It was funny really, how much Stacie used to dream of a prince or princess charming. She remembered the days when she was young, gallivanting across the playground as she dreamt of a happily ever that would never come. Back when her parents loved each other, back when her father was alive.
She knew exactly where her issues stemmed from. If it wasn’t the endless spectating of her parent’s failed marriage, as she watched two people who used to love each other prove over and over that past love wasn’t enough, it was definitely the final metaphorical and literal nail in the coffin when her father died. Because even if you break it off there is nevertheless an empty space in your heart where that person was relocated if that person should die. Or be murdered, in Stacie’s father’s case.
Now, Stacie’s mother would condemn Stacie’s viewpoint, the point of contact that caused Robert Conrad’s death was vehicular manslaughter, but Stacie deemed it murder nonetheless. Regardless of semantics such as a degree. After all, the man had decided to operate a moving vehicle while high off of cocaine and shrooms through his own volition. Now he would sit in rehab, while Stacie sits on a cemetery bench on the same day every year.
She promised herself that she’d never let anything hurt her that much again. After all, no one could hurt you if they never really knew the real you, to begin with. So she dumbed herself down, she became banal and flighty. Hiding her good grades from her peers as she replaced her emotional needs with physical ones. Her reputation preceding her as she developed a loose attitude towards sex and relationships.
Everything worked out, she found someone passably attractive, she had sex, then she moved on. When some of the football team claimed to be a notch in her bedpost as well she didn’t really care, after all, she wasn’t overly attached to anyone so it's not as though their opinions mattered. High school was a breeze, she was invited to all the parties, all the nosier girls thought they had her figured out because of her dumb bimbo routine so they never pried, and even when they did she was able to shut them up by relating some inane sex story that she didn’t particularly care about.
When college came around, she expected to do much of the same as she did in high school. Have sex, study, get above average grades despite everyone’s preconceived idea of who she is, don’t get attached. Yet, when she found out that the grad school she wanted to apply for required extracurriculars, Stacie decided to up her game.
Acapella was not Stacie’s intention at all, but her advisors suggested she try to round out her application in something that wasn’t science-related. Since apparently none of her accomplishments showed a “well-rounded applicant.”
When MIT and Georgia Tech started giving a damn about the arts, Stacie had no idea, but they wanted to see something more artistically creative and collaborative. So when Stacie saw a gorgeous blond girl hanging up posters outside of her classroom Stacie’s interest was piqued. She knew she could sing fairly well and the dance lessons that her Mother had enrolled her definitely would come in use, so she saw no harm in applying. Especially if the Barden Bellas could get her closer to the beautiful blonde in question.
The auditions went as expected, Stacie’s ego undoubtedly boosted by the way that Aubrey, the girl who had hung up the poster, seemed to stare at her as she walked up onto the stage. The look had been tinged with a want that was familiar to Stacie. A look that spurred on Stacie’s new plan. Where before her to-do list included classwork, extracurriculars, and previously unidentified sexual trysts. Now, Aubrey Posen was at the top of her things to do, and the Hunter was very excited.