Chapter Text
"I'm telling you, man, Buzzsaw Man is peak!" Arnold said with a wide grin, practically bouncing as he spoke.
Ron let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "I'm not saying it isn't, dude. But come on—some of the author's choices are just... weird. Like, what was even up with that scene where the villain randomly started crying over his chainsaw collection? That was supposed to be deep?"
Currently, the two boys were wandering aimlessly around campus during their free period, their conversation bouncing between classes, food, and, most importantly, their latest manga obsession. Buzzsaw Man had taken the school by storm, and while Ron liked it, he couldn't help but poke holes in its stranger moments.
Arnold rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, I mean... you've got a point. But that's what makes it unique! It's so bizarre that it works. Like, you don't expect it to make sense all the time, you just enjoy the ride."
Ron chuckled again, nodding. "Fair enough, fair enough."
But before the conversation could dive into power scaling or favorite characters, Arnold's grin turned sly. "But hey, enough about that—we gotta talk about something way more interesting." He elbowed Ron lightly. "What's going on with you and Mandy?"
Ron froze mid-step, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "I-I don't know what you're talking about, dude."
Arnold gave him a knowing look and laughed. "Sure you don't. Come on, man, it's obvious. She's been glued to your arm every chance she gets. Half the school's already talking about it. So spill—how'd you do it? How'd you tame the Queen Bee herself?"
"I didn't 'tame' anything!" Ron sputtered, throwing his arms up. "She just—! Ugh..." He dragged his hands down his face in frustration before sighing. "Okay, listen... I'll tell you what happened between me and her. But you've gotta promise me, Arnold—this stays between us. Got it?"
Arnold smirked, dragging his thumb and forefinger across his lips like an invisible zipper. Ziiip. "My lips are sealed, man. You've got my word."
Ron scanned the hallway quickly, making sure no one was lurking nearby before leaning in closer to his friend. His voice dropped low, almost conspiratorial. "...Okay. Mandy... made out with me at this karaoke place."
Arnold's eyes went wide as saucers, his jaw practically hitting the floor. "W-WHAT!?" he hissed, barely keeping his voice to a whisper. He grabbed Ron by the shoulders and gave him a little shake. "Are you messing with me right now!? Because if you're joking, that's just cruel, man!"
Ron raised his hands defensively, looking just as flustered. "I'm not joking! I swear on Bueno Nacho's secret sauce recipe—it actually happened!"
Arnold blinked rapidly, still trying to process. "Dude... how the hell does something like that even happen!? Like—what? You just walked in, ordered some fries, and boom—Mandy the Untouchable decided to make out with you!?"
Ron scratched the back of his neck, cheeks turning red as the memory flashed through his head. "It wasn't exactly like that... but yeah, it was pretty wild."
Arnold ran his hands down his face, half jealous, half in awe. "Stoppable... you are living in some kinda rom-com anime, I swear to God."
Ron rolled his eyes at Arnold's rom-com jab but decided to keep going anyway. "Alright, alright, laugh it up, but... remember how I told you about who I was before coming to Beverly Hills?"
Arnold nodded quickly, eager to follow. "Yeah, yeah—I remember. You were Kim Possible's partner in crime-fighting. Then you landed that GJ gig, which, by the way, still sounds way cooler than anything I've got going on. But... what does that have to do with Mandy?"
Ron's face heated up almost instantly, his voice dipping into something sheepish. "Well... look. Kim's got, like, a whole army of online fans. Message boards, fan clubs, cosplay conventions, the works. Me? I've got... a small fanbase. Loyal, but definitely niche." He scratched the back of his neck. "As it turns out... Mandy's one of them."
Arnold stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Ron like he'd just dropped the biggest plot twist in human history. "Hold up. Mandy—Queen Bee, top of the social food chain—was a fan of yours this whole time!?"
Ron nodded awkwardly. "Yeah. Turns out, I saved her during one of my old missions with Kim. Drakken had this crazy contraption going haywire in L.A. A chunk of it was about to crush her, and I pulled her out just in time. She never forgot it. Been following my missions ever since... and, uh, I guess somewhere along the way, it turned into a crush."
Arnold threw his hands up dramatically. "Okay, nope, that's it—I officially take back what I said earlier. You're totally living a rom-com action anime, dude!"
