Crowned in Chaos

I pulled up in front of the club, my motorcycle purring one last time before I killed the engine. The neon glow of the sign above the entrance painted the dark pavement in blood-red hues: Quartier Rouge. Red Light District in French. A fitting name, I supposed, for a place that thrived on excess. Not exactly my scene, but it was my friends' usual haunt, and tonight was a celebration—our third year of college, done and dusted. Most of the people inside had aced their finals and were ready to drink themselves into oblivion. I sighed, gripping the handlebars for a moment longer than necessary. It had been forever since I stepped into a place like this. Parties weren’t exactly my thing, and neither were loud, sweaty crowds, but I’d be damned if I let myself chicken out now. With a deep breath, I swung my leg over the bike and hopped off, my boots landing solidly against the pavement. The crisp late-spring air greeted me as I pulled off my helmet, shaking out my straight, neck-length hair—the dark brown strands with their signature blue tips catching the wind. A little pep talk wouldn’t hurt. "I got this." Dressed in my usual not-too-shabby but definitely unique style—a black biker jacket thrown over a maroon dress, paired with trusty combat boots—I strode toward the entrance. The second I pushed open the heavy club doors, a tidal wave of loud techno-new age madness exploded into my skull. "OH MY—!" I visibly cringed, recoiling like I’d just walked into a battlefield of malfunctioning robots. Who even liked this kind of noise?! What happened to actual music?! Something with soul! Or at the very least, some Skrillex—if we were going for chaotic, we might as well go all the way! One of the bouncers caught my reaction and rolled his eyes. Yeah, yeah, I get it—I looked like a total newbie here. Whatever. I dropped my hands from my ears with a sigh, my brain begrudgingly adjusting to the assault of beats. Right. Time to find my friends. There was just one problem. I was 157 cm. This crowd? Not built for short people. I huffed in frustration as I weaved through a sea of taller, sweatier bodies, narrowly dodging wild gesticulations and half-empty drinks being thrown into the air. It was like navigating a war zone—except instead of weapons, people wielded terrible dance moves and overpriced cocktails. Eventually, I spotted my best bet: the bar. Drinks were free tonight—courtesy of Madison’s ever-so-generous family. Not that I was a huge drinker, but hey, when life hands you free stuff, you take it. I leaned against the counter, waving at the bartender to get his attention. "Hey there! Can I get a drink, please?" I had to raise my voice just enough to be heard over the chaotic hellscape of sound. His back was turned at first, but he responded in the same half-shouting manner. "Sure! What can I get—" Then, he turned around. And froze. His eyes widened like he’d just seen a ghost—then, almost instantly, his face broke into a massive grin. "Oh my god. Lehnea?! What's up, girl?!" Wait. WHAT. My eyes widened right back at him before a huge grin spread across my own face. "Jamal?! My dude!" Without missing a beat, we launched into our old, signature handshake—a quick clasp, a smooth spin, and a final fist bump. BOOM. Just like old times. Okay, quick side story—Jamal? Absolute legend. We were best friends in high school until he had to leave when his mom got sick. He picked up bartending at barely 18, and after I graduated, we kinda lost touch. Then, one random day, he hit me up with the best news—his mom had fully recovered, and he’d finally landed a job in his dream field! AWESOME, RIGHT?! Too bad, though. The guy was crazy smart, and—don’t tell my parents—but I may or may not have cheated off him in biology and algebra. Hey, don’t judge me. Survival of the fittest, am I right? Anyway—back to the present. "Dude, I can’t believe you work here now!" I laughed, shaking my head. Jamal chuckled, grabbing a glass. "Man, neither can I. What can I get you, Lehnea? First round’s on me." Now that was music to my ears. "What can I get you, baby?" "Give me a strawberry and—" "—cool lime mojito, yeah, yeah, I know!" he cut in teasingly, flashing a smug grin. I chuckled, rolling my eyes in mock annoyance before settling onto the barstool in front of me, resting my arms on