Private Lessons With The Bad Boy Bully
stood outside the gym doors, my application form clutched so tightly in my hands that the paper was starting to crumple at the edges.
Through the small window, I could see them—the cheerleading squad in all their coordinated glory. They moved in perfect synchronization, their uniforms bright and crisp, ponytails bouncing as they executed flips and formations with practiced ease.
"Five, six, seven, eight!" Allison's voice rang out sharp and commanding. "From the top! And this time, Madison, actually point your toes. We're not doing modern dance here."
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