Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
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I fiddle with my skintight jeans and bright red tank top which is underneath my black, mesh spirit team jersey we made over the summer like we do every year. Being the captain of The Spirit Club I’m expected to be at every game, so if I would’ve missed it, I may have lost my title. And I’ve lost enough lately. I earned this. I wanna keep it. Plus, it looks good on my college application, which in spite of the breakup I’ll probably never get over, I still wanna go to college. Live in a dorm. An apartment. “Come on, Carmen. Was the red titty tank really necessary for me to wear underneath my jersey?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” replies my best friend with a vicious smirk.
One of the best things about The Spirit Club was the sisterly bond we prided ourselves on creating. I’ve been doing it since freshman year. It was how I met Carmen when she transferred from the private school that she got kicked out of to our private school that was more than happy to take her. While cheerleaders are expected to make the signs that they hold up at the games to go with their routines, it’s our job to decorate the hallways, the cafeteria, the lockers, and to make signs that we can hold in the crowd during the actual game. We’re to be the cheerleaders off the field without the seven pounds of makeup and ability to do flips or spell really loud. Carmen hates all the school spirit shit but loves spending time with me, so she deals with it.
Plus, it keeps her parents putting extra money in her bank account to “support” her “attempt” at “fitting in” somewhere.
“Girl, you’ve got a killer rack – that mommy and daddy didn’t pay for by the way –, and it needs to be displayed to catch some new meat.”
I don’t want or need new meat.
I need more sleep.
More darkness in the solitude I’ve started to call my bedroom.
More cheese Ritz Bits from the stash hidden in my nightstand next to the latest stack of DVD cases, which hold the movies I cry myself to sleep to including An Officer and a Gentleman.
I’ve come to accept in the last two days this routine of cracker eating and crying is my new fate.
I’m sure there are worse things.
“Presley,” Carmen starts at the same time she tosses her copper colored hair around and slyly slides on her sunglasses, “between that top and those jeans, you look hot enough to fucking hurt somebody.”
“Yeah, me,” I defeatedly sigh. “These jeans are gonna give me a fucking bruise, Carmen.”
Beauty of having an iron deficiency.
I bruise way too easily and from things most people can’t imagine injuring them.
Like pants.
My best friend laughs off the comment and continues our approach to the stadium, making heads turn with every step she takes.
It’s hard enough keeping self-confidence when you know you’re the spot in the snowstorm, the token minority people want around so they feel less racist or like they’re on the right side of a social war. It’s even harder keeping it when you’re the girl with woman curves at eighteen that make others feel inferior and shame for having a shape instead of being a toothpick, forcing you to hide in frumpy clothes. Add that to having a best friend who is easy on the eyes and even easier to get into the sheets with due to some mumbo jumbo new age burn her bra bullshit and it just makes me that more forgettable in comparison to others.
Almost invisible.
Except Ryder always saw me.
Ryder always saw only me.
Crowd full of girls I’ll never look like, that the world tells us constantly to look like, and it was only ever me he wanted.
I take a long, deep, uneven breath as I approach the team who has been waiting for me to show my face for the game.
The girls giggle and mad rush me with arms held out. “Presley!”
Hugging back the three that are present, I make note to question where the other half of the team is. It’s not a requirement to come to every home game for them, but they’re supposed to come to as many as personally possible. We’re supposed to spread ourselves out a bit through the stands to give bigger support. I smile the best smile I can and follow them over to where they were parked. Taking the seat in the middle while Carmen sits beside me, I enjoy the other girls surrounding me. The bubble of joy is the first nibble of normality I’ve had since Ryder broke up with me over a week ago.
“We thought you weren’t coming,” one of the freshman girls pipes out, the ribbons in her hair swaying in the breeze.
“And why wouldn’t I?”
I know the answer to that.