WHEN YOU'RE GOOD, NO ONE REMEMBERS

Sasha can’t stop the grin from forming on her lips in response. When she first met Raleigh, she was so focused on their differences, the put together cheerleader versus the blood thirsty Exy player. The more they spend time together, the more Sasha realizes they’re not so different after all, and not always in ways she likes. But things like this, where they both want to be in charge, and they’ll push people out of the way to get there. It makes her crave more moments like these, when it’s just the two of them, and she gets to find out more things they have in common.

“She likes the spotlight in any form,” Sasha replies with a shrug, “She’d just prefer something less bloody and unrefined.” Anya was her perfect runway model, beautiful and polite, while Nikolai is the successful Neurosurgeon and the genius of the family. Sasha doesn’t fit in, but she likes it that way. She wants to hold onto her role as the black sheep and play Exy as long as she can, as long as she can do it without being disowned. 

“I don’t think any of the pro teams have a Wymack equivalent,” Sasha gives a bitter smile. “I’ll still try, but I doubt anyone would willingly invest in someone with so many red cards. So, I have a backup plan.” She’s not as smart as Nikolai, but she has an affinity for languages, and she thinks she has good business sense, so maybe that can be her thing in the future. Sasha Hart-Ashby, CEO.  

Luckily, she still has two full years to put together some sort of five year plan. Maybe, some team will be desperate enough to sign her on, and she won’t have to worry about it. Sasha suddenly lets out a short laugh, shaking her head, “Look at us. We’re in Vegas and we’re sitting here talking about the future instead of doing body shots or whatever.”

She doesn’t think about it much, what will happen when the Foxes aren’t Foxes anymore. Who will make it, and who won’t. Why would she? It isn’t her problem. 

But she can see the Foxes that try to be serious, responsible, professional, like that could be enough to wash the stain of this team, and wherever else they came from before it, off of them. Sasha isn’t like that, though. With the red cards, with the fights. She’s a loose cannon, but what a professional team might see as a liability is what Raleigh—who, granted, doesn’t know much about Exy—likes most about it.

And if she had to give that up in order to play professionally, then would it even be worth it?

She listens to Sasha with a hum, surprised at how quiet and comfortable she feels sitting out here with her. She’s not sure how long they’ve been sitting out here: it feels like no time at all, but between the wine and the company, she’s not sure if she can really tell. She looks back at the party inside, and wonders if they’ve been noticed, wonders if she cares. 

But there’s something about this warmth in Sasha’s company that feels a little bit unsettling—this isn’t what they do together, it isn’t what Raleigh does. Or, at least, it hasn’t been. “We could do body shots,” she says with a laugh, a raised eyebrow. “Or we could get out of here. I think I’ve had my fill of your team’s company for the night.”

“I can’t say I say I’m upset about that,” Jen laughs with a careless shrug. They have a history of jumping on the chance to procrastinate, and if they’ve learned anything about themself this year it’s that they’re pretty flaky. When it comes to their family, friends, and relationship their steadfast and loyal—unwavering, but somehow that just doesn’t ring true to the other aspects of their life. Joining the Foxes, quitting, and now considering joining again, telling themself they’re going to do better in school and not following through. Maybe, they need to talk to Betsy.

Packing can wait until after practice though. They’d rather hang out in the kitchen with Raleigh. Jen doesn’t know what will happen next year. Even if they do decide to just say with the Vixens, Raleigh still won’t be here next year, so it feels like they should take advantage of the time they have left with her. 

“Are you excited for Chicago?” Jen asks as they wait for the kettle to boil. They still have to go to Nashville before the even think about getting ready for that trip, but they’re still looking forward to it. That’s always been one of their favorite parts of Exy—all the traveling. “I’ve been a few times for games. We never stay long enough to see much, but I see why they love their pizza.” 

Three years at Palmetto seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Time was funny like that: those miserable years, the ones where she was alone, the ones where she had nothing, the ones where she was locked up, seemed to go on forever; then she got what she wanted, and worried about being able to keep it, worried about running out of time, and it seemed to slip through her fingers like sand. 

Once it had seemed like this year would go on forever. An endless series of humiliations, every time she saw her old friends on campus and knew that they were whispering about her behind their hands, every time she had to paste on a smile and cheer for a team she didn’t want anything to do with. 

But now it’s already March, more than halfway through the year. Her last year. She wonders how many more of these quiet afternoons she’ll have. How many of them with Jen, who’s never been bad company. She wonders what next year will hold. 

“I haven’t been before,” she says. “Not that we usually get to see much of the city, anyway. One Exy court pretty much looks like another. Maybe we’ll have to get some pizza, though. Go see the Bean?” The kettle switches off, and she busies herself with pouring water into the two mugs, pushing Jen’s in their direction when she’s done. “I don’t know what else there is to do in Chicago. You’ll have to tell me.”