Ron smirked a little at that, amused despite himself. "Honestly? You're not that far off."
Arnold jabbed him in the arm, grinning ear to ear. "Man, you've gotta get me in on this spy stuff! Secret missions, tech, saving damsels who then fall head-over-heels for you? Sign me up!"
Ron raised an eyebrow at him, thinking it over. "Well... maybe. GJ's always looking for new recruits. And you're ridiculously good with electronics. You'd actually fit in."
Arnold's eyes lit up at the thought. "Oh man, imagine that—Arnold the Gadget Guy! I'd totally rock it." Then, after a beat, he gave Ron a sly grin. "But seriously, forget the spy gig for a second—does this mean you and Mandy are, y'know... dating now?"
Ron shook his head firmly, his expression serious. "We're not... not exactly, anyway, mandy and I didn't wanna slap a label on us right away. We're still figuring things out, y'know? Like... really getting to know each other before we decide what this is. Plus..." he said, his tone dipped a little, and his eyes flicked around the hallway. "There's always the chance someone from my past might try to use her against me. And I don't wanna make her a target just because I called her my girlfriend."
Arnold raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Hate to break it to you, dude, but last I checked... that sounds an awful lot like 'friends with benefits.'"
Ron nearly choked on his own spit. His face turned bright red as he coughed. "Wh-what!? N-No! We haven't done anything like that!" he sputtered, flailing his arms as if to wave away the implication. "We've just... you know... kissed. Made out. That's it." He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish.
Arnold grinned wickedly, clearly enjoying Ron's embarrassment. "Sure, sure. Just kissing. Totally innocent. Whatever you say, Ron~"
Ron groaned, dragging his hand down his face. "Why do I even tell you anything?" he muttered, half-exasperated, half-regretting ever opening his mouth.
Arnold snorted. "Because deep down, you know I'm literally the only guy friend you've got around here. Who else are you gonna vent to?"
Ron shot him a mock glare. "Yeah, well, keep this up, and I'll have GJ make you disappear. Top secret style. You'll vanish without a trace."
Arnold rolled his eyes, laughing as he resumed walking down the hallway. "Uh-huh. Sure thing, Agent Stoppable. Whatever you say, man."
Ron sighed, trudging after him, but despite himself, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Hey, Stoppable! Jackson! There you two are!"
The sudden call made both Ron and Arnold turn their heads toward the voice. Sprinting down the hallway with her usual boundless energy was none other than Donna Ramon, a redheaded Spanish girl.
Her short, dark-red hair was as unkempt as ever, sticking out in uneven tufts that somehow suited her wild, carefree personality. She had on a loose black tank top, just a size too big, giving her a relaxed, almost tomboyish edge. Hanging low on her hips were a pair of baggy camo pants that looked well-worn but practical, the kind of thing she could fight, run, or lounge around in without missing a beat. Her black sneakers were scuffed from use, clearly not bought for style but for durability.
Adding to her signature look were the accessories—twin black leather bracelets wrapped snugly around her wrists, giving off the vibe of someone who might just be as comfortable in a mosh pit as she was ringside at a fight. The whole outfit screamed effortlessly tough.
The boys had gotten to know Donna through Alex, who'd befriended her after stepping up to her during a heated moment. Since then, Donna had practically cemented herself as part of their little circle. And once she discovered Ron's passion for wrestling, she started tagging along with him a lot more—which naturally meant Arnold got swept up in her orbit too.
"Sup, Donna," Arnold said casually, flashing her an easy smile.
"Hey, Donna," Ron greeted, his tone friendly and warm.
Donna skidded to a stop right in front of them, hands on her hips as if she'd just finished a sprint. "So," she began, her grin widening, "Either of you two free tonight? Because there's a big MMA fight on—now, I know it's not exactly pro wrestling, but c'mon! It's still two dudes beating the absolute crap out of each other!"
Ron chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Heh, sounds like my kinda evening! I've actually been meaning to dip my toes into MMA for a while. Guess tonight's the perfect chance to start watching."
Arnold shrugged with an amused smirk. "I don't have any big plans, so count me in too. Nothing like watching people smash each other for sport."
Donna's smirk turned into a triumphant grin. She pumped her fist in the air. "Hell yeah! I knew I could count on you guys. Snacks, fights, and good company—it's gonna be epic."
