Happy breakup

Kane was the undisputed tyrant of our high school, notoriously ruthless with his words.

I’d always been on the curvier side. When the new, form-fitting cheer uniforms arrived at the locker room, Kane hadn't held back his mocking laugh.

"Are you seriously going to parade around in that?" he had sneered. "Please. You look like a pig about to burst out of its casing. It's embarrassing."

I couldn’t begin to count the number of times I’d mentally broken down over Kane’s acidic remarks. But every time, I forced myself to swallow the humiliation.

Why? Because he was the state's most coveted star quarterback.

Because whenever someone else tried to give me hell, he’d step in with that fiercely impatient, undeniably protective attitude of his. That was my justification.

That was, until the eve of the State Championship.

Daisy, a nobody freshman who had barely scraped her way onto the cheer squad, took the confidential playbook our team had spent three agonizing months perfecting, and handed it straight to our biggest rivals.

Normally, Kane would have sneered and verbally shredded the culprit until there was nothing left of their dignity.

But this time? He just stepped forward, pulled a pack of tissues from the pocket of his expensive letterman jacket, tossed it at Daisy’s feet, and looked away.

"Stop crying," he said, his voice strangely subdued. "The damage is done, and tears won't fix a damn thing. Besides, your face gets all red and swollen when you cry. It's an ugly look."

…

Right now, the air outside the players' locker room was thick enough to ignite.

Five minutes ago, the tournament committee had dropped the bomb: due to a severe breach of tactical confidentiality, to maintain the integrity of the game, our school’s football team was officially disqualified from the championship.

This wasn't just a game.

The bleachers were already crawling with Ivy League scouts. For a lot of the guys on the roster, this was their only ticket out—their one shot at a full-ride athletic scholarship to change their lives. And now, all their blood, sweat, and tears had gone up in smoke.

"An accident? Do we look like idiots to you?" our starting linebacker, a guy with a buzzcut and bloodshot eyes, roared at Daisy.

"Who 'accidentally' prints out an entire thick-ass playbook, page by page, and slides it perfectly under the door of the rival team's locker room?!"

Daisy’s eyes were rimmed red, her shoulders trembling uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry, guys... I swear I didn't mean to.

I was just delivering the sports drinks and mixed up the locker room numbers... I know I ruined your hard work, I really know I messed up..."

The team wasn't buying a second of it. The fury in the hallway threatened to blow the roof off.

"The two locker rooms are on opposite sides of the stadium! North and South! You telling me you don't even know basic directions?"

"Save the fake tears! Who are you performing for? This kind of 'brainless mistake' is worse than straight-up poisoning our water coolers!"

Right as the outrage threatened to boil over into something physical, Kane let out a soft scoff.

"Watch your mouths." Kane stepped in front of Daisy, his icy gaze sweeping over his own teammates. "A bunch of grown-ass guys cornering and bullying a little girl at a time like this? It's pathetic."

Dead silence fell over the hallway.

Everyone stared at him in sheer disbelief.

This was the predator at the very top of the high school food chain, a clean-freak perfectionist who despised incompetence.

Normally, if a wide receiver ran a single route wrong on the field, Kane would ruthlessly mock him. He never tolerated weakness.

Yet here he was, publicly defending a rookie who had just committed high treason against his own team.

Staring at that pack of tissues lying at Daisy's feet, a suffocating wave of bitterness surged up my throat, burning my eyes.

I knew that tone too well from him—that specific mix of disgust and reluctant resignation.

But the crushing reality was this: all those times his vicious words had cut me open, leaving me sobbing in my bedroom, he’d just stand there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes brimming with utter annoyance.

Can you give it a rest? Are you really going to cry forever over something this petty? Jesus, you're annoying.

He had never, not once, shown me a fraction of the patience he was showing her now. The glaring double standard hit me like a physical slap to the face, violently shaking me awake from years of self-deception.

Gradually, the agonizing stares shifted from Kane and landed on my face. As the captain of the cheer squad—and Kane's notoriously official girlfriend—they were waiting for my call.

I took a deep breath, digging my nails into my palms to force myself to stay grounded. I looked dead at the sniffling Daisy.

"Whether this was an honest mistake or calculated sabotage, the fact remains: you compromised this entire team and ruined people’s futures." I kept my voice deadpan, unwavering. "

As of right now, you are pulled from all upcoming games and squad events. You’re off the cheerleading team."

Daisy’s head snapped up, staring at me in sheer shock before the tears started falling even harder.

"Wynne, I know you’ve always looked down on me because I come from an ordinary family. I know you hate me," she sobbed, her voice cracking perfectly on cue.

"But nobody's perfect. I apologized! Are you really going to strip away my only dream over one wrong turn?"

The briefly silenced football players flared up again, enraged by her audacity.

"What dream?! You can't even remember basic formations! You drag the squad down every time you step on the field, and now you’re playing the victim?"

"You should be thanking God we aren't making you pay for the financial damage you did to this team! Get the hell out of here!"

"Enough!"

Kane barked, his voice cracking like a whip. He turned his head and looked at me. The look in his eyes was entirely foreign—laced with pure, unadulterated disgust.

"Wynne, you're supposed to be a leader. Are you seriously just going to stand there and watch a mob of guys bully someone who can't fight back?"

He sneered, stepping closer, towering over me.

"Using your little bit of power to settle personal vendettas? Playing the mean-girl bully card? Right, I forgot—you’ve always been an accomplice to this kind of crap."