I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 155 A Perfect SAT Score and the Power of Authority (8K Chapter, Requesting Monthly Tickets and Subscriptions)

Richard pushed open the door, and Han Qing was already sitting behind the table.

She was wearing a white lab coat that was a size too big, with the collar hanging loosely over her shoulders.

Her hands were on the table, and a folder and a pen were neatly arranged in front of her; she appeared to be working.

If there isn't a crumb of bread stuck to the corner of your mouth.

Richard placed a paper bag on the table and said with a smile, "Senior Sister Han, about the cream puff incident last time, it was because of me that you wasted one. I'll make you two more."

After all, he's a fellow student and colleague from the University of Tokyo, and he's incredibly poor. I should give him some food; he's just too pitiful.

Richard felt like he was being fed to a stray cat.

Han Qing looked down at the paper bag.

She recognized the packaging as belonging to the bakery next door; the seal of the paper bag still had a slight oil stain showing through, indicating it had just come out of the oven.

Gurgle.

She swallowed quietly.

But Han Qing didn't answer; she looked at Richard warily.

She didn't know why this rich kid or the student would do these things. Seeing her eating, he even gave her two cream puffs as compensation. There was only one reason.

He wants to sleep with me!

She didn't believe these things were given away for free; she was sure they were using money and attentiveness to lure her in.

cut!

That kind of trick won't work on me!

I've seen it all before.

Han Qing reluctantly pushed the paper bag back: "No need, thank you. It was just an accident last time."

Richard was surprised to see a strong, hostile flame flickering above Han Qing's head.

I'll bring you some snacks, big sister!

You've become even more malicious?

He had absolutely no idea what this simple girl was thinking.

Last time I saw her, she was pitifully poor. She managed to buy two cream puffs as a snack, but then she wasted one because of herself. (Maybe she didn't waste it, and it all ended up in her stomach?)

After all, they were both international students at the University of Tokyo and worked part-time in the same place, so they were practically from the same hometown. Unlike that inexplicable Ivan Lee, who was full of hostility from the first meeting.

Richard bought two on a whim, since he needed her to help him with some part-time job troubles, that's all.

Did she end up becoming hostile instead?

"Fine, whatever you want." Richard ignored Puff, turned and walked out of the office to get to work at the blood-drawing area.

After Richard left, Han Qing sat behind the table and stared at the paper bag for a while.

She couldn't bear to throw it away, but she didn't eat it on the spot.

She had watched Alex's videos and knew that in the United States, you can't just eat food once it's out of your sight.

Han Qing licked his lips.

Or... I could take it back to eat. Richard wouldn't poison me, would he?

If it's just a hallucinogenic drug, it's not a big problem if you pass out at home. Just think of it as taking a nap!

She gently put the paper bag into her bag.

While Richard was working in the blood collection area, Chloe walked over. Today she was wearing dark skinny jeans and a white cardigan, looking a bit more refined than usual. Her hair was down, with the ends slightly curled, as if it had just been blow-dried.

Richard also noticed that her makeup skills had improved a level today, like a professional's touch, making her look even more beautiful than usual.

Chloe walked over to the blood collection station next to Richard, stood there for a moment, and greeted him with a smile: "Hi, you're here pretty early today."

"Hmm, I'm free this afternoon." Richard looked at Chloe with interest, and from his angle, he could see Chloe's figure perfectly.

No matter how calm she was, the flames of desire and greed in her mind were very obvious and could not fool Richard at all.

What do you do on weekends?

"uncertain."

Chloe didn't ask any further questions, but she didn't leave either.

She leaned against the counter next to her, tapping her fingers lightly on the surface twice: "If nothing's going on this weekend—"

She was speaking when someone called her name. She turned her head to respond, and when she turned back, Richard was already giving the next person a blood sample.

She hesitated for a moment, then took back the rest of her sentence and turned away dejectedly.

Richard did not look up at her.

Not far away, the two blood collectors were whispering to each other again.

He had heard similar conversations three times already.

Even though Richard was two rows of blood-collecting chairs away from them, his excellent hearing made their voices sound as clear as if they were right next to his ear: "That Richard guy, he's always running to the manager's room. He's only been here a few days, and he's already hooked up with someone!"

"They're all from the University of Tokyo, it's normal for them to know each other."

"What's normal about that? I heard he drives a Porsche, so he's a rich second-generation. He must be here to hook up with Heather Green (Han Qing)."