Ron and Arnold exchanged a glance and chuckled at her enthusiasm, already knowing Donna's "epic" usually meant loud cheering, over-the-top commentary, and probably a lot of her trying to get them to spar afterward.
"I'll bring some snacks! Tonight's gonna be awesome!" Arnold said, practically bouncing with excitement.
"You bet it is!" Ron grinned, already picturing the three of them yelling at the TV like rabid fans.
But before he could say anything else, the sharp buzz of his ringtone cut through the air. Ron fumbled for his phone, flipping it open. "Hello?"
Jerry's crisp, businesslike voice came through immediately. [Ron, get to WOOHP headquarters at once! Another mission has just come in for you and the girls!]
Ron's expression shifted in an instant. "You got it, Jerry!" he replied, before quickly ending the call.
Arnold tilted his head, arms crossing. "Work?" he asked knowingly, his tone somewhere between concern and playful teasing.
Ron sighed, clearly torn, and nodded. "Yeah... duty calls." His disappointment was plain in his voice, but he forced a smile. "Don't worry, though! I'll be back in time for the fight. Wouldn't miss it for the world."
Donna groaned, throwing her hands up. "You better, Stoppable. It's not fun when it's just me and geek-boy over here watching two dudes pummel each other."
"Hey!" Arnold shot back, glaring at her.
Ron chuckled at their back-and-forth. "Relax, guys, I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone," he promised, giving them both a thumbs-up. Then, with one last grin, he took off sprinting down the hall, weaving through students like a blonde blur.
Donna watched him go and shook her head with a smirk. "That guy's living in an action movie, I swear."
Arnold smirked back. "Yeah, and somehow, we're the side-characters."
Donna and Arnold shrugged at each other before turning around, heading off down the hall to kill the rest of their free period together. Neither of them noticed that Ron, was standing right over a suspiciously smooth patch of tile.
The second their eyes were no longer on him, the floor gave a sharp click—and with a loud WHOOSH, a trap door snapped open beneath his feet.
"WHOA—!" Ron yelped, arms flailing wildly as the ground disappeared under him.
He plummeted straight down the chute, the trap door slamming shut above him like nothing had ever happened.
"Seriously, Jerry!? AGAIN!?" Ron's voice echoed as he tumbled down the twisting slide, his complaints bouncing off the metal walls.
After what felt like a full minute of spinning, tumbling, and screaming his way down the WOOHP chute, Ron finally shot out of a panel in the ceiling like a human cannonball.
He tucked his knees, ready to stick the landing like he usually did—but the second his sneakers hit the smooth metal floor, his footing betrayed him. His shoes skidded out from under him, and with a painful SMACK, Ron hit the ground flat on his side, sliding a few inches before groaning to a stop right next to the girls and directly in front of Jerry's desk.
"RON!" Sam gasped, rushing over to him, her voice sharp with concern.
Ron rolled onto his back, clutching his ribs and wheezing like he'd just been hit by a truck. "Ahhh... god—ow—damn it..." he muttered between gasps, eyes screwed shut in pain.
Sam immediately crouched to help him, and Alex and Clover hurried over too, each grabbing an arm to lift him upright.
Jerry, standing nearby with his usual composed posture, arched a brow. "Why didn't you land that one like you usually do?" he asked in genuine confusion.
"I slipped, okay!?" Ron snapped, wincing as the girls steadied him on his feet.
"Oh..." Jerry replied flatly, as though that explanation answered everything. He adjusted his tie and opened his mouth to continue. "Well, anyway—"
Ron suddenly pointed at the floor, still leaning on Alex and Clover. "Hold up! Did someone mop in here?"
Jerry blinked. "...Anyway—"
"No, seriously," Ron interrupted again, gesturing at the faint sheen on the metal. "Who mops a smooth metal floor? That's a lawsuit waiting to happen! Doesn't that, like, make it rust or something?"
The girls exchanged amused glances as Jerry's eye twitched. He glanced at Ron, lips pressed tight, clearly bracing himself for yet another interruption. When Ron simply crossed his arms and fell silent, Jerry paused—waited a beat to make sure he was really done—then finally exhaled through his nose and continued the briefing.
"Alright then, let's get down to business," Jerry began in his calm, professional tone, clasping his hands behind his back.
