Chapter Two

Who even likes pep rallies? Well, this one's different.

I thought the hallways were unbearable. Now we’re in a confined space with unfortunately excellent acoustics. All of the mindless banter echoes and sounds two-to-three times as loud as it actually is. As if teen angst isn’t obnoxious enough, let’s just amplify it and see how long it takes Candice to lose her damn mind. Trust me, the time is almost here.

                The freshmen are on the floor of the gym, all clustered closely together like penguins at the top of the ice slide at the zoo. Sophomores, myself included, occupy the first three rows of the dirty, stained blue bleachers. Behind us are the ‘too cool for school’ juniors who are holier than thou by nature but still not quite to the top of the food chain. No. The top of the food chain is up in the highest rows of these disgusting bleachers, discolored by years of drink spillage and dripping butter and grease from the not-quite-up-to-code concession stand food. The top of the food chain is, no surprise, the seniors.

                My ponytail whips around with my head as the sound of my name stands out amongst all the other chatter. One of the few seniors I know by name is punching his friend in the arm. Adam Shepherd. I can sense Shannon’s head turning to look at me before looking in the same direction I am, her curiosity peaked as well. “What is it, Candy?”

                I can’t answer. The guy who one-upped me all day in class just said my name, or had my name said to him, and right now I was focusing on gaging his reaction. This is not the time for small talk.

                Oh s**t. As his friend rubs his arm, Adam turns and sees Shannon and I staring right at him. In perfect synchronization, we both snap back to a frontward facing position, leaning in very close to each other. I’m petrified, but I’m glad she’s able to laugh at this. “Think he saw us?”

                “No, Shannon. I think he saw you. I’m invisible.”

                She leans back, that eyebrow arched upward. “Want me to punch you the way Seth just got punched?”

                Seth! Of course! That’s the friend’s name. “You wouldn’t dare.”  

                How does someone even arch their eyebrow up that high? Somehow, Shannon gets hers even higher as her fingers curl into a fist. “You and I both know I would.”

                I press my palm to her fist and envelop it with my own fingers. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop being negative if you stop threatening to beat the s**t out of me every half hour.”

                Her shoulders shrug as I feel the tension in her fist relax beneath my own hand. “I guess that’s fair.”

                Feeling somewhat safe, I slowly withdraw my hand from hers just as the sound of a palm tapping a microphone booms through the speakers.

                “Good morning, Jefferson High!” The shrill voice of a four-foot ten inch tall woman makes everyone go silent immediately. Not out of fear, but because the pitch makes all of our body’s tense up so tightly that it hurts to talk anymore. “Welcome to the Homecoming pep-rally!”

                Oddly, I’m not feeling the pep.

                “As fall draws near, we have a lot of school activities approaching with it. There’s the auditions for the fall musical.” This draws cheers out of the scattered thespians, most of them within the senior rows because they know the roles are theirs. “The homecoming football game.” Not cheers. Growls? Howls? I don’t really know what animalistic noises these are supposed to be, but the football players make them loud and proud. An unknown person in a bulldog mascot costume pumps his big fist, or paw, into the air. “And of course with the homecoming football game comes… The homecoming dance.”

                That’s the zinger. Everyone " excluding myself of course " cheers and applauds as if this woman has just announced we’re getting free food for a year. “Introducing the theme for this year’s dance is our very own dance team!” The short woman takes very small steps to carry the microphone and the long chord attached to it off of the court. Once she’s cleared the floor, the lights dim.

                There’s a low, very familiar hum before Will Smith’s voice is repeating “uh” and “Whicky-Wild” over and over. I can’t lie, even I’m feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

                Here they come. There’s twelve girls in three rows of four. The two columns on the left dressed in black cowgirl attire, the group on the right dressed in an assortment of lighter browns, creams and whites.

                Every movement is so meticulous. Nothing is accidental and there’s not a single moment wasted. Even their walking is to the beat, more of a strut than the way I walk to the refrigerator for milk in the morning.

                As soon as the first verse begins, they dip their heads and turn their entire torsos. Their long hair whips from beneath the cover of cowboy hats. Despite being clearly costumed to be the good and the bad, they move together as a team.

                I can’t remember the last time a pep rally managed to snatch my attention and maintain it the way this one is. I can’t look away. Hell, I can’t even blink.

                My eyes are zeroed in on these girls. They’re all in excellent shape, and it’s in this moment that I force my attention off of them and down to my wardrobe for the second time today. Concealed underneath all this baggy clothing is a body not unlike theirs. Very similar, actually. The problem is I don’t show it. I was raised to not be a s**t. I was also told not to judge. While I’ve come to accept that a person can do whatever they want " it is the millennium, after all " I still feel caged. I could never wear what these girls are wearing and certainly not while dancing like them. I would just feel dirty.

                Still, the brain is a complex organism. Or muscle. Or something. I don’t know, I’m not doing that great in biology either. My point is, it takes over sometimes. You’re doing one thing, and it takes you someplace totally different.