There’s a party, and Raleigh should be there. Leave it to the Foxes to fail their way to victory. 

She should be there, but she doesn’t want to be. Sasha had been knocked down and couldn’t get back up. Raleigh had to look away, sitting on the sidelines with her grip on her pom-poms turning her knuckles white, as Sasha leaned on Abby to make her way off of the court. Raleigh isn’t squeamish. Raleigh had watched Sasha fight and draw blood before this season, and she’d been on the edge of her seat and cheering her on. But this isn’t Sasha kissing her with a split lip, bloodied but still victorious. 

This is something else, and she doesn’t like the way it makes her feel. 

She’d had to ask around, to figure out what room Sasha had ended up in, gritting her teeth behind her smile and hoping that nobody asked too many questions. 

Even now, standing outside of the hotel room door, she doesn’t know what she’s doing here. This isn’t what they are to each other. And, in just a few short months, whatever it is they are to each other now will cease to exist. Raleigh will leave Palmetto. Raleigh will move on, and this year with the Foxes will be nothing more than a memory. 

Funny, at the beginning of the year, she wanted nothing more. Now, she’s not as sure.

But she’s come this far already. Embarrassed herself this much. She raps her knuckles against the door, trying to keep it as quiet as she can. “You weren’t answering your texts,” she says, when the door opens. “And then I realized you probably couldn’t, so—” here I am. Like that’s any explanation at all.

   Indigo’s eyes drifted to the empty remnants of her snacking, a sheepish expression on her face. Just because she’d learned to leave Raleigh’s things alone, it didn’t mean there weren’t plenty of other Vixens with a stash to break into, and not all of them were as daunting. “You want to see a victory for the Foxes, right?” Indigo fired back, eyebrows raising. “Gotta keep up my strength. I’m a striker now, you know. It’s important.” 

   Odd words from just a lengthy, wiry little thing. Looking at Indi, you’d believe a strong wind could bowl her over, taking her halfway across the country in it’s wake. On the court, though, Indigo proved herself to be as ruthless as the next Exy player - and proud of it, too. Maybe too proud. The amount of injuries she managed to hand out like she was Oprah on TV her first year at Palmetto spoke volumes for the damage she was leave in her wake. 

    Indigo hopped from the counter, grabbing two mugs for them to use as if she did belong there, with the rest of the cheerleaders. Perfectly at home. 

   “So, what put you in such a generous mood? Or did you just now realize I’m too irresistible to say no too?” 

Sometimes, being on the Vixens doesn’t feel that different from being on her old squad. The way the squad all lives together, the easy comfort between the squad and the team and the way they seem happy to come and go with little formality—those things are the same. What’s different is that Raleigh feels on the outside of it. She’s been slow to thaw to her own squad, and even slower when it comes to the Foxes. They may have a truce now: now that they’re winning, now that they’re not embarrassing themselves and Raleigh with loss after loss. There may be Foxes that she’s warmed to, but Indigo hasn’t been one of them yet. 

“Pretty sure you’ve got your own special-treatment dining hall for that,” she snipes back with a roll of her eyes. But Indigo pulls out the mugs, just like she lived here herself, and Raleigh dispenses the tea, and she settles back against the counter to wait for the kettle to finish boiling. And it does feel easy. Or, at least, easier than it would have been at the beginning of the year, when she wouldn’t have shared anything with a Fox at all. 

“Realized that there’s no point in taking this all home at the end of the year, I guess. So why not spread the wealth now?” She could leave it here, of course, for future Vixens, like some legacy she leaves behind, some mark that she was here. But she doesn’t quite like that either, the way that she wouldn’t have anything to do with it, that she wouldn’t know if someone would open the cabinet to some new Vixen and say: Yeah, some old Vixen left this behind, she was a real bitch. “So why not spread the wealth now?” She waits a beat and then says: “You’re welcome.”

Listen, he’s blessed. Has been blessed for a long while now, on a variety of more serious topics than that regarding tea. And he’s grateful for all of the ways fate has directed his life to be in the position he’s in today. Because it’s led him here, having his pick of Raleigh’s tea, and right now it’s the best thing in the entire world. 

He’s still figuring out the lay of the land in the Vixens world; with almost a year done, he’s confident that he knows enough, but he’s hungry to learn more about his teammates. He likes knowing tidbits about people. Friendships are difficult to maintain, and he understands that not everyone is going to want to be his friend, but he always strives for something amicable. And it’s nice that he now has a chance to strive for that with Raleigh.

Darting forward as she opens the cabinet door, he peers inside, closing his eyes as he breathes the multitude of different scents. It’s so damn soothing, and he leans back, clapping his hands together. “I really like the fruit blends. Not anything with rose, though; not sure why, but that just doesn’t work like peach oolong tea for example. And I’m okay with no caffeine today. So based on that — what do you recommend from your collection?”