the counter. "So, how’s your mom? And the job?" His smile grew even bigger as he started mixing my drink. "Oh, it’s awesome. And my mom? Recovering—slowly but steadily. She’s awake, healthy... you know, as much as she can be. Not too seriously ill anymore." "That’s great to hear." "Thanks for asking." A moment passed as he poured the drink, then he glanced up. "How about college? Which year are you in now? Second?" "Third." I smirked, flipping my hair dramatically mid-air and holding up three fingers. For a split second, I considered jokingly asking if he was sure he dropped out in high school and not middle school—but nah. If I knew him well enough, that would probably sting. "There we go! A strawberry and cool lime mojito for my best girl from high school! Cheers to you, dear!" Jamal slid the drink toward me with a playful grin. "I wasn’t that great. I used to cheat off you in—" "—Yup! Biology and... algebra, right?" he interrupted with a knowing smirk. I sighed dramatically. "Yep, those two. Nonetheless, cheers!" I clinked my glass against the counter before taking a sip. "...Hey, have you seen a group of girls around here somewhere?" I pulled out my phone, quickly unlocking it and showing him a picture of me and my friends. Jamal studied the screen for a second before shaking his head. "Nope, haven’t seen them. I guess they haven’t made it inside yet. Sorry." "Nah, it’s okay. I trust your photographic brain, Jamal." "Of course you do. It’s one of my specialties, and you know it." He tapped his temple with a smug grin. "Yup! I do!" I chuckled, then frowned slightly. "Still, it’s weird. They said they’d be here..." "Aww, did you get stood up?" He pouted dramatically. I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Seems that way!" "Oh, shoot. Here comes trouble," Jamal muttered just loud enough for me to hear. "What? Who?" I instinctively tried to glance behind me, but he quickly gestured for me not to. "Let me describe it coolly for you," he said under his breath. "Dark red—possibly fake—dyed hair. A little tall for an average girl. Big blue eyes. Big lips. And oof... a really..." I inhaled slightly, catching a familiar scent. "...Spicy yet sweet perfume?" My eyes widened in shock as I whispered, "God, please! Anyone but her!" "Shortie Lehna!" Her voice sliced through the air, hitting my ears like a sharp note. I stiffened. Oh god. "I can’t believe you actually came!" she added, dripping with sarcasm while my back was still turned to her. Before I could respond, Jamal smoothly stepped in. "Is everything alright, Miss Madison?" She scoffed. "Save the fake formality, J. You know I hate it." "No? I don’t—" "Silence!" she snapped. "Or you're fired from this club, and you'll say bye-bye to the money I've been paying you! And you’ll go seeking for another job to pay your mom’s treatment!" Jamal’s eyes burned with anger, but he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. Through gritted teeth, he muttered, "Yes, Madison. As you wish...’’ Then, just low enough for only me to hear, he added, "...You bratty witch." Then, she went back to taunting and teasing me. ''Are you actually thought that you were invited in this party? You don't belong here.'' she chuckled and then took some of my dresses' side between her fingertips. ''and what is this dress? From the 60s or something? So out of trend...'' the rest started to fade in my ears as the fire built up more and rapidly in my body. And then I snapped HARD. ''SHUT. THE. f**k. UP !!'' She clearly hadn’t expected that. Just like her little minions, she instinctively took a step back. I could feel my body tensing, my breath heavy—like a bull ready to charge. In my eyes, she was nothing but a blur of red. I was so ready to tackle her and give a piece of my own mind. But then, suddenly, a firm, yet warm pressure grounded me. Jamal’s hand. His big, steady hand on my shoulder. "She’s not worth it. Don’t do it." Jamal’s voice buzzed in my ear—kind, gentle, yet firm. A quiet anchor against the storm brewing inside me. I exhaled—long and loud. The sound echoed around me, sharp against the sudden silence. It seemed like everything had gone quiet the moment I snapped. The music paused. Every gaze in the club was locked onto the bar. Whispers floated through the air like static. "Is she going to hit Madison?" Somehow, I