Behind him, a large monitor flickered to life, displaying a brightly lit gymnasium. Onscreen, a cheer squad in sparkly yellow-and-black uniforms—complete with antennae headbands and wings—were performing an elaborate routine of flips, tosses, and pyramid stunts.
"It has come to WOOHP's attention, that the Honey Bees, California's reigning state champion cheer squad, are currently... M.M.C.C." Jerry explained.
Alex tilted her head, brows knitting. "M.M.C.C.?" she echoed.
Ron crossed his arms knowingly, nodding sagely. "It means Missing Mid-Cheering Competition."
The girls—and even Jerry—turned to stare at him with varying degrees of raised brows and skeptical expressions.
Clover blinked. "Wait, wait, hold up. How in the world do you know that?"
Ron rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. "Uh... because I used to be a cheerleader."
Three simultaneous voices rang out.
"Really!?!?"
Alex grinned at him like she'd just been handed the juiciest secret. "You? In cheerleading? Please tell me there are pictures."
Ron shrugged defensively. "Okay, to be fair, I was technically the mascot. But hey, I also did some of the stunt work with the squad, and it totally counts."
Sam folded her arms, trying (and failing) to hide her smirk. "So you're saying you've actually been tossed in the air by cheerleaders before?"
Ron puffed his chest. "Multiple times! And I stuck the landing—most of the time."
"Most of the time?" Clover teased, smirking.
Before Ron could defend himself, Jerry cleared his throat, bringing the conversation back on track. "Yes, well, moving on..." He pressed a button, and the screen switched to a map, highlighting Miami. "The Honey Bees were scheduled to arrive this morning for nationals. However, they never checked in, and no one has heard from them since."
Sam frowned thoughtfully, arms crossed. "So a nationally ranked cheer squad vanishes without a trace, and you want us to investigate?" She raised one brow at Jerry. "I'm afraid to ask, but... where exactly do we fit into all this?"
"You girls—and Ron—are to go undercover and find out what happened to the Honey Bees," Jerry explained, clasping his hands behind his back with a sly smirk. "As of this moment, you're no longer yourselves. You're the new California State Champions... the WOOHPettes."
Sam's eyes widened in horror. She pinched the bridge of her nose like she could already feel the headache coming on. "Please... please tell me this is one of your bad jokes, Jerry. Like that time you had us wear lederhosen to sneak into that Bavarian pretzel factory."
"Wait, he did that for real?" Ron asked.
Jerry's smirk only grew. "No such luck, Sam. This is quite real."
Clover practically squealed, bouncing on her heels. "Wait—so you mean we get to be cheerleaders? Like, with uniforms, pom-poms, and everything!?"
Jerry nodded matter-of-factly. "That's correct."
Clover clapped her hands together. "Oh. My. Gawd. This is the best mission ever!"
Alex pumped a fist in the air, grinning ear to ear. "No way! We're going undercover as cheerleaders!? This totally rocks!"
Ron's face lit up like Christmas morning. He jumped into the air with a loud, "Booyah!" before landing in a half-crouch, fists pumping. "I can finally be the Mad Dog again!"
Sam blinked, still not convinced this wasn't some cosmic prank. "The... Mad Dog?" she asked slowly.
Ron straightened up proudly, puffing his chest. "Yep! Back at Middleton High, I was the school mascot—The Mad Dog! I had a whole routine—tail whip, backflip, crowd-pleasing howls! It was legendary." He threw his arms up like he was reliving the glory days. "The fans loved me."
"I bet they did," Sam muttered under her breath, still skeptical.
Jerry gave a small chuckle before smoothly moving on. "Yes, well, before you go running off to practice your crowd-pleasing antics, I suppose it's time for the gadget briefing."
He pressed a button, and a tray slid forward from the wall, revealing an array of shiny new spy gear. Jerry gestured toward them as though he were presenting fine jewelry.
"This week we have: three pairs of spring-loaded sneakers, perfect for high jumps and acrobatic stunts; the Mini Locket Rocket, a discreet yet powerful micro-drone disguised as a charm; a tube of Lip-STICK—quite literally weaponized lipstick; a metal-cutting laser ring; and, my personal favorite—" Jerry reached into the tray, producing a sleek silver can—"Instant-Hair-Helmet-In-A-Can."