Things felt easier on her old squad. She wasn’t so prickly then, so determined to maintain her distance. Her old squad was everything she wanted to be: Coach Corey’s favored children, with megawatt smiles and an enviable position at the top of the Palmetto social hierarchy. Raleigh knew that she wasn’t like the rest of them, but being accepted among them let her pretend that all the dark parts of her life never existed—if no one else could see the stain they left on her, then maybe it wasn’t really there. 

Being a Vixen feels like letting herself slip: they’re less perfect, more forgiving, she has less reason to hide the idiosyncrasies and the anger that the toughest years of her life have left her with. She thinks that she should be mad at them for that: for giving her permission to be like them, when she wants to be so much more. 

“I’ve got a blood orange,” she says, reaching past him to find the box and pull it down. “It’s pretty good. Really orange too, so I guess it’s basically school spirit in a cup. But really I just got it because—I have, like, no self control. If I see something that sounds unique, I buy it. So now I’m running out of space in this cabinet and, well—I guess I can’t take it all with me.” 

She has her girl squad, Indigo and Sydney were her closest friends here, so they filled that dying void of wanting to have close girlfriends. However, Raleigh was her roommate and, even if it was in passing, they did technically see each other often. Why not build a good relationship with her while she had the chance? There’s a tiny smile on the corner of her lips when the fellow Vixen finally responds, propping her chin up on the palm of her hand as she let out a gentle hum, “Hey, people totally are into sleeping pics of pretty girls. Especially if you get feet in them, which is fucking scary honestly. But the web is full of weirdos and pervs so, who really knows?” She teased with a scrunch of her nose, pushing manicured fingers up and through her crimson strands. Raleigh had always seeming held a confidence to herself, but at the same time,w as closed off. Rosie noticed that because of their lack of closeness and being roommates, but she did want to get to the know the girl, even if it was surface level because that’s where Rosie kept people too. 

Surface was easy, it was the best way to keep the demons at bay.

Her whole demeanor perks up at the mention of rosebuds, smile stretching across her plush lips as she nods her head slowly, “Obviously, who doesn’t love a good rose on Valentines Day?” Lately, her spirits had been up since that night, she went into the party upset and woke up the next morning satisfied. But she didn’t go into detail, instead she offered a smile, “Totally don’t mind, that’s sweet your parents do that for you though. They must really love you.”

They must really love you. She beams. It’s the truth, and she knows it: in all the ways that matter, the Everharts are he parents, and they love her. 

But it’s always felt more real to her if other people see it, if they look at her and think all the things she wants them to think: that she’s spoiled, that she’s loved, that her life is perfect. Like she’ll never get enough of it. Like maybe, somehow, it can make up for all the years when people looked at her and saw her as anything but that. When they saw her as abandoned, as pitiable, as a criminal—and that’s if they even saw her at all. So much of the time, she felt like she was invisible. Like one day she’d had it all, and the next day she had nothing; but the world somehow went on, and it forgot about her. 

So she flaunts it. On her old squad, which wasn’t the collection of misfits and orphans and runaways that the Foxes are, it had felt less like bragging. On her old squad, it had felt more like fitting in: she was one of them, with the spring break trips they took to someone’s parents’ beach house, sitting at squad-wide brunches when someone’s parents were in town. 

“They love a theme,” she says, like she’s trying to make a joke at their expense, but it comes out far too fond for that. She portions the tea out between two mugs, pours the hot water over them with the kettle clicks off with a beep, then leans back against the counter to let them steep. “I think they get bored with just the cat at home,” she explains. “Your parents are in—California, right? That’s a long way away.” 

“Yeah?” Sasha asks as she perks up. She loves to travel, especially around Europe. It doesn’t matter how many times Irina has carted them around the continent, it never gets old. Maybe, she’ll do something similar as she graduates, take some time to travel solo–without Irina deciding everything for her. “You’ll love London, and as touristy is, you definitely need to check out Oxford Street.” 

She goes back and forth on what she’ll do after her time with the Foxes is over, it still feels so far way. That fifth year really makes a difference. If anyone would dare taking a player like her, she’d love to go pro and keep playing the sport that makes her mother wrinkle her nose in disgust every time she talks about it. But she has other options if her reputation prevents her from going further. Like Raleigh, she might go to business school or just see where she goes with her International Business degree, her name can carry her pretty far. 

“There’s nothing wrong with a gap year,” Sasha points out. “I could see it though. Raleigh Everhart, future CEO. Don’t fuck her coffee order interns or she’ll fire you before you walk through the door,” She jokes with a quiet laugh. 

“I don’t know. It’s kind of nice to have the extra year before I have to join the real world,” Sasha muses, shrugging a shoulder. “It’s a lot more fun to fight people on the court than worry about job interviews. My mom mostly leaves me alone while I’m here, but I’m sure once I’m out, she’ll be shoving job opportunities down my throat,” She says flatly with a roll of her eyes. She may be her least favorite child, but she’ll still do everything in her power to make sure she lives up to the Hart-Ashby name.