"Possibly. They're definitely not short of money; they'll only work a few hours a day before leaving."

Their voices were very low, but Richard could hear them clearly.

However, Richard did not react.

That's just how the world is; whatever you do will be talked about.

He continued working as before, collecting blood and filling the blood collection box.

"Ding! Due to repeated charging and discharging, the maximum capacity of the [Blood Remains Chest] has been increased to 29 units."

Richard smiled slightly, and after drawing another unit of fresh flesh and blood, he left.

As the cap on the Blood Box increases, he wastes more and more time at the Blood Collection Point.

I estimate that once we reach around 40 units, our time here will extend to 5-6 hours, at which point the cost-effectiveness here will be very low, and we'll have to find another place.

The lights were on when Debbie arrived at the training facility the next day.

She arrived fifteen minutes early, but when she pushed open the door, everyone had already changed into their uniforms and was covered in sweat.

Clearly, everyone has finished the first round of practice.

Someone was sitting on the floor tying their shoelaces, someone was standing in front of a mirror fixing their hair, and Madeline was sitting on the floor drinking water; her glass was empty.

Seeing Debbie enter, Madeline didn't stand up, but simply raised her chin slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips: "Debbie, you're so busy, you don't even have time for training."

"Bitch!" Debbie's face darkened; she had been tricked by these bitches again.

However, she didn't say anything. She went to the locker to put her things down. Miranda walked over from the other side of the venue, her hair tied up tightly with no stray hairs on her forehead, and she had a flawless smile on her face: "Debbie, you're late."

"You said six o'clock, so I arrived fifteen minutes early."

"Oh, really? Today's extra practice starts at five. The notice might not have reached you." Miranda's tone was very light, as if she were explaining something insignificant.

Debbie squinted at her: "Then you'd better be careful next time."

"Heh." Miranda chuckled and turned to walk away.

The locker room was quiet for a moment.

Another cheerleader, Amanda, was tying her shoelaces two spaces away from Debbie. She looked around, turned her head, and whispered, "—Come on, ignore them, Miranda and the others are always like this."

She had barely finished speaking when a teammate tugged at her arm: "Don't let anyone else hear!"

Amanda shut her mouth for a moment.

Debbie glanced at her but said nothing.

During a training break, several team members huddled together looking at their phones.

The Giants' official account just posted the greeting video recorded by Debbie: "Hi, this is Debbie. How's it going with the Giants?"

"It's a very professional place. The training intensity is much higher than that of the high school team, but I like it."

It's a very simple video with nothing particularly interesting, but Debbie herself is the highlight, and it has already garnered over a million views.

Miranda was furious.

"One million views—" one team member muttered. "I wish I could have that many views someday."

Miranda could hear the conversation; the voices weren't loud, but they were just loud enough for her to hear.

She paused for a moment while tying her shoelaces, then quickly tightened them: "Rest well! Keep practicing! Everyone!"

His tone was very flat.

But Madeleine knew Miranda was angry.

Shortly after, Giants' David Hart personally visited the training facility, followed by Langdon and several executives.

The girls danced even harder, vying to show their best side to the boss.

David Hart stood on the sidelines for a few minutes, watching Miranda perform a training routine.

He nodded and said seriously, "You jumped very well. Keep it up."

Miranda was very excited: "Mr. Hart, I will do my best."

David Hart, before she could finish, turned to Debbie, his tone becoming much more amiable: "Your Highness, you need to practice harder. If you underperform at the Super Bowl, the media won't care about your status. They'll just write that the saint got in through connections and doesn't deserve it at all."

Debbie nodded, feeling immense pressure: "Okay, Mr. Hart, I'll do my best."

David Hart added, "There's a Giants media day in seven days, and you'll be doing an opening performance. This will be your first public appearance, so be careful."

7 days!

Debbie is under even more pressure.

David left after he finished speaking.

As Langdon followed him out the door, he glanced back at Debbie but said nothing.

He felt the situation was very bad and wondered if he should ask Coach Edmund to lower the difficulty level.

It's just a media day; dancing at a high school level would be fine, right?

Miranda stood in the middle of the field, looking at Debbie's back, her fists clenched silently, her nails almost digging into her flesh.

The boss is also protecting that bitch!

She clearly can't do anything!

So unfair!

Since that's the case, don't blame me for being impolite!

Without real skills, you can't stand the test of time just by relying on your reputation!

