Chapter Three:
I spent the entire class staring straight ahead, feeling Blake’s eyes on my back. I didn’t absorb any of the lecture, but it will become quickly apparent that no one ever seems to do homework at this school, so that’s beside the point really. I’ll probably end up getting into Yale anyways. At the end of class, Blake brushed passed me and paused. We held eye contact for a few short minutes – believe me, this is a feasible amount of time to lock eyes for – but before he could speak, Brittani stormed into the room.
“C’mon, Blake – the game starts in an hour. This is the biggest game of the year.”
She pulled him into the hallway and marched away clutching his hand. I followed them out of the classroom and saw Amber leaning on the nearest locker. She had changed her shirt to a Hamilton Football jersey – albeit a shredded one covered in safety pins and red paint. Amber is alternative, remember?
“ ‘Sup, Dusty?” she quipped. “You ready for the rally?”
“There’s a rally?”
“Of course there’s a rally, it’s the biggest game of the year. This game determines which school is superior for the entire next year. Anyways, Connor is leading it and he wanted me to bring you.”
“Well, okay then. Let’s go.”
We followed the crush of students headed towards the football field – I noticed that many students had covered themselves with red face paint. Of course, all high schools are naturally incredibly into their athletics teams, so this was to be expected. Once we were on the bleachers, I could see Connor in his cow suit standing on a makeshift platform in the center of the field. He had a microphone on a stand and a cage with what appeared to be a chicken in it.
“What’s with the chicken?” I asked Amber.
“It’s a gamecock. That’s the Greenville mascot.”
The marching band began a drumroll, and the cheerleading team streamed out from under the bleachers, surrounding the platform. They lifted Brittani to the stage and she flipped gracefully to the mic.
“Welcome, everyone,” Brittani intoned. A cheer rose up from the gathered students.
“This year, our school has reigned dominant in the league. I trust you’ve felt our reign has been just?” Another cheer. I turned to Amber.
“What is Brittani on?”
“She’s right, actually. This has been a good year: Brittani might be a bitch but she’s a good leader. We’ve had really solid funding this year.”
“Haha, what?”
“Did no one explain the big game to you?”
“It’s just a football game, right?”
Amber’s eyes widened and she shook her head, but before she could respond the cheering crescendoed. Connor had taken the gamecock out of its cage and was holding it above his head. The bird kicked and squirmed in his gloved hands; Brittani took it and held it out over the crowd.
“For Hamilton!” she yelled.
Then she grasped the chicken’s head and twisted sharply – breaking its neck and severing the head from the body. Blood splashed onto her cheer uniform and she dipped her fingers in it, swiping it across both cheeks. She threw the carcass into the crowd, who fell upon it like hyenas. The students were frenzied now – Connor and Brittani stepped off the platform and the rest of the cheerleaders rolled it off the field. Wow, I wish I could be that confident! Don’t we all, girls?
Our players took the field as Greenville students streamed into the opposite set of bleachers. They looked less pumped about the prospect of the big game. Their players seemed smaller and less traditionally handsome, while ours were all tanned caucasian boys with soft hair and gleaming smiles. As they lined up, I noticed something a little weird – there didn’t seem to be a ball on the field. I know that there’s a ball in American football because one of those things that distinguishes me from other girls is that I like sports – people sometimes call me “just one of the guys!” Before my father died tragically in my late childhood I used to watch football with him. I’m still emotionally damaged by his death – luckily, emotional vulnerability is essential to femininity. Silence settled over the gathered students like a blanket settling over something else. And then the game began.
The Hamilton team surged into the Greenville players, with Blake leading the way. For a few tense moments the two teams simply wrestled with each other, each apparently attempting to break through the other’s defensive line. Then, a Greenville player vaulted over a Hamilton linebacker and took off towards the end zone. He made it several yards before being tackled from behind. His head hit the field with a sickening crunch.
“Is he okay?” I asked Amber.
“No,” she replied. Gee, Amber is so deadpan. What a classic goth!
The battle between players continued for what seemed like hours. A Greenville running back plunged his fingers into the Hamilton center’s eyes. Two Hamilton receivers crushed the windpipe of the Greenville quarterback. A Greenville tight end fell upon the Hamilton safety and slashed at his abdomen with his hands. As the game progressed, the prone forms of players littered the 50 yard line. All this tedious attrition wasn’t an issue for me, because I love sports as much as any other cool girl. It became hard to distinguish the colors of their jerseys as blood seeped into the moisture-wicking fabric. Suddenly, a tall figure broke free of the fray and started limping down the field. No one stirred to prevent his movement and as he crawled into the endzone, a collective exhale rose from the Hamilton bleachers.
Brittani strode over to the gasping player and pulled him up – raising his hand above both their heads.
“WE HAVE OUR CHAMPION!” she yelled.
“Is that Blake?” I asked Amber.
“No, that’s Lance. Blake went down on the 40 yard line in the first seven minutes. Lance is the new captain and therefore Brittani’s new boyfriend.”
“Oh, okay.” It made sense, when I thought about it. The superiority of a high school is obviously established by the success of their football team and the hotness of their cheerleaders – so it’s only logical that the best player and the hottest cheerleader would be a couple. Popularity and expression of traditional gender roles are obvious criteria for forming the necessary hierarchical society within secondary education. If I had dated Blake, I would’ve become the alpha female of this high school – ousting Brittani. But because all humans fundamentally crave power, she tried to keep me away from Blake in order to maintain her status. High school sure is wacky!
“So, what happens now?” I asked.
“Hamilton remains dominant, so we get first pick for arts funding, new textbooks and cafeteria lunches. We never end up getting most of the stuff the school district promises us, though: it’s insane how messed up the public school budget system is.”
“Yeah, totally.”
As I walked past the field, I glimpsed Blake’s broken body draped over a Greenville player’s torso. Guess I’ll go with Connor, then!
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