could hear them all. Every whisper, every murmur—clear as day, even from across the room. I had no idea how. "No, she won’t. She doesn’t have the balls for it. Oh wait—she already doesn’t. She’s a girl!" "What the—That’s not cool, Maxwell!" "What? It was funny!" My jaw clenched. Seriously? Then, my gaze shifted to another part of the crowd—some cheerleaders, their eyes filled with warning and concern. "Don’t do it, Lehnea. Not worth your scholarship, darling." "Calm down, please. Just breathe." And then, another group—completely unfazed by the tension, actually bet on who would win. They were seriously putting money on the table. Then, suddenly, Madison’s expression shifted into a bold, taunting smirk. "What have you got, Lehnea? Come on!" she sneered. "I’ve got a black belt in karate!" With that, she dropped into a fighting stance, her confidence practically radiating off her. I inhaled deeply, whispering under my breath, "Ancestors of Capoeira, give me strength and willpower..." Then, louder—stronger—"To take this fake queen off her throne and claim it as mine!" "Whoa-oh! Now, now!" Jamal jumped in front of me just as I shifted into the original stance of Brazilian Capoeira. His hands shot out, palms open, blocking my path. I took a step to the side, instinctively following the rhythmic movements of Capoeira, my body already in motion, but Jamal wasn’t letting me go that easily. "Remember the first rule of Capoeira, Lehnea!" Jamal’s voice was firm, almost pleading. "Don’t make me regret teaching you this art!" His eyes locked onto mine, a silent warning beneath the urgency in his tone. Madison scoffed, still in her stance, her smirk widening. "Capoeira? In that dress? Isn’t that just some foolish dance-off, fake fighting style invented by poor Brazilian slaves?" she mocked. Jamal snapped. "What the hell did you just say about my people?!" His voice was low, seething with fury. Then, with a growl, he turned to me. "Get her, Lehnea. Kick her... you know what!" Without hesitation, he grabbed my jacket, yanking it off my shoulders. "For freedom and victory!" he roared in Brazilian Portuguese. And with fire in my chest, I yelled back. The crowd roared as the makeshift ring formed around us, the club's dance floor now a battleground. Bets flew, cheers and jeers mixing into a chaotic symphony of hype. Madison cracked her knuckles, that smug smirk never leaving her face. The drum rang three times. GO TIME. Madison lunged first, a high kick aimed straight for my shoulder. Predictable. I swayed back, narrowly dodging, feeling the air slice past my cheek. She didn’t even let me breathe before coming at me again, this time with a barrage of sharp jabs. Left, right, right—faster, more aggressive. I ducked, sidestepped, countered with a quick leg sweep— THUD! Madison hit the floor, gasping. But she was up in an instant, her eyes burning. "Ohhh, you’re gonna regret that, Shortie." She rushed in again, throwing a feint jab—fake-out!—before spinning into a high roundhouse kick. I barely managed to block it, my arms tingling from the impact. Damn, she had power, I’d give her that. "Not bad, princess," I teased, grinning. She snarled and came at me full force, trying to overwhelm me. But I waited. Dodging, moving, watching her patterns. Her breathing was heavier now, her attacks getting sloppier. Suddenly… Jamal’s voice cut through the chaos. "WAIT FOR IT, LEHNEA! NOT YET!" Another jab, another sidestep. I could feel it. Her frustration. Her exhaustion. "NOT YET!" And then—there it was. A slight misstep. Her stance wobbled for just a second. "NOW!" I spun into a low, controlled Capoeira kick—the Samba Cross. My leg hooked behind hers, sweeping her completely off balance. She crashed down HARD, her back hitting the floor with a sickening smack. The crowd went WILD. Drinks spilled, people shouted, money exchanged hands. Madison groaned, struggling to get up. But she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I dusted off my hands, flashing a smug grin at Jamal. "And that’s how you take out a fake queen." Jamal threw his arms up in victory, laughing. The noise in the club was deafening. Some screamed in triumph, others in utter disappointment at lost bets. A group of cheerleaders cheered for me, while others watched in stunned silence. But then— "OH GOD!" Jamal suddenly