Cheerleaders Don't Cry

3

Albert Cooper

As far as weekends went, this one was definitely charting among my worsts. I woke up with a massive hangover and spent the majority of Saturday morning hunched over the toilet in my bathroom. When I was finally stable enough on my feet to take a shower, the first thing I noticed when I took off my shirt was the new stinging red and sore tattoo