“I’ve been before,” she says. “When I was younger, though, so it’s been a long time. Thanks for the tip.” A long time and a different set of parents, and everything that came in between. She wants a do-over: like if she replaces all the treasured memories of her parents—all of the family trips and the birthdays, the dance recitals where they were sitting there in the front row—with new ones with the Everharts, then maybe she won’t have use for them anymore. Maybe she’ll finally be able to let them go, like they did to her so many years ago. 

When she was younger, she liked to imagine them missing her. Liked to think about how much it must have hurt them to leave her behind, their beautiful baby girl. But that was because she liked to think about them coming back for her, rescuing her from the foster homes and the misery and the fights. 

But they hadn’t come back for her, and so she started telling herself a new story, the one she needed to hear: that they didn’t miss her at all. 

Now she’s somebody else’s daughter. The Everharts wanted someone to leave their legacy to, and they had picked her. At first, she had seen only a meal ticket, but now she feels something a little bit less selfish—she doesn’t just want their money, and the security it brings with it, she wants to continue that legacy, the things that matter to the Everharts, the things they cared about and devoted their life to before she came along. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want the money, too, and the power that comes with it. She laughs along with Sasha, because the image doesn’t feel that far off: “Yeah, that’s the dream, right? You know I love to ruin someone’s day.” 

“Well, thanks,” Jen says brightly. They’re not going to turn down such a nice offer, especially when they’ve found themself searching through the cabinets for a snack and eyeing Raleigh’s tea selection in envy. They’re not a big tea drinking, usually choosing sugary coffee concoctions instead, but they do love a good sweet tea. 

They watch from their spot on the counter as Raleigh looks over her tea collection, and it’s hard not to miss how comfortable she looks here now. It’s a noticeable difference from when she first joined the squad, and it makes Jen a little sad that it’s her last year. She’s leaving when she’s just started to find her place on the team, but at least it happened at all. Besides, they’re not so sure they’ll be here next year either–whether it’s because they failed out of school or they put aside their pride and rejoin their old team. 

“Do you have peach tea?” They ask. There’s a lot of bad memories attached to Georgia, but there’s a lot of good too–like the summer heat, the bushy green trees, and the peaches, which is how they ended up with the tattoo of a peach on their bicep. 

“Or whatever you’re having. I can’t decide if I need to be caffeinated or put to sleep,” They joke with a quiet laugh. Caffeine is required for them to be productive, but they’re also so excited to see the twins that they feel too keyed up to do anything.

She remembers moving into the Vixen Den. Remembers that first party, when she’d sat out on the porch because she almost couldn’t bear to be inside, rubbing elbows with the Foxes when she’d tried so hard for so many years to stay as far away from them as possible. 

The Foxes had started the year off with a loss, and then another one. And she’d been so angry—at her old squad, for not making her Captain, for kicking her out; at herself, for letting her pride ruin everything she’d built—but mostly at the Foxes, for living up to every nasty thing she had said about them for her first three years here. 

Now, the Foxes are in the Championships. The football team’s season is over, her old squad’s season is over, and now they just get to watch the Foxes with envy, swallow their words as the Foxes keep proving them wrong. Raleigh doesn’t know which side she’s on: she’s eating her own words now, for sure, but somehow she can’t be too angry about it.

In this case, it feels better to win than to be right. 

“I’ve got a ginger peach tea in here somewhere,” she says, rifling through the boxes until she finds it closer to the back of the cabinet, pulling it out with a small sound of triumph. She drops a teabag in each mug, leans back against the counter to wait for the kettle to finish boiling. “This one’s got caffeine in it, so I guess you have no choice but to stay awake and keep me company ‘til it’s time for practice. I’ve got reading, but—ugh, I’d rather procrastinate.”

   Being in the Vixen’s den to visit Rosie or her other friends wasn’t uncommon, and Indigo often found herself quite enjoying the atmosphere it provided. Sometimes, she’d wander over when she needed a break from the stress and pressure that the lounge gave the Ex athletes, enjoying the different kind of stress that she didn’t have to worry about. 

   Plus, their snacks were better. 

   Indigo was already perched up on the counter top, long legs hanging down from where she sat, hands braced against the ledge. Like Raleigh, her feet were bare, a fresh coat of polish on her toes, and an empty Cheez-Its box next to her hip. 

   The day had been a pleasantly good one so far, and Indigo couldn’t help but have the sensation that this was some sort of calm before a storm. Tension had been high after the recent loss, and now, it seemed that everyone was a bit on edge as they passed the time between practices, preparing for the final game. It carried a particular weight to it, and Indigo was far too pleased with a slow, lazy afternoon. 

