By Friday morning, Roxie had slept exactly enough to keep her body alive and her personality dangerous.

She had spent most of the night staring at her ceiling, listening to the house settle and doing math in her head until every number felt like an insult.

Bills are coming at the end of the month.

The homecoming.

The tiny amount she had been pretending could maybe, somehow, become a homecoming dress if she stretched it hard enough and lied to herself with confidence.

Now it had to become uniform money.

A replacement uniform she never planned to buy because she already had one yesterday.

Roxie rolled onto her side and checked her phone for the fifth time before sunrise.

No message from Zac. Probably sleeping.

She put the phone facedown and stared at her wall.

Her senior picture had survived.

Barely.

Her hair had survived.

Barely.

But her uniform was different.

Her uniform was captain. Her uniform was Friday night. Her uniform was the line between Roxie Jones, scholarship girl barely holding her life together, and Roxie Jones, cheer captain everyone watched because she made watching worth it.

Whoever did this knew that.

That was what kept her awake.

Not the fabric.

The intention.

By the time her alarm went off, Roxie had already been awake for almost an hour.

Claire was asleep on the couch when Roxie left, one arm over her face while the TV muttered to nobody. Roxie did not wake her. Claire would either miss the exhaustion completely or start a fight, and Roxie did not have the energy to hate either option properly.

School was loud in a way that felt personal. Game day always infected Briarwick like a plague.

Roxie moved through it with her bag on one shoulder and her patience somewhere underground. Thank God for her concealer.

Angela caught her near the lockers before first period.

"You look tired," Angela said.

Roxie shut her locker. So much for the concealer working. "Way to greet someone in the morning."

Angela blinked. "I’m sorry."

Karen stepped up beside them, eyes moving over Roxie’s face. "You didn’t sleep."

"I slept."

Angela’s face softened. "Roxie."

Roxie lifted one finger. "Do not say anything emotional. I will bite."

Angela pressed her lips together.

Karen, unfortunately, had less fear. "Coach Miller wants you before lunch."

Roxie’s stomach dipped.

"Why?"

Karen gave her a look.

Right.

The uniform currently lying in Coach Miller’s office like a crime scene with pleats.

Roxie exhaled through her nose. "Great."

Angela squeezed her arm. "We’ll come with you."

"No."

"Roxie."

"I don’t need backup to get yelled at by a man who owns too many whistles."

Karen tilted her head. "That sounds exactly like something that needs backup. Are you sure you don’t need us?"

Roxie almost smiled.

But the thought of Coach Miller, the ruined uniform, and tonight’s game sat too heavy in her chest.

"I’ll handle it," she said.

By fourth period, Roxie had handled absolutely nothing except pretending to take notes while mentally pricing uniforms on websites she could not afford.

When the bell rang for lunch, she went to Coach Miller’s office instead of the cafeteria.

The athletic hallway smelled like floor wax, sweat, and old popcorn from last week’s game. A football poster hung crooked near the trophy case. Zac’s face was on it, looking annoyingly heroic for someone who had once almost died on a toilet lid.

Roxie looked away.

Coach Miller’s door was open.

He sat behind his desk with her ruined uniform laid across a chair.

Seeing it again made her throat tighten.

The shell was split through the Ravens lettering. The skirt had a jagged cut down one side. The red bow looked like it had lost a fight with a lawn mower.

Coach Miller looked up. "Jones."

"Coach."

He leaned back in his chair. "I filed the report."

"Okay."

"Admin will review hallway cameras."

Roxie laughed before she could stop herself.

Coach Miller’s eyes narrowed. "Something funny?"

"Briarwick cameras miss everything useful."

"That may be true, but we still follow procedure."

Coach Miller stood and picked up the damaged skirt. "This is school-issued property."

Roxie’s jaw tightened. "I know."

"It was assigned to you."

"I know."

"You are captain. I expect you to take care of what is issued to you."

The words hit exactly where they were supposed to.

Roxie stared at him. "It was locked in my locker."

"I understand that."

"Do you?"

His mouth pressed into a hard line.