shielded his eyes. "Sorry for staring, but uh… Lehnea?" "What?" I blinked, confused. "Your dress strap… kinda didn’t survive that Samba Cross." I glanced down—yep. Slight wardrobe malfunction. Blushing furiously, I yanked on my jacket and zipped it up to my neck as fast as humanly possible. Before I could even process the embarrassment, a cheerleader wrapped her arm around my shoulder. "Come on, let's fix that dress in the restroom," she whispered. "Wait—did everyone see?!" I panicked. "No, fortunately," she reassured me. "But it caught my and the girls' attention. The rest of them are still busy drinking and hollering, baby. Come on now." Another girl approached, giving me an approving nod. "That was a hell of a fight, doll." "Where did you learn that?" another asked, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "Well, from my best friend at the bar. High school years." But… As we made our way toward the restroom, the club doors BURST open with a thunderous thud. We froze. Turned. And there he was. Principal Schmitz. Aka Madison’s father. Aka the DEAN of the entire college. And he wasn’t alone. The air in the club turned to ice. A sharp inhale rippled through the crowd as the energy shifted from electric excitement to dread. Madison, still on the floor, groaned and barely managed to sit up, her eyes widening in horror. Jamal let out a low whistle. "Welp… you’re screwed, Madison." "WHERE IS LEHNEA MORALES?!" Schmitz thundered. And—EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON… …Well, except Jamal and the cheerleaders… …Pointed. At. ME. SERIOUSLY?! Hold up, pause! OK, now rewind a bit… No, too far! THAT’S MY CHILDHOOD! Fast-forward! A little more… Mooooore—STOP! Ahem. Well… that was embarrassing. Anyway—hi. I’m Lehnea. Once known as “Shortie,” now called Capoeira Lehnea. Yeah, the new name stuck. And honestly? I LOVE IT. Now, a little backstory for you. Mom and I weren’t exactly rolling in cash like the rest of these college kids’ families. But by some stroke of luck, the tuition wasn’t too brutal, and I made it in. Thank God for my amazing mom, working her butt off at a solid-paying job. Fast-forward a bit… and there I was, still rocking my neck-length hair with blue ombré and still riding my “fifth-hand” bike. (Yeah, you heard that right—fifth hand. Rust spots, peeling paint, rattling like a haunted house on wheels. But I didn’t care. It was my pre-college gift from Mom after I got my license. And it was mine.) Now, picture this: First day of college. New people, fresh vibes. I met a few cool folks right away— Chris – Always the charmer. Too smooth for his own good. Percy – My clumsy, nerdy bestie. (Never change, Percy! Good luck on Andrea! Heh!) And then… Madison. Ahh, Madison. The self-proclaimed queen bee. Rich as hell, thanks to her dear ol’ dad, the college dean. Always flaunting the latest designer outfits, overpriced handbags, top-of-the-line gadgets… you name it. But here’s the real kicker— She was also the biggest bully on campus. Her and her little entourage, Jennifer and Rita. Aka TTD. Aka “The Three Devils.” On my first day, I saw them cornering some poor girl, dumping her stuff onto the floor. Classic high-school bully move. My blood BOILED, but I clenched my fists and swallowed it down. First day, Lehnea. Don’t start trouble. So, I did the responsible thing—I went straight to the Vice Deans. Told them what was up. And guess what they said? "Sorry, but Madison is the Dean’s daughter. We can’t do anything." ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME?! I left that office seeing red. And of course, it didn’t take long for Madison to find out. According to her, “a little birdie chirped in my ear about you running to the Vice Deans.” And just like that—BOOM. I was on her enemy list. Not just in fights—oh no. In EVERYTHING. Fashion? Rivalry. Art? Rivalry. Music? Rivalry. Hell, even our taste in coffee became a competition. I’ll admit, in some areas, she was lightyears ahead. The girl had money. She had status. She had every material thing in the world. But she didn’t have THIS. She didn’t have me. And THAT… is how this war began. The next morning, I woke up to my mom's yelling—and a wake-up service at 7 a.m. sharp. “Lehnea Elizabeth Morales! Come down, right this moment!” she bellowed from downstairs. Oh no. Not