I'm going to embarrass Debbie in front of the entire nation, and see if she'll still have the face to stay in the NFL!

"Did you all hear that, ladies?" Edmund clapped his hands and shouted, "The boss said you all have to go on stage on media day in seven days."

As he spoke, he glanced at Debbie. Debbie was his biggest worry, and this girl had to be in the center position!

He pondered for a while, but he was still not confident that he could train Debbie to the point where she could perform on stage within seven days.

Debbie's strength and stamina were far inferior.

He was barely certain that it would take seven months.

But now there are only 7 days.

"Everyone, hurry up and practice," Edmund said, walking to a corner with a worried expression.

Miranda walked over and said sincerely, "Coach, I think we should take Debbie off the stage, at least not in the center position. She can't do it."

Edmund glanced at her; he knew what she was up to, but it was indeed a big problem.

"The boss wants her to be in the center position, and I can't go against his wishes."

Miranda said softly, "Then... let Debbie step back herself! Let her do a difficult move."

A few minutes later, Edmund called out loudly, "Girls, come here, we need something to put order. Look at this."

Edmund posted a video of an extremely difficult aerial maneuver: takeoff, flight, triple rotation, landing, and a one-legged freeze.

"A three-week blindfolded drop, nobody in the entire league has ever done it, it's extremely dangerous, and of course, you're not allowed to practice it," Edmund said. "Our center's home-court move this year is a three-week blindfolded drop. Who wants to try? Whoever can do it, and whoever does it well, will be this year's center!"

Debbie looked up at Edmund.

The women were surprised.

Didn't the boss say that Debbie was supposed to be in the center position?

Could it be...?

However, triple jumps are still a very dangerous move, and injuries can easily occur if one is not careful.

The women hesitated.

Miranda immediately raised her hand: "I can give it a try."

She chose this move, which requires a high level of strength and skill. Debbie might be able to complete the technique, but she couldn't catch up in terms of strength in a short time.

Edmund stepped aside.

OK.

Miranda walked to the center of the field, took a deep breath, and carefully considered the key points of the movement.

She jumped, soared into the air, did three rotations, and landed perfectly still, without her ankles wobbling – a clean and decisive move.

She didn't close her eyes—she had practiced this move for a long time and was afraid to close them, but three weeks was enough.

There are fewer than 10 cheerleaders in the entire United States who can do this move!

There was a half-second silence in the room, then Madeline was the first to applaud: "Great! Beautiful!"

The others clapped sparsely.

Edmund said with satisfaction, "Very good."

After Miranda finished, everyone's attention turned to Debbie.

Debbie isn't stupid; of course she wouldn't directly attempt such a move.

Edmund said, "Debbie, you need to practice this move. It's the center's signature move. If you can do it, it's yours; otherwise..."

'

Debbie immediately replied, "I'll practice! I'm sure I can learn it!"

Miranda added from the side, "I can teach Debbie. I've been training her for three years, I have experience."

Debbie squinted at her.

She understood the subtext: I've practiced for three years, and I only have one week left. You can't possibly learn it!

Edmund was very pleased to see Debbie's difficulty: "Miranda, demonstrate the steps. Let everyone watch carefully."

"Okay, coach."

Miranda carefully demonstrated the individual movements, then connected them together, completing a triple rotation without wobbling upon landing.

The women were terrified.

Nobody wants to learn this move; it's too difficult and dangerous.

Debbie had no choice but to go.

She was unwilling to give up the center position.

She jumped for the first time, throwing herself into the air, spinning less than a full circle before losing her balance and landing on the mat.

The second time, she didn't jump high enough, her body scattered in the air, she couldn't control her posture at all, and fell onto the soft mat lying down.

The third time...

The fourth time...

On the fifth time, Debbie twisted her knee when she landed. With red eyes, she squatted on the ground for a long time to recover before continuing.

The sixth time...

Debbie didn't know how many times she had done it, and she was so tired that she sat down to rest on the sidelines.

Miranda walked over and handed her a bottle of water: "Your core wasn't engaged when you did the spin. You haven't practiced aerial spins before, have you?"

Debbie didn't take any water, but drank from her own water bottle: "Guess."

"Hehe." Miranda chuckled. "It's alright. Take your time practicing."

She patted Debbie on the shoulder and walked away.

Debbie had rested enough, so she looked away, put the water bottle on the ground, and stood up again.