I’m the thirteenth girl. Standing in front of the existing formation, I execute the same steps they’re doing, but in my very own row. Am I the captain? I don’t know. I don’t care. In this moment, I’m the star. I’m dressed like them, too. Only, in typical Fantasy-Candice upstaging fashion, mine is decked out in rhinestones. When their hips pop, mine do the same. Our hands travel above our heads, our fingers interlacing. Once my hands are locked, I bring my left elbow down, the girls to my left pretending to get knocked over. I do the same with my right elbow, and the girls on the right follow suit. And-

                “Earth to Candy!” I can’t remember the last time I actually finished a fantasy. Shannon’s always snapping me out of them. “Where the hell do you go when you get all loopy-eyed?”

                Loopy-eyed? “I just… zone out.”

                “Yeah, well, you’re missing the best part!” She points to the court where the girls are continuing their routine, the two opposing colors now facing each other.

                One. Two. Three. Gunshot. With each number, the girls lean back five more inches, their heads snapping back so they’re practically bent in half when the gunshot effect sounds out.

                “They’re not bad,” I finally admit aloud, no matter how half-assed it is.

                “They’re not bad? Candy, they’re f*****g incredible!” Shannon is giggling, nudging me with her whole body as she falls against me. Everyone is clapping their hands when the two sides charge at each other, missing each other by an inch as they turn, slapping their hand with their partners before dropping down to a single-knee kneeling position.

                It’s a winning dance team. That’s not me being cocky or expressing school pride. Do I seem like the type to be oozing with school spirit? No, these girls have the awards and trophies to prove it.

                And then there’s me, the girl who dances at home in her mirror desperately hoping no one opens the door and walks in on her trying her best to emulate Britney.

                Long story short: The dancers finish their three and a half minute routine to tell us the very simple theme chosen for our homecoming dance. Everyone is excited. I can hear all the girls debating between bolo ties and bandanas around their necks. I may be bombing history, but I’m pretty sure bolo ties didn’t come into play until this century.

                The boys look hopeless, neither the owners of cowboy boots nor cowboy hats. Hope all of the nearby costume stores are well stocked because they’re about to be raided by eager girls and anxious guys. The girls: eager to look cute. The guys: anxious that without a costume, they won’t get laid.

                Once again, I’m the odd one out. Shannon is trying really hard to get invested. She’s talking very loudly even though her lips can’t be any further than half a foot from my left ear. “Okay, so what if we do like the saloon girl and the bad guy. Or the saloon girl and the hero. Oh! Lone Ranger and Tonto.”

                My face contorts in such a way that I’m not even sure which of my facial features are where right now. “Oh, hell no.”

                “What? It’s perfect! You hate showing your face anyway so we’ll just paint it!” Her voice sounds so serious but that stupid little smirk on her face just indicates that since she can’t punch me for my negativity anymore, she’s going to mock me for it instead.

                “I’m not even going.”

                “Yeah, hi, you’re not letting me go alone so. You are. Deal with it-” her attention diverts up towards the senior section relatively quickly. I can hear footsteps on the rickety bleachers, feeling the vibrations as whoever is walking in the middle of the pep rally grows closer to me. I can’t find a more appropriate way to define Shannon’s face right now but it reads ‘oh s**t’.

                I wish she’d use her words. Are we in trouble for something? Are we about to get beat up by senior girls who already claimed Lone Ranger and Tonto for their costume idea?

                “Hey, Candice,” I can feel my pupils explode as my focus gets all out of sorts, Shannon’s form blurring right before me. Even blurry I can see her grinning like an idiot.

                Turn around, Candice. I listen to my instincts, trying to remain calm as I shift in my seat so I can turn and face the source of the greeting. I’m going to s**t my pants.

                “How are you?” Adam Shepherd just left his designated seating area, descended two grade levels mid-pep rally, and sat down next to me. To ask how I’m doing? What the hell is happening?

                “I… I’m okay,” I mentally curse myself for stammering, but I’m also grateful that it was so short lived. Given my previous experience with talking to guys " none " I was feeling pretty proud with how I was handling myself so far. We stare at each other ever so awkwardly for a second before I finally shaking my head, reciprocating the same question back just a little too loudly. “Oh. How are you?!”

                He laughs softly, bowing his head and nodding. “I’m good. I’m good,” He begins, cheating in just slightly to face me a little better. “But you know, I think I’d be better if-”

                He doesn’t have a chance to finish before Shannon is screaming “Oh my God!” and covering her mouth behind me.

                Oh my God? Why oh my God?! What’s happening?! 

Reviews

[Lalochezia]

Again, compliments on your language. You write practically error-free (just one comma is missing 'don't know COMMA I'm not doing so great at biology either') and I like Candice's occasional above-average diction.

"Lone Ranger and Tonto" - great idea.

Nothing to criticize :)

[Cyndy Robinson]

Very entertaining, I must read on to see what the Oh my God? is about. With girls one never knows, lol. She may have broke a nail, just kidding. Well written.