Roxie could feel her pulse beating in her throat.

She should stop.

She knew she should stop.

Her scholarship did not need more attitude attached to it.

But she was so tired, and he was standing there with her ruined uniform like it was a stain on her leadership instead of proof that someone had sabotaged her and destroyed something that belonged to her.

Coach Miller set the skirt down. "I’m not blaming you for someone else’s behavior."

"It sounds like you are."

"I’m saying captains manage problems before they become bigger problems."

Roxie smiled without humor. "Someone cut my uniform into pieces. I think it arrived big."

He stared at her for a long second.

Then he sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Sit."

Roxie sat.

Coach Miller went to the storage cabinet behind his desk and pulled out a plastic bin with CHEER—OLD/EXTRA written on the side in black marker.

Roxie’s entire body rejected the bin before he even opened it.

"Coach."

"You need a uniform."

"I need my uniform."

He ignored her and lifted the lid.

The uniform he pulled out was black and red, technically. It had the old Ravens logo stitched across the front and a skirt folded under the shell.

At first glance, it almost looked fine.

Then Coach Miller unfolded it.

Roxie stared.

The shell was cropped high enough that her whole stomach would be out. The skirt was short. The attached shorts were there, but the fabric looked ready to betray her the second she moved, jumped, breathed, or existed with hips.

Roxie looked from the uniform to Coach Miller.

"Was Briarwick running out of fabric?"

Coach Miller frowned at it, then looked away like the uniform had embarrassed him too. "It’s from an older set."

"An older set from what? A music video?"

"Jones."

"My ass is going to be out."

His face went flat. "Language." He lowered the uniform slightly. "Try it on with Angela and Karen in the locker room. If you’re uncomfortable, don’t wear it."

That stopped her.

Because she had been ready to fight him.

She had been ready for the whole adult speech about team commitment and sacrifice and pushing through adversity, which was usually what adults called humiliation when it happened to someone younger than them.

But Coach Miller looked annoyed at the situation, not eager to shove her into it.

Bare minimum, but still good.

He held the uniform out without looking directly at it. "I need to know if this works."

Roxie took it between two fingers. "I promise you, it doesn’t."

Angela and Karen were waiting in the locker room because apparently neither of them understood the concept of being told no.

Angela jumped up from the bench. "Well?"

Roxie held up the old uniform.

Angela’s face changed.

Karen stared.

Then Karen said, "Absolutely not."

"I haven’t tried it on yet."

Angela made a strained sound. "I can see the future, and the future says no."

Roxie went to the back row of lockers and changed behind the open locker doors while Angela stood guard like someone might burst in with a camera. Karen faced away, arms crossed, radiating judgment at the entire athletic department.

The shell was worse on.

Of course it was.

It pulled tight across her chest and stopped above her stomach like it got bored halfway down. The skirt sat low, and the second Roxie turned, the back shifted high enough that she froze.

She looked down.

Then closed her eyes.

This day was a hate crime against her dignity.

"Is it on?" Angela asked.

"Unfortunately."

"Can we see?"

"No."

Karen turned anyway.

Angela followed.

Both of them went silent.

That was the review.

Roxie stepped out from behind the lockers and faced the mirror.

Her stomach was out. The skirt barely covered the attached shorts. From the front, it looked outdated and too small. From the back, it looked like Briarwick had personally chosen violence.

Angela lifted her phone.

Roxie turned on her. "Angela."

Angela froze with the camera already open.

Karen slowly looked at her. "Really?"

"I’m sorry," Angela said, not sounding sorry at all. "But she looks too good." Angela gave her puppy eyes. "Please. I’ll keep it private."

"No."

"Roxie."

"No."

Roxie stared at both of them through the mirror.

This was her life.

Her uniform was destroyed, her stomach was out, her captain status was hanging by one tired thread, and Angela was trying to negotiate a thirst-trap evidence policy with Karen like they were running a legal firm for disasters.

Angela softened. "Please? You look good. Like, aggressively good. In a slutty way, but respectful."

"Those words do not belong in that order." Roxie groaned. "Fine."