this. With the grogginess of the morning weighing me down, I shouted back, “Moooooom! First period starts at 12 o’clock! I had five more hours! UGH!” But, of course, that didn’t stop her. Just as I was about to drift back to sleep, I heard her steps on the stairs—rapid, like a ticking time bomb. That sound was like a cold splash of water to my face. “Lehnea, I swear if you’re still in that bed, you’re in big trouble! Because I am so furious at you right now!” Suddenly, my eyes shot wide open. I jumped out of bed, rushing to my drawer, grabbing a shirt and a pair of jeans, tossing them onto my bed in a panic. I had to get dressed before she opened the door. But nope, too late. She caught me in my PJs, standing there like a deer caught in headlights. Her eyes narrowed. “Lehnea... PJs? Really? After everything?” I could feel my heart beating faster. This wasn’t going to be fun. “You scared me, Mom! I was just about to—” “SILENCE!” “…Yes, Mom… But first of all... WHAT. THE. HELL?!” I shot back, unable to hold back my disbelief. Her glare could’ve burned a hole through me. “Don’t you ever pull that stunt again, young lady." “Oops! I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry!” “It’s OK. I understand you. Now, it’s my turn to ask a question.” “Yes, Mom?” ‘’WHAT THE HELL?! ‘’What? I don’t get it! ‘’DID YOU FIGHT MADISON?! AND WITH THAT CARAPORERA?!’’ ‘’It’s Capoeira, mom!’’ ‘’HUSH! DID YOU?!’’ ‘’…Yes, mom…’’ Finally, she couldn’t hold back her proud face. “ATTA GIRL!” “What?” “For Capoeira... Who am I kidding!! For that brat too! Did you beat her?” “You bet I did, Mom!” “But—never again! You hear me?!” “Yes, Mom.” “Now come down and help me get my work breakfast ready, and eat your portion.” I sighed. What else can I do? I’m wide awake. Thanks to you, I muttered to myself. She suddenly turned to me, that death glare making a reappearance. “…I am sorry?” Then she pointed at me. I knew what it meant. There was only one word coming out of her mouth: “Don’t.” Then she snickered. “What the hell is wrong with you today?! Did Uranus hit Mars or something? Your... what was it, Gemini showing their twin, moody... period kind of... something?” “It’s Gemini, young lady, and no!” she said, still chuckling as we headed down the stairs to the kitchen. I guess that was a good save. Or so I thought... Then her phone rang. Mr. Schmithz popped up on the screen. “Oh no! Come on! What’s next?! Did I break Madison’s legs or something?! UGH!” “Shhh!” Then she picked up the call. “Yes? Are you sure?” I felt my heart thumping against my chest with every question. Then my mom stopped dead in her tracks. “W…WHAT?!” Oh no. That cannot be good. “WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL MY DAUGHTER?!” Oh. I guess I was… Welp. Here we go again. “Listen here, mister! I got Lehnea next to me right now, and you CANNOT make me believe that my angel here did something that evillish! No, sir! Uh-uh! There’s NO way she threatened anybody to become her personal… forbidden-b… let’s say… IF she loses the fight to her!” OH, SON OF A …! After the phone call, Mom went about her final preparations before work. She was smiling at me the entire time. Oof. I guess I’m off the hook... for now. Finally, she casually kissed me on the cheek and headed to work like nothing had ever happened. Me? Eh. With some time to kill before school, I did what any sane person would do—I curled up on the couch and put on some of my favorite episodes from Solo Leveling Season 1. But, after just a while as I was finally relaxing on the couch, I heard the keyhole turning. "What’s up, Mom? Forgot something?" I called out lazily. But her voice came back... off. Too soft. Too careful. "No. Can you come here for a second, please, babygirl?" I frowned and got up, only to freeze mid-step. Two police officers stood in the doorway, waiting. My stomach dropped. "What seems to be the problem, officers?" I asked, keeping my voice as steady as I could. One of them—tall, serious-looking—spoke first. "Lehnea Elizabeth Morales?" Oof. For the freaking second time?! I screamed internally. What now? But, of course, I played it cool. I swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir." The officer took a step forward. "You have to come with us downtown for a while, please. Turn around and put your hands behind your back."