  “Seriously?” She asked in surprise, having been on the end of Raleigh’s temper when she’d mistakenly dipped a finger into her pot of goodies without realizing the consequences. Indigo narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “If this is a trap… I’m gonna be upset… because yeah, I do really want a cup. Do you have any of that raspberry type left? With the special leaves?” 

She knows that if she wanted to keep anyone from drinking her tea, she could keep it in her room, tucked tight into some drawer where nobody but her would go. It’s the kind of thing she’d gotten used to doing, once: she’d left home with just one suitcase, and that was all she had left of her parents and of her old life. It was more than some other girls had, and that was how she first learned to fight: to keep them from being stolen from her.

But now she has so much more than can fit in one suitcase, and she likes to show it off. Wants everyone to look in her cabinet full of tea and know what it means: that she’s spoiled, that she’s loved. That she isn’t like the Foxes, the ones with no homes to go back to, the ones with nothing other than this school and this team. 

Indigo might have found herself on the wrong end of Raleigh’s ire before, but at least now it’s nothing like it would have been before: now it’s sharped words instead of raised fists. 

“I should say no on principle, but I guess today’s your lucky day,” she says, with a slight huff, but she still fills the kettle enough for two, betraying that her heart isn’t really in it. “Shouldn’t you be, like, in practice or something, instead of hanging out in other people’s houses and eating food that isn’t yours?” She doesn’t keep tabs on the Foxes’ schedules, beyond the parts of it that overlap with hers, so her sniping isn’t anything more than that—but it does seem like the Foxes are always practicing, even moreso since they’ve been in the Championships. 

Raleigh’s from a city too, but Grayson would easily believe that Vegas is unique, even amongst cities, and her comment convinces him of that. “Now imagine you grew up somewhere less than 1,000 people, and look out at that skyline,” Grayson says. “Maybe 2,000 on a good day. In the summers we get all those tourists,” he adds, because it’s only fair to his hometown. Of course, even there, Dubois could never hope to match Las Vegas. Their tourists are spread out anyway—they want hike, fish, go on tours and horseback rides. Hell, sometimes they even want to work, and his dad will bring one on as a temporary, usually useless, ranch hand. 

Grayson’s never been able to wrap his head around it. He loves that town because it’s his home. Sure, he’d love the mountain ranges and the animals either way, the breathtaking views of Wyoming, but he can’t say he’d feel the same about Dubois itself if he were a stranger. Those people pay money to live out some hollow version of Grayson’s life though. They write poems and paint the mountains. They pretend they’re Butch Cassidy. When they leave, they never understand the restlessness and dust and stagnation of Dubois.

“Shocking, I know,” Grayson deadpans. He can’t stop the small smile that accompanies it. They both know why he makes it a point to watch the halftime shows, but Raleigh’s charitable enough not to call him on it. Her comment is a fair one either way—the Foxes are insular at best, consumed with themselves and Exy at worst. Grayson isn’t immune to the Championships fervor this time, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be one of those Foxes who loves this sport with all they have. He used to be jealous of that passion. He used to worry he’d never care about anything that much. 

These days, Grayson’s fairly certain caring too little has never been his problem. He cared enough about Dubois and his family to let it consume everything—on so many levels, he still does. He’s only expanded his life; he hasn’t fully given up anything yet. Even here, in Vegas, at a party, he’s acutely aware of the podcast downloaded on his phone and his dad, blissfully unaware somewhere miles and miles away. “The rest of the team is missing out though. Their loss, right?”

She doesn’t think she’s ever been anywhere like where Grayson’s describing. While she’d been to the rodeo in Houston, that was as close as she’d come. None of her family vacations were riding horses or playing cowboys, and she doesn’t really feel like she’s missing out. No matter how much she likes the safe, quiet feeling of home, she’s still a city girl at heart: she likes people, she likes opulence. She doesn’t like dirt, empty space, boredom—all the things that she imagines Grayson grew up with.

“You must be losing your shit,” she says, with an amused smile. “Do you like it? Or are you wishing you were back home with your horses?” 

Before everything, Raleigh had been a cheerleader. He childhood had been dance classes, gymnastics, her parents clapping in the audience for all of her recitals—her father had been busy, but he’d made the time for the important things, for her, until suddenly she wasn’t important at all, and he and her mother were gone. On the day that her parents left her, she’d been at cheer practice, and she’d sat out on the curb for hours after waiting for them to show, not knowing that they wouldn’t. That she’d never see them again. 

She loves cheerleading. She stopped, after her parents left. She was too angry to be sweet, to wave her pom-poms and smile. But she’d picked it up again with the Everharts, and it had felt like reclaiming a part of herself: she could be a cheerleader again, and she could be someone’s perfect daughter again. 