She walked to the starting position, looked up at the height she hadn't reached, then flexed her wrists and stood back at the starting line.

Her knee hurt a little, and she stumbled.

Madeline stood on the other side of the field, exchanged a glance with her teammate next to her, and looked gloating.

Amanda saw Debbie almost fall and involuntarily took half a step forward, as if she wanted to go over and help her up. However, when she saw the cold eyes of Miranda and the others, her feet were firmly planted in place, and she retreated.

Evelyn knocked on Christina's office door and placed the object on her desk.

"Boss, Richard's SAT scores are out. You told me to let you know when the scores came out."

"How many points?"

"1600, a perfect score!" Evelyn exclaimed. "Truly a genius!"

Christina took it, glanced at it, looked at the score for two seconds, and then put it down: "I understand."

It would be strange if Richard was dissatisfied.

She turned her head and forgot about it.

As Evelyn turned to walk towards the door, Christina suddenly looked up and added, "Did Principal Ashton call? Urge him to finish Richard's summer school application process; don't let it stall. It needs to be completed by June at the latest."

OK.

Upon hearing this, Edgar asked in surprise, "How many points?"

1600...

""

"How much?" Edgar sat up straight.

He had witnessed Richard's usual busy schedule, running liposuction, OCME, and blood donation center at the same time, yet still managing to get a perfect score. He was definitely the first person in the history of Francis Lewis High School to achieve this!

Edgar opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again.

He grabbed his phone, tapped it a couple of times, and called Richard directly, exclaiming dramatically, "Do you know how many people get a perfect SAT score every year? Hundreds."

"Several hundred? That many?" Richard shrugged. "That sounds like nothing."

There's only one top scorer in the college entrance exam per province; that's much harder than that.

"So-so!!" Edgar's voice cracked.

"Scores above 1550 are relatively easy to achieve, but 1600 is extremely difficult!"

"Do you know what scores top students usually get? 1580 or 1590. You got 1600, and you made the news. Your school's official website homepage changed your picture."

"Do you think the reporters will dig up your part-time job at OCME? I've already thought of a headline: 'Perfect-scoring student dissectes corpses by day and draws blood by night.'"

Francis Lewis High School.

Principal Smith's phone has been ringing off the hook.

He said "Yes, full marks" three times into the microphone, then hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair, stared at the ceiling for a while, and then looked down at the notification that had just been sent on his computer screen.

Ten minutes later, the homepage of Francis Lewis High School's official website changed to a picture of Richard, with only one line below: The first person in the school's history.

As soon as Brian stepped out of the city hall, he was surrounded by reporters who, while descending the steps, shoved two microphones in front of him: "Mr. Councilor, what are your thoughts on the SAT scores of the person who saved your life at Francis Lewis High School? That's a school in your district, and you've given speeches there before."

"What score did he get?"

"Full marks."

Brian paused for a moment, then stopped, smiled at the camera, and said, "This is very good news. I know that young man; he saved my life. I'm so glad he's gotten this far."

"So what's your response to the latest developments in Anna's sexual assault case?" the reporter followed up quickly. "She released new chat logs yesterday, claiming that you—"

FXXK! Brian's smile froze.

He glanced down at the microphone for a second, then looked up and said, "That was fake! The court and the jury have cleared my name. Thank you!"

Then he turned and left.

Doug followed behind him, walking quickly towards the parking lot without saying a word.

After dinner, Debbie nestled on the sofa. After checking her scores, she just sat there hugging her shadow and didn't move much.

She opened the page on her tablet, looked at it for a while, then flipped the screen over and placed it face down on her lap, muttering a curse under her breath:

Damn exams!

Catherine walked over, put the plate down, and glanced at her: "The results are out, what were your scores?"

"————801." Debbie didn't look up, but carefully turned the tablet over and handed it to her.

Catherine took the tablet, glanced at the numbers on the screen, and then handed it back to her: "Hmm."

""

"Just?"

How do you feel about your exam results?

Debbie buried her face in the shadow's belly.

Richard overheard the number as he walked down the stairs. He paused in the living room and asked, "—What was your score?"

"801!" Debbie felt like she was dying.

801! That score, converted to the college entrance exam, wouldn't even get you into a junior college. Richard almost burst out laughing: "Do you even know what the maximum SAT score is?"

"I know! 1600."

"You know that too! Call Sawyer and see what he has to say."

Sawyer received the news that very evening.

