Damn, Time Bomb. Didn’t know you had hands.”

And that’s how she found herself beside you once more.

This definitely wasn’t the second chance her roommate had been talking about. But still, she couldn’t help but feel like—maybe—it could be a start.

You didn’t hit her on purpose. At least, she hoped.

As the dean finished up paperwork and wrapped up a phone call or two, he leaned back in his chair, eyeing the both of you with thinly veiled exasperation.

“Well, I don’t know the full extent of the situation, but what I do know is that I have one student with a broken nose and some very angry parents.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple before continuing.

“This is a university of young adults, not a fight club full of children.”

“And while I’m fully aware of certain… patterns of behavior, I’m failing to see how that justifies violence.”

His gaze flickered to Abby , then to you. “Now, you’ve never once sat in this chair before, so I’m gracing you with a warning. But if I—or any other staff—catch you, Miss Anderson, and especially Miss Green, in any kind of altercation again…”

His voice dropped to something final.

“I can promise you, the fallout will be far worse.”

As the dark oak door clicked shut, Abby leaned back against the wall. The dean had far more choice words for you than for her.

When you finally reappeared, she got her first good look at you—disheveled, a broken nail, a busted lip from the one hit Savannah had managed to land, and a look that spoke a thousand words.

She thought back to the bubbly, soft-spoken girl she’d been pining over, and yeah… this wasn’t her. And maybe, just maybe, her stupid comment the other night had a butterfly effect. She braced herself. She knew you were going to let her have it. Again. But when you turned down the hall without so much as a glance in her direction, she felt something unexpected—offended.

“What, no ‘thank you’?” Fuck. That’s not what she meant to say.

But it got your attention immediately. Here we go. Maybe she was a masochist because the slow chuckle you let out as you turned to face her made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

“Thank you?” Disbelief dripped from your voice. “You want a thank you, Anderson?” You cocked your head at her,

Abby huffed, trying—and failing—to ignore the way her name sounded coming from you. God, she was losing it.

“Yeah, I do.” She held your gaze, chin jutted outward in defiance. “I just saved your ass.”

Before you could retort, she closed the distance between you. “You could be suspended. Or worse—kicked off the entire cheer team. And yet you won’t even look at me, let alone thank me.”

She was right in front of you now, almost toe to toe.

“I’m off for two weeks because of you! So it might as well be the same damn thing! Oh, don’t think that just because you decided to play Prince Charming, I’m about to kiss your damn feet.”

“So thanks for always somehow making my life worse!”

Abby’s eyes narrowed. Oh, we’re doing this? Blaming her of all people?

“Oh, right. Because it’s all my fault you can’t control your temper.” She scoffed and took a step closer, leaving mere inches between you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re—” You trailed off, eyes flickering over her face.

“You’re—!” You turned your back on her, ignore how she smells, ignore how she smells, before throwing up a hand.

“Ugh! Just piss off already!” You stormed down the hallway, needing space, air, anything but her. This god awful day.

“Oh yeah, real mature!” she called after you before turning on her heel and being off in the opposite direction.

Apologize? Her ass.

So yes, Abby swore she had a plan. She just never thought it would backfire so much in the last 72 hours.

Taglist cuties: @ferxanda @sigh-icantfindausername @caffeine-pup @grey-jedi12 @layalisthings @deadbolted @bambiaches

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