Her stomach was out. The skirt barely covered the attached shorts. From the front, it looked outdated and too small. From the back, it looked like Briarwick had personally chosen violence.

"This won’t work."

Angela put down her phone. "Maybe if we pin—"

"Don’t lie to me."

Angela’s mouth snapped shut.

Karen walked around her once, then stopped behind her. "You cannot cheer in that."

Roxie laughed once, sharp and tired. "Really? I was thinking of adding glitter."

Angela’s eyes filled with anger. "Wear mine."

Roxie turned. "No."

"I’ll sit."

"No."

"Roxie, you’re captain."

"Exactly."

Karen’s voice was quieter. "Take mine."

Roxie looked at her.

It was not simple.

If Karen sat out, people would ask why.

If Angela sat out, people would make it a whole thing.

If Roxie took either uniform, whoever did this would still win because they had made Roxie need someone else to step off the field for her.

Roxie turned back to the mirror.

"I’m not taking your uniforms."

Angela stepped closer. "Then what are you going to wear?"

Roxie looked at the exposed strip of her stomach, the skirt that could not be trusted, the girl in the mirror who looked like she was one wrong cheer count away from becoming a meme.

She changed back into her clothes and returned the old uniform to Coach Miller’s office.

He took one look at her face and did not ask to see it.

"That bad?"

"Yes."

He folded it and put it on his desk. "Then you sit tonight."

Roxie had already known. Still, hearing it felt like getting cut. She nodded.

His eyes narrowed, but his voice stayed even. "You will still report with the squad. You will sit with them near the track. If admin asks, the issue is under investigation. If anyone asks you for details, you send them to me."

Visible but not performing.

Captain but not captain.

Roxie nodded again because arguing would not create fabric.

The school day dragged after that.

Every poster looked smug. Every person in black and red looked too happy. Every mention of the undefeated streak made Roxie want to peel paint off a wall with her teeth.

By the time final bell rang, she had heard three different people talk about tonight’s game like Briarwick was sending soldiers into battle instead of rich boys with shoulder pads.

She went to the gym hallway to get her bag before call time.

Zac was waiting near the trophy case. He straightened when he saw her. "Hey."

"Hi."

His eyes moved over her regular clothes.

"Where’s your uniform?"

Roxie kept walking. "In a better place."

He fell into step beside her. "What does that mean?"

"It’s spiritually unavailable."

"Roxie."

She stopped and turned on him. "What?"

His jaw tightened. "I heard something happened."

"Shocking. I bet the name starts with A."

"What happened?"

"Someone ruined my uniform."

His face went still.

She hated that stillness. It always came before Zac did something reckless with his body or his mouth.

"Who?"

"I don’t know."

"Kendall?"

"No."

"Bianca?"

"I said I don’t know."

His eyes searched her face. "Are you cheering?"

The question hit worse than expected.

Roxie looked away. "No."

Zac stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Why?"

"Because my uniform is dead and the backup uniform was created by someone who really loved teenage girls."

He looked confused for half a second, then understood enough to get angry again.

"I can help."

Roxie’s stomach turned.

"I mean it. If you need another one, I can pay for it."

The hallway seemed to shrink.

There were people at both ends, students heading toward the stadium, teachers carrying clipboards, football players laughing near the double doors. None of them were listening. Roxie knew that.

It still felt like everyone had heard.

She turned to him slowly.

His face changed immediately.

He knew.

Too late, but he knew.

"Roxie," he said. "I didn’t mean—"

"You never do."

He flinched. "I was trying to help."

"I didn’t ask."

"I know."

"You think money fixes everything?"

"No."

"Really? Because rich people always say that right before offering money."

His mouth shut. He looked hurt. "I’m sorry," he said.

The apology made it worse because it was real.

She wanted him cocky. She wanted him annoying. She wanted him to say something stupid so she could be mad without guilt.

Instead, he stood there with bruises on his face and regret in his eyes, and Roxie had to look away before her own anger turned into something messier.

"I have to go."

"Roxie—"

She walked past him.