He sat in the chair in the Archbishop of New York's office, looking at the report card, his face darkening.

If you had just typed your face on the keyboard, you might have gotten a higher score!

Sawyer touched his noticeably shrunken belly and sighed.

Your Highness is really close to succeeding in losing weight!

He picked up his phone and dialed a number: "Schedule an online meeting with the Lutheran Church and Princeton as soon as possible. Debbie's SAT score is out, 801. We need to work on our backup plans."

For the Catholic Church, it would be easy to force Debbie into Princeton; the key is to silence everyone and ensure that the saint has no stain on her reputation!

If a score of 801 is enough to get into Princeton, it would be an insult to the saint herself.

In the future, whenever Debbie’s alma mater, Princeton, is mentioned, people will think of that terrifying score: 801!

Therefore, this method will not work.

Three hours later, Debbie received an extremely complex plan from Sawyer:

1. The Lutheran Church, an ultra-conservative Catholic foundation, has been donating $250 million annually to Princeton for decades. Originally called the Catholic Special Scholarship, it was renamed the Princeton Arts and Culture Development Permanent Fund this year.

This donation, intended to support school cheerleading teams and religious charity performances, is a common type of donation that is unlikely to cause controversy.

The Lutheran Church's donations have continued for decades and would not be interpreted by outsiders as a special financial channel opened for Debbie.

2. The donation agreement includes a clause stating that the school's competitive cheerleading team has poor performance. In order to develop the school's cheerleading team, priority will be given to recruiting sports and arts talents with national-level top-level stage experience to serve as the captain of the school's competitive cheerleading team.

3. The Super Bowl is the top national public stage in the United States. Debbie, as one of the few public school Catholic girls to have appeared on the Super Bowl stage, has the influence of the public stage, the appeal of public welfare, and strong resilience and leadership.

4. The admissions committee can then use this to define Debbie as a multi-talented individual in the arts and sports, thereby enriching the diversity of the school's campus cultural and recreational activities and public communication circles.

5. Because Debbie devoted a lot of her spare time to professional-level rehearsals, national charity tours, and intensive Super Bowl rehearsals, she had less time to prepare for the SAT, resulting in a weaker SAT score.

6. Finally, the Z-list method is used to defer admission, which means that students are admitted first but not enrolled. When Princeton publishes the student admission information, it can skip Debbie, hide her SAT score, and then wait for the public announcement period to end before Debbie can enroll. This is a very sophisticated channel tailored for the unworthy children of the wealthy and powerful.

Debbie stared blankly at it: "What does this mean? I don't understand! Will it even work?"

Richard watched it once and couldn't help but admire how clever the Americans were.

The entire process was reasonable, legal, and compliant, and it even concealed Debbie's SAT scores. Not only did it not cost a single penny (the Lutheran Church was originally going to fund Princeton), but it simply changed the name of the foundation and also explained why Debbie's grades were poor.

Even more outrageous is that he scored 1600 points and was still trying to meet Princeton's admission requirements.

Debbie has already been chosen!

Sawyer said confidently, "She's accepted. Absolutely. This is a pathway personally designed by the director of admissions at Princeton, it's absolutely reasonable. The prerequisite is that Debbie continues down the cheerleading path. First, she has to perform at the Super Bowl, and second, once she gets into Princeton, she has to join Princeton's competitive cheerleading team."

"So, I have to get into the Super Bowl!" Debbie cheered herself on.

The next day, Richard carried Shadow into the car in a flight case, then went to his room to get something.

By the time he got back to his car, the flight case was broken.

The metal latch was bent from the inside. He had thought that the thickened iron mesh would last at least a few more days, but he had clearly underestimated the shadow.

The shadow lay lazily on the driver's seat. When it saw Richard open the car door, it yawned, stretched, and then stood up from its seat.

Richard said irritably, "When are you going to learn not to take things apart?"

Shadow ignored Richard, sitting in the passenger seat licking his paws as if to say, "Stop talking nonsense and drive."

Richard knew that this cat was now difficult to keep in its cage, but fortunately it didn't run away, probably understanding that following him was the best thing for it.

We arrived at the entrance of the pet hospital.

Richard reached out and picked it up: "We're going to the vet today. Don't move around or hurt anyone, understand?"

Meow!

The veterinarian was a woman in her forties.

She placed the shadow on the examination table, first listening to its heart and lungs, then examining its ears and gums, and finally feeling down its spine segment by segment to confirm that each bone was aligned normally.

