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AMARIA AVAIA HART THURSDAY TAMPA HIGHSCHOOL 9:04 AM
Sitting in the school gym at nine in the morning is not how I wanted to spend my morning. I plug my headphones in to drown out the chatter of the other cheerleaders waiting for the bus to arrive.
My back rests against one of the padded walls decorated with our black, silver, and purple school emblem. I take a bite out of my chicken mcgriddle and chew slowly.
Coach Mayah decided that it would be nice for us to "cheer our boys on" today although they're just having a scrimmage. I tried to argue that our presence should be our choice but claimed it's mandatory for us to support our school.
I pull my soft locs from my face and secure them with a claw clip. The stray curls that hang from them tickle my face and I awkwardly push them away.
If the bus isn't here in the next twenty minutes i'm going home. The bus driver was scheduled to pick us up at nine and it's currently nine thirty.
I feel someone tap on my shoulder and I look up from the wig install I was watching on Tiktok. Namil smiles down at me, running his hand under his sleeveless Nike compression shirt.
The Nike elite book bag that rested on one of his shoulders had numerous lanyards from different universities he's visited.
"Oh shit look at you with the locs. We twinning real bad." He swipes his hand in a 'period' motion while mimicking JT's voice. An uncontrollable laugh leaves my lips and echoes through the gym. Namil's eyes widen and he starts laughing as well.
"You're so dumb Namil." I gush and his face scrunches up. "Since we're friends now you should call me Mil."
He leans against the wall that my back rests against and scans the gym. I raise my eyebrow at his statement.
"I didn't know we were friends Mil." His attention snaps back to me and he smirks. "We are now. Trust me, you'll be spending a lot of time with us this year."
And with that he walks off to the other side of the gym where the rest of the football team is.
I watch him walk off with a mug on my face. Boys are so weird.
AMARI AVAIA HART ST.PETER'S HIGH SCHOOL 12:30 PM
I groaned at the temperature of the metal bleachers that surrounded the field. Playing in 97 degrees should be illegal.
Unlike the cheerleaders, the football players seemed to be perfectly fine. They bopped their heads and sang out loud to the music blasting from their speaker.
I lift my bottle of red gatorade to my lips and take a big gulp, grimacing at its warm temperature. Sighing in annoyance, I look at Coach Mayah who's fanning herself and staring at the field seeming unfocused.