He gave the can a dramatic shake and sprayed a quick burst over the top of his bald scalp.
The instant the spray settled, Jerry's new "hair" puffed upward into a wild, frizzy mess, sticking out in every possible direction. Combined with his normally calm and composed demeanor, the result was less "distinguished British gentleman" and more "mad scientist about to cackle at lightning."
Clover covered her mouth, but her smirk slipped through anyway. "Wow... nice lid, Jer. Not bad for a bald dude."
Ron pressed a hand over his mouth, his cheeks puffing out as he tried not to burst into laughter. His muffled snickering still escaped.
Jerry narrowed his eyes at the two blondes, clearly unimpressed with their commentary. "Yes, yes, very amusing. Regardless, the point is—it works. Now..." He brushed invisible dust off his immaculate suit jacket, regaining composure. "Ron, your mission gear is already waiting for you in transport. Goodbye, and good luck on your—"
With impeccable timing, Jerry tossed Sam a purse stuffed with their spy gadgets, and at that exact second, the floor beneath all four teens gave way, opening into yet another trap door chute.
"—trip," Jerry finished with a mischievous grin.
"Wha-? WOAHHHHHHH!" Alex squealed as she vanished down the chute.
"Not again!" Clover yelped, arms flailing as she fell.
Sam groaned, already bracing herself. "Jerry, I swear—!"
Meanwhile, Ron pinwheeled his arms helplessly, his voice echoing as he plummeted. "I'm gonna kill you, Jerryyyyyyyy!"
Back in the briefing room, Jerry leaned casually over the edge of the now-sealed trap door, adjusting his tie with smug satisfaction. "Trip. Hahaha! You get it?" He chuckled at his own joke, shaking his head. "And people say my humor is dry..."
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After Jerry's little "trap door comedy hour," the four agents finally found themselves walking through the pristine, high-end hotel corridors. Their destination: the private changing room Jerry had booked for them, where their undercover uniforms supposedly waited.
Sam let out a long, exasperated sigh as she carried the purse full of gadgets. "I still can't believe Jerry is making us do this. Undercover or not, what could possibly be more humiliating?"
Ron trailed beside her with his hands shoved into his pockets, muttering under his breath. "I dunno, Sam... probably falling fifty feet onto solid steel in front of everyone while Jerry laughs at you. But this is definitely a close second."
When they finally stepped into the changing room, the four stopped in their tracks. Hanging neatly along the racks were their uniforms.
For the girls, it was a coordinated cheerleading outfit: a sleek dark-pink one-piece with a flared skirt, trimmed in white, and a large bold white "W" emblazoned across the chest. Cheer shoes, pompoms, and glittery hair ribbons sat waiting on a nearby shelf.
Ron's uniform, however, was... different. A dark-pink T-shirt with the same oversized "W" stamped on the front and matching pink sweatpants—complete with elastic ankles. Sitting on the bench next to his outfit was a set of accessories that made him visibly pale: a giant plush bulldog mascot head and oversized foam paws.
Ron's face went as flat as the floor. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me..."
Sam pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry I asked..." she muttered under her breath.
Clover, however, squealed with delight as she practically skipped to the rack. She snatched her uniform off the hanger, holding it up against herself in the mirror. "Ooh, I love it!" she said, eyes sparkling.
Sam turned her head slowly, her voice flat and incredulous. "Please tell me you're not serious, Clover."
Clover spun in place, twirling the skirt between her fingers like a little kid. "Of course I'm serious, Sammy! I love cheerleading! The outfits, the hair, the stunts, the energy—it's like the perfect combo of fashion and cardio!"
Sam crossed her arms, her expression sharpening into a glare. "Is it just the lame outfits, or do you also enjoy the brainless flitting around while chanting in unison?"
Clover scoffed and dramatically rolled her eyes, tossing her uniform skirt over her shoulder like she was a runway model. "Oh! Okay! For your information, Sam, cheerleading is a highly competitive, highly challenging sport with a long-standing tradition of spirited optimism!"
Sam crossed her arms, her glare intensifying as she fired back. "And a long-standing tradition of big hair."
Clover gasped as though Sam had just insulted her entire family tree. "Rude!"