But she’s cheered for enough teams to know that most athletes are all the same, whether they’re football players or Foxes. They think the world revolves around their stupid sport, including their cheerleaders. Like they’re window dressing at best, or little more than groupies at worst. And Raleigh loved football, and she likes Exy more than she ever expected or wanted to, but she loves cheering more. 

“You should tell them that,” she says with a laugh. “And you should let me watch you do it. Especially if it’s Grant.” 

“Adorable,” Sasha snorts sarcastically, but deep down she feels envy clawing at her chest. Raleigh’s parents send her care packages and updates of her cat just because. They care. They want her to know they care. Meanwhile, Sasha steps into an empty home on Thanksgiving and has to learn about her mother’s whereabouts through tabloids. Sasha and Nikolai aren’t Irina’s children to care over, but little prized possessions, only Sasha isn’t worth displaying, so she doesn’t even get feigned interest from her.

It’s fine, she tells herself, she doesn’t want doting parents. Being ignored by Irina means she has the freedom to do what she wants, as long as it’s not widespread enough to get to her. Sasha’s an adult. She doesn’t need care packages or daily phone calls. The only thing she needs is financial stability until she finds her own. 

Sasha doesn’t know if Raleigh means visiting her dorm currently, but, either way, her mind goes to the future. She knew Raleigh’s graduating this year, but it didn’t hit her until now, so used to the people around her staying an extra year. What will happen when she’s not on campus anymore? Will they text? It’s not like they’re…girlfriends or something, so they probably won’t have the long distance conversation.

“Any post graduation plans?” Sasha asks before realizing her question probably sounds completely out of the blue. At least, she managed to keep her tone neutral despite her unplanned outburst. “You have yet to punch a real, professional cheerleader,” She adds with an amused smirk.

She still feels a thrill every time she says it and gets away with it: my parents. There’s enough to question, if people look close enough: the Everharts are old, the Everharts are white. But people don’t tend to dig or to doubt unless you give them reason to. Play the act well enough, and they’ll never question a thing. 

She knows she could always say she was adopted. Erase sixteen-odd years of her life and say it happened when she was a baby. But there’s a part of her that just wants to pretend like she never had any other parents, like nobody ever gave her up, even in the made-up life she tells to people when she can’t bear them knowing about her real one. In her made up life, she gets to have it all. 

“I’m going to London right after,” she says, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. “On a trip. After that, I’ll go back to Houston and then—I’m not sure. I’m thinking about applying to business school, though it’s too late for me to do it for next year.” There’s a part of her that maybe sees it as—insurance. When the Everharts didn’t cut her loose after she turned 18, offered to pay for college, she felt certain that she would have those four years, because she knew that they were kind, that they’d want to see it through. 

Everything beyond college feels like so much, so hard for her to believe in. If she stays in school, if she still needs them for something, then maybe she won’t have to be so afraid. 

“God, I can barely handle one year with the Foxes, how the hell do you put up with this for five?” She makes a face, but it’s mostly for show. Although she has things to look forward to, she’s afraid of what comes next. Afraid of the uncertainty. She doesn’t think she’d take a fifth year if someone offered it to her, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be—sadder than she thought she’d be, to see this go. And maybe Sasha is a part of that, though she doesn’t know how to say it. If Sasha would want to hear it.   

Okay, Noah kind of feels like flipping out. Raleigh Everhart, offering a cup of tea? He’s stepped into the Twilight Zone. Raleigh is offering a cup of her tea. All he did was yawn as he entered the kitchen, patting his cheeks to remain awake as the dregs of the day were catching up to him. Now, fate is shining a spotlight on him, giving him the delightful reward to finally have a sip of RALEIGH EVERHART’S MOTHERFUCKING TEA.

He could die right here, right now, and he’d be fine with that. God, he’s about to flip all around the kitchen at this rate!

“Okay, are you absolutely sure?” Consequences are quite clear when it comes to touching the packets upon packets of tea in the corner of the pantry, and Noah is going to absolutely ENSURE he can accept this blessing. “I will for sure take you up on this offer, but like — what type? Which mug? Is there still hot water around?”

She laughs—and she’s pleased. She likes to be taken seriously, to know that when she made it explicitly clear to the rest of the Vixens that they weren’t to touch her tea, they knew that she meant it. And while she doesn’t always choose to be deliberately unkind, she doesn’t choose to be overly kind often, either. Definitely not generous. 

She only shares when it feels like showing off, when it doesn’t feel like giving anything that’s hers away. Giving someone a ride in her car is different than giving away something that’s hers. Buying someone coffee is different than sharing her tea. And so, when she does decide to be nice and share, she likes to know that it’s noticed and appreciated—otherwise, what’s the point?

“Don’t worry, I’ve got enough water on for two. As for what kind—” she says, opening the cabinet door a little bit wider, takes a step back so Noah can look inside while she pulls down another mug, puts it next to hers on the counter “—it’s your pick, go wild. What kind of tea do you like? Do you want something with caffeine or no?”    