The shadow cooperated well; it did not struggle at all during the process, its four legs were firmly supported on the table, and its tail hung in a relaxed arc. It only moved slightly when the doctor touched its hind leg.

"Next, we'll do a full physical exam, including a detailed examination of the joints and soft tissues," the veterinarian said.

She had blood drawn from the shadow, X-rays taken, and ultrasound done; she went through every single procedure.

The examination results showed that its muscles and bones were very well developed, and its bone density and joint function exceeded the average level of cats of the same age.

The veterinarian remarked, "This cat is so well-cared for; its physique and joints are incredibly healthy—frankly, almost too healthy. What are you feeding it?"

Richard replied dismissively, "It's just regular cat food. I don't know how it grew so well."

The veterinarian didn't seem to mind: "Good genes. Some cats are just born with a good constitution."

Richard stood beside the examination table, silently watching the doctor print out the examination records.

There are no visible signs, routine examinations cannot detect any traces, there is no rejection reaction, no abnormal behavior, and there are no problems at all.

Richard said softly, "Let's go."

Meow! The shadow stood up from the examination table and jumped onto Richard's shoulder.

The veterinarian was dumbfounded: "How did you train this cat?"

"I haven't trained it, but it seems to understand me naturally."

"Is that even possible?!" The veterinarian took more than a dozen photos with envy.

Richard got into the driver's seat, reached out and closed the door, and Shadow jumped into the passenger seat.

It's finally confirmed!

Everything has been tested!

All indicators are within the normal range, which means Debbie's health can be improved.

He prepared 29 units of fresh flesh and blood with an abundance of 7, which should be enough.

Giants cheerleading training facility.

boom!

Debbie grinned and climbed off the mat.

Another failure!

Still can't finish!

This thing is tied to my position in the center, and to my Princeton degree.

I must finish!

Clayton felt like dying; Debbie's shots were just too difficult to film.

He has accumulated a large number of clips, but none of them are usable directly, and editing them in the future will be a hassle.

What was supposed to be a two- or three-hour task has taken him three days to film!

Three days!

Is this saint a pig?!

Debbie dusted herself off, ready to start over.

Just then, someone nearby chuckled softly.

Debbie glanced in the direction of the smile; it was Madeline, who was fixing her hair with her back to her.

Debbie, already seething with anger, charged forward: "Bitch! What are you laughing at? Why don't you try?"

Madeline was stunned.

She thought Debbie wouldn't respond.

But Debbie just stood there, her ankle still a little swollen, her posture not exactly composed, but she was glaring at her fiercely.

Madeline finally retorted, "—I'm not in the center position, I don't need to do it!"

Debbie shouted, "What are you laughing at? Answer me directly!"

Madeline choked.

There was a two or three-second silence in the training hall. Madeline looked away, not daring to answer.

"Hmph!" Debbie sneered. "Don't let me see you laugh next time, or I'll show you what a saint is! You know how many fanatics are out there!"

Madeline cracked.

This is outrageous! Is she still a saint?!

After training, Debbie sat in the locker room with an ice pack on her face.

There was a small, soft lump below her knee. It felt slippery when pressed. She pressed it with her palm and let go after a while.

Go back and ask Richard for help again.

She pondered for a moment, took a thorough shower, and then walked out of the venue, limping unsteadily.

Catherine's car was already waiting.

She saw her daughter's expression but said nothing.

The path you choose, you must walk it to the end, even if you have to crawl on your knees.

Debbie was somewhat discouraged; no matter how much she practiced, she couldn't do a triple jump.

This movement requires a very high level of strength.

Catherine drove quietly.

Debbie leaned against the car window, scrolling through her phone.

Suddenly, Miranda's update popped up on my feed.

A training video perfectly demonstrates the triple jump movement; the title is "Demonstration".

It has been viewed over 10,000 times.

Many cheerleaders gave it a thumbs up.

Madeline retweeted: "The best person on our team!"

A few bitches even deliberately tagged Debbie.

Debbie grew increasingly annoyed.

@ what a load of rubbish!

However, after practicing for a few days, she clearly felt that she might not be able to complete the three-week run.

That was due to a pure difference in strength, not in technical skill. She couldn't jump high enough, so she couldn't complete the jump.

"Ah! This is too hard!" Debbie wailed, smashing her head against the car window.

One