Before the tension could get any sharper, Alex quickly stepped between them, holding her hands up like a referee breaking up a fight. "Enough bickering, girls. We've got Honey Bees to find, remember?"
Ron—who had been sitting on the bench tugging unhappily at his pink sweatpants—pushed himself up and joined the circle. He nodded firmly, his usual goofiness giving way to determination. "Alex's right, we've got a mission." He turned to Sam, softening his tone. "Look, Sam, as soon as this mission is over, you don't have to worry about cheerleading ever again. The faster we find the Honey Bees, the faster we can put all this pom-pom drama behind us."
Sam hesitated for a moment, then sighed, her glare easing into the faintest of smiles. "I guess you're right," she admitted, giving Ron a small nod. "Thanks, Ron."
Ron grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "No problem. Trust me, I know what it's like to get stuck in the middle of cheer squad chaos."
"Ugh, don't remind me," Sam muttered, though this time her voice had more humor than irritation.
Alex, ever the optimist, clapped her hands together. "So... where do we start?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Sam shifted into mission mode, arms folding behind her back as her brain went to work. "We find out if any of the other cheerleading teams have a grudge against the Honey Bees. If someone wanted them out of the way, nationals would be the perfect time to strike."
Ron stepped forward, his tone dropping just slightly, which made the others pause. "Unfortunately... that might not be as easy as you think."
The girls all turned toward him, their curiosity piqued.
Sam narrowed her eyes, studying his serious expression. "What do you mean, Ron?"
Ron leaned against the lockers, crossing his arms as he began. "Well, you see, Clover's right about cheerleading being highly competitive. Seriously, my old team back at Middleton would train for hours just to get a single routine perfect. Every girl—and even me when I was mascot—took cheerleading seriously, like it was a war or something." His tone shifted from casual to almost grave, and the others could tell he wasn't exaggerating. "If the Honey Bees have won ten years in a row, I'm sure every other team out there is bound to be jealous of them and their success. Honestly? I don't doubt that almost every squad here is secretly glad they're missing from Nationals."
"Yikes," Clover muttered, her usual bubbly expression faltering as her eyes widened. "Talk about a hive full of drama."
"No kidding," Alex said, shaking her head with a frown.
Sam pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh. "So, that pretty much makes every team a suspect."
Ron nodded gravely. "Yeah."
Clover tilted her head, folding her arms as she stepped forward. "If that's the case, how do we narrow down which team are the ones who actually took the Honey Bees?"
Alex's face lit up with determination, her enthusiasm cutting through the gloom. She stepped closer, pointing at the ground as though she were drawing up a game plan. "Easy! We go down there, mingle with the other teams, and talk to them. See if anyone slips up and says something they shouldn't. One little hint about the Honey Bees, and bam! We've got ourselves a lead!"
Sam's eyes widened, impressed. She paused for a thoughtful moment before smiling and nodding. "Alex... you're a genius!" she cried.
Alex beamed, practically glowing with pride. "Thanks, Sammy!"
Ron grinned, his earlier serious mood lightening as he pumped a fist. "Sounds like a plan to me."
Sam nodded firmly, her leadership instincts kicking in. "Good. Then let's get changed and head down there to find our lead," she said, a small but confident smile tugging at her lips. "Once we're on the floor, we'll split up—Clover, you're with Alex, and Ron's with me."
Alex's jaw dropped. "Hey, wait a sec! Why do you get to be partnered up with Ron!?" she cried, crossing her arms with a dramatic pout that could rival a child being denied candy.
Sam arched an eyebrow, unimpressed by Alex's theatrics. "Because," she replied bluntly, "he won't annoy me with all this cheerleader crap."
Clover snorted, trying (and failing) to hide her laughter behind her hand. "Ooh, burn!" she giggled, clearly enjoying Sam's deadpan delivery.
Ron blinked, caught between feeling complimented and slightly insulted. "Uh... thanks? I think?" he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Alex threw her hands up. "Unbelievable! You two are so not fun."
"Relax, Alex," Sam said, softening just a little. "This isn't a popularity contest—it's a mission. Let's just focus, alright?"
Alex muttered under her breath, but Clover patted her on the shoulder. "C'mon, Alex. Look on the bright side—we get to play undercover cheer divas together!"
Alex sighed dramatically, but a tiny smile betrayed that she was at least a little excited.