For being roommates, Rosie really didn’t know Raleigh as well as she should have. She wondered at times if her excessive need to redecorate her side of the room annoyed the girl so much that she just didn’t want anything to do with her, that her constant, manic episodes that she hid under the covers at night in quiet panic had gotten to the surface enough for Raleigh to see that she should steer clear, or maybe she was making up all these excuses in her head when in reality: they just hadn’t caught each other at the right time to bond. Granted, Rosie had been a bit absent from their room as of late all thanks to one, tall, dark haired Fox but that was neither here nor there. The red head wanted to bond with her roommate, wanted to get to know her, and there was no time like the present, right?

She had just finished her last class of the day, floral printed back pack hanging off her shoulder, red curls in perfect, loose waves cascading down her back as she pushed open the door to the Vixen Den. Speak of the devil, there was her roommate in the kitchen area, brewing what looked like tea. As a child, Rosie adored tea parties wherever her parents decided to park their RV. Sitting at the fold out table, she would make a beautiful spread with her stuffed animals, inviting her parents who played along, it made her feel good. At night, she tried to drink an herbal tea to relax so she could peacefully drift off without keeping herself up at night in her head. 

Neatly hanging her book bag on the back of the closest chair, she tossed her hair over her shoulders as she leaned against the counter, perfectly groomed brows raising at the offer, “Well, I’m considering this to be my lucky day.” Rosie joked with a smile mirrored back to the girl, “I’m always down for a cup of tea, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, you know considering we are roommates and I hardly know a thing about you. I hope you haven’t been taking pictures of me in my sleep and selling them on the dark web.” It was another joke, and she hopped up on the stool to perch on the edge, making herself comfortable, “What tea are we having today?”

She used to feel so exposed: like the stain of foster child was one that everyone could see when they looked at her. Now, though, the details of her life that spill over for everyone to see are the ones she wants to shout from the rooftops: framed pictures with the Everharts next to her bed; a rotating roster of pictures of her cat on her phone’s lockscreen; her regular FaceTime calls; the packages that show up on the Vixen Den’s doorstep addressed to her every month, full of little tokens that say that, somewhere, there are two someones who love her, who want her to know. 

Everything else doesn’t matter. That this wasn’t always her life, that the Everharts weren’t always her parents. If no one knows, if no one can see, then it’s like it doesn’t even matter. Like she might as well be the girl that fits into this life—like she might as well have never been anybody else, never have lived any other life. If she has anything in common with the Foxes—(and she does)—she doesn’t want anyone to know. And, if she can hide it, then it just goes to show that she is different from them. She doesn’t need a second chance from David Wymack, because she already got hers from the Everharts, and she’s never looking back.

“That sounds pretty tame for the dark web. If you want me to make money off of perv shots, you’ve really got to give me better material,” she says with a smile over her shoulder as she fills up the kettle, the perfected breezy delivery of someone with nothing to hide. If Rosie wants them to play sleepover, whispering secrets in the middle of the night—Raleigh doesn’t do that. She has friends, or people who she calls her friends, the popular girls on cheerleading squads she surrounded herself with like camouflage, but no one really knows her. She only needs herself. 

“My parents send me this rosebud tea last month—you know, for Valentine’s Day?” She says, pulling an extra mug down from the cabinet for Rosie, smiling to herself—my parents, it still feels like a thrill, every time she says it. “So I hope you like drinking flowers.”  

Jen hangs up the phone and checks the time, laughing quietly to themself when they see they were on the phone with their brother and sister for an hour. Over the weekend, they offered to set aside a ticket for Jen to come to their game against the Ravens. They thought the likelihood of them being able to go was low, but after talking to Grayson, they decided to road trip to Nashville together.

They’re so excited they’re practically counting down the hours until it’s time to go. The last time they saw the twins was  during Thanksgiving break, and that’s hard for Jen when they’re still so used to being in the same house as them. Now, the twins have to lie to their dad whenever they want to see Jen for a holiday.

Nerves manage to kill the excitement just a little. They haven’t said anything about their grades or doubts about the Vixens yet. It’s really easy to avoid the subject over the phone, but they have a feeling their siblings will see right through them when they’re together. The fact that the Terrapins are playing against the Ravens doesn’t help either. The Ravens are known for a lot of things, but losing isn’t one of them.

Feeling jittery, Jen leaves their room for a change of scenery, padding into the kitchen and giving Raleigh a smile as a greeting when they see her. “Me?” They ask in surprise. “You’re going to share with me? I hope you’re not kidding, because I could use some tea right now,” Jen says and hops onto the counter. “Is there a special occasion?”

Sometimes it surprises her, how homey the Vixen Den has become to her: her coat and scarf on a hook by the door, a pile of class notes on the coffee table, the shelf full of jumbled-up boxes of tea and mismatched mugs. 

It isn’t the house she thought she’d be living in, the one where she’d already mentally picked out her bedroom, the one to go with the title of Captain she’d already given herself. It’s not the squad she thought she’d have. Once, she thought she’d never stop being angry about that. About all the things she wanted but wouldn’t get to have. About the way that she let herself down, let herself slip, when before she thought she’d become so good at pushing all of her anger down—so good that she fooled herself, let herself pretend that maybe it was really gone.

She hums as she pulls down two mugs from the cabinet, the kettle slowly coming to life on the counter. “Just in a good mood, I guess. Besides, can’t drink this all by myself, can I?” She says with a shrug, like that’s ever stopped her before. 

And Jen’s not bad company. There’s a part of her that longs for that, that misses the easy camaraderie of her last squad, even after she spent the first half of this year, at least, holding herself back from achieving that with the Vixens. Now, it feels almost like it’s too late. 

“What’re you feeling?” She asks, holding the cabinet door open and looking over her collection. “Black tea, green tea, something herbal?”

Sasha lets out a surprised laugh that sounds too loud when they’re hidden away from the party. That prissy, refined persona that she puts on isn’t fully an act, considering she really doesn’t enjoy being dirty or disgusting things, but there’s always been a hidden side to her that enjoys things others may consider creepy. Horror is her favorite genre, she thinks reptiles are cool, and while her mostly black wardrobe is more chic than goth, she’s pretty into the whole darker aesthetic. Irina would hate it–all of it, which is probably why she’s more like Posh Spice than Amy Lee.

“I’d watch it be creepy and lick it’s own eyeball for hours,” Sasha retorts with a playful smirk. Maybe snakes aren’t as active or playful as a cat, but she doesn’t think they’re boring. She’d let it curl around her arm and then probably use it to further convince people she’s scary. “I like swans too, but unfortunately they aren’t allowed to be pets,” She adds with a shrug.

While Sasha hasn’t met Missy, she feels like she has with how much Raleigh posts about her. She’s definitely cute, and could easily become an Instagram famous pet, but with how fluffy that thing is, Sasha would be picking fur off her clothes for the rest of her life. Which is probably another good reason Sasha hasn’t been to Houston and probably never will. She can’t imagine her and Raleigh ever being like that–so open, especially when they won’t even define what this is. 

“I will admit that Missy is a pretty cat,” Sasha relents with an easy grin. “I’m surprised you haven’t brought her to Palmetto yet with how much you post about her.”

Sasha’s teasing her, but for once the stakes don’t feel so high—they’re not trading barbs designed to hurt, to find weaknesses, to strip each other back and find something vulnerable underneath. It’s just—Raleigh’s cat, Sasha’s hypothetical snake.

For all the ways they’re similar: their anger, the acts they have to play, this secret thing between them—they’re still different, especially on the surface, where Sasha’s a disgraced daughter, a quintessential Fox. And Raleigh is still trying hard to be anything but that. 

“The prettiest,” she says, definitively. “I never really thought about bringing her here. We’re on the road for games so much. And—my parents love her, they need someone they can spoil while I’m gone. They send me pictures, like, every day.” 

And Raleigh likes it, likes having all the things she loves in one place, knowing that it’s there and perfect and waiting for her. The Everharts send her pictures of Missy, show her on FaceTime after Raleigh taught them how to use it, and it’s a welcome surprise every time: two of the things that she loves most in the world at once, thinking about her. 

“You going to sneak a snake into the dorms? Terrorize your roommates? Or me, if you could ever get me to visit.”

Every month, like clockwork, the Everharts have sent Raleigh a care package. There’s usually a box of tea in there, and there’s a corner cabinet in the Vixen Den’s kitchen that Raleigh has monopolized for herself to hold it all, ready for her to unleash her wrath on any Vixen who takes what doesn’t belong to them—what belongs to her. 

She’s not good at sharing, even now that she’s got more than enough to share. Jealously hoards every token of affection she receives, no matter how many of them there are. Because she still remembers a time when she didn’t, when it seemed like she didn’t have anything at all, that all the remnants of her old life were slipping through her fingers, and she had to fight to defend what shreds of herself remained. 

Now, though, she imagines packing it all up in a box at the end of the year, ready to be loaded into her car and driven back to Houston, and it all seems a little silly. It’s just tea, after all. 

She thinks about these things, now. Back in September, it felt like this year would never end. But now, somehow, it’s March. Like she could just blink and her last remaining months at Palmetto will be gone, just like that. Like, maybe, she’d wish that time would slow down, just a little bit. 

Today feels slow. A sunny afternoon, a couple hours between the end of her last class and the start of practice. Time to waste. “You want a cup?” She asks with a slight smile, barefoot and leaning against the kitchen counter. “This isn’t an offer that comes around often, but I’m feeling generous."