Dark Night

Homecoming

We had our first "Student Skills" lunch. Kids had signed up who had published on WattPad, were into theater, chess, gymnastics, wrestling, music, role-playing games, video gamers, you name it. The counsel members kept an eye out but intervention didn't seem necessary. A lot of people came up to ask them questions and from what I could tell, people were more open to learning how to play some of the games. Students got to play their instruments acoustically, and that was such a big hit we set up another lunch where student musicians could play for their peers. For the next lunch, it was centered around school spirit for homecoming, and a couple of us from the team volunteered to try to explain the appeal of shaking pom poms and doing high kicks. Some of the football players had come up to tease us and flirt a bit, and other students listened in, grinning, as they walked along the row of tables. "We can earn an athletic letter this year," Theresa sassed them.

"You're kidding," Tyler Smith said, the big lineman rolling his eyes.

"We practice five days a week, and that's on top of the cardio, flexibility, and weight training that every girl does on her own," she defended us. "We did that all summer, and we're going to keep doing it until basketball season is over." She winked at him. "You're a one-season sport, big guy. You try doing hundreds of high kicks a week. And we do it while looking fabulous." The other football players roared with laughter.

"I don't understand what the appeal is for you," my favorite person said. Everybody turned to look at Jeanne. "You shake those little fluffy things and flash your crotches when you kick."

"You did not just say that," Kara said, her face crimson with anger. John looked horrified.

"Different strokes," I said to her indifferently. I wanted to diffuse the moment because Kara is a scrapper and she could be suspended if she got into a fight, no matter the provocation, and the code of conduct we'd all signed was strict; she'd be kicked off the team for it. There was no doubt in my mind that Jeanne would lose. "Not everyone sees the appeal of skating, either. You don't have to like it, but our performances are very popular. Little girls around here grow up wanting to be a Spartanette when they get to high school. We are very entertaining, we're scheduled to do about twenty different routines this year, and just because we don't compete doesn't mean that we couldn't." I shrugged and held my hands out. "If drill was easy, anybody could do it."

Roger Taylor, the quarterback, started to laugh. "I don't think I'd do so well," he said. He kicked out, and didn't get his foot up to his waist. That broke the tension and everybody laughed. I gave John a look, and he took Jeanne's arm and tugged her away.

"I just wanted to punch her," Kara said, calming down.

"We need our choreo on the field with us," Theresa said. We looked at each other and grinned. We'd worked with the cheerleaders on a little half-time stunt for the big game.

"Look, guys," I said quietly. "She's entitled to her opinion, just like anybody, but you don't have to give it any weight." Some of the students clapped, then the crowd around our table started to disperse.

"I don't know what my brother's thinking," Paul muttered to me, and I shrugged.

"Nobody's perfect," I said, and shrugged again.

"Is that saintly halo getting heavy?" Theresa teased me as we picked up and got ready to go back to class.

"Not at all, the little horns keep it nice and steady." My teammates laughed. "But you've got to consider the source. Is someone like her worth getting suspended, or worse, kicked off the team?"

"Point," Kara said. "But I could have kicked her butt. I want that acknowledged."

"You should have been the redhead, feisty," I told her, and we separated, grinning, to get to our next classes.