‘Research’
Shauna Shipman was not a stalker.
She was just… observant.
Okay, sure, maybe she had developed a mild interest in Jackie Taylor. But that was normal. People got curious about other people all the time. It was human nature.
And if Shauna just so happened to be conducting an in-depth, multi-platform investigation into Jackie Taylor’s existence, that was journalistic integrity, not anything weird.
It started, innocently enough, with Instagram.
Jackie’s profile was sickeningly perfect—the kind of account that looked like it belonged to an influencer, except she wasn’t selling anything other than the idea that she was effortlessly likable.
Her grid was a highlight reel of golden-hour candids and Kappa-approved aesthetics:
• Jackie and a group of other Kappa girls, smiling at a formal event, wearing dresses that probably cost more than Shauna’s entire life.
• Jackie on the soccer field, mid-game, hair in a perfect ponytail, captioned “Game day!! I love my girls!! ” like she wasn’t completely dominating the field.
• Jackie on a boat somewhere, holding up a peace sign, sunglasses perched on top of her head, looking like she belonged in a Visit California commercial.
• Jackie hugging some girl—probably her big or her little or some other Greek Life title that meant nothing to Shauna—grinning wide, captioned “my heart!!”
Shauna scrolled, frowning. There wasn’t a single bad photo.
Even the random ones, the ones that were clearly just Jackie being tagged in things, made her look like the human embodiment of good decisions and community service.
It was, frankly, disturbing.
So, obviously, Shauna had to look deeper.
She started keeping an eye out on campus. Nothing crazy, just casual, passive observation.
Jackie was everywhere.
The Kappa house: Standing on the front steps, looking like she had been genetically engineered to make people feel welcomed and valued.
The student union: Sitting in a booth, laughing with her Kappa sisters, eating a salad that somehow looked appealing and not depressing.
The soccer field:
Oh, the soccer field.
She was fast. Not just normal fast—scary fast. She moved like someone who had been doing this her whole life, cutting through defenders with a ridiculous ease, like she had already planned three moves ahead. Watching her felt like watching something mechanical, too precise, too sharp to be accidental.
And then, there were the goals.
Shauna watched a compilation video—because of course there were compilation videos—of Jackie scoring goal after goal, her face lighting up every time like she still couldn’t believe she was good at this.
It was—well.
It was interesting.
And okay, fine. Maybe she stayed up a little too late watching clips. Maybe she watched a post-game interview where Jackie, sweaty and beaming, said something about “staying focused and working as a team” like she wasn’t personally responsible for half the scoreboard.
Maybe Shauna kept watching, just to see how she talked.
Which led her to a very important discovery:
Jackie Taylor giggled more than any human being had a right to.
Even in post-game interviews, standing there in shin guards and a messy ponytail, she giggled like the idea of being asked questions was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
Shauna frowned at her phone screen, thumb hovering over the pause button.
Why was that—
Why was she—
She shut off the video, exhaling sharply.
Okay. That was enough research for one night.