Sky says she stretches for three minutes and talks trash for thirty. Her confidence is renewable energy, and the grid is grateful.
Nova keeps a tiny notebook of great comebacks and snack ideas. Half strategist, half snacktician, fully dangerous on a megaphone.
Pepper times her jumps to stadium replays so she always lands on the big screen. She calls it “brand alignment” and it keeps working.
Arrow never misses a cue or a selfie angle. If choreography had a GPS mode, she’d be the satellite guiding everyone home.
Roxy measures stunts in decibels. The louder the crowd, the higher she flies, and the coach pretends that is definitely a metric.
Bolt counts eight counts in her sleep and wakes up perfectly on beat. She’s basically a metronome with mascara.
Fizz carries spare glitter like a first aid kit. If morale dips, she applies sparkle and attitude until the scoreboard behaves.
Vega can spot a camera lens from fifty yards. She waves, winks, and somehow converts that into followers before halftime.
Jet is the unofficial hype translator. She can turn any awkward chant into stadium poetry and still hit a perfect toe touch.
Lux is the closer. Final routine, final pose, and the signature “we’ll be here all week” smile. Tips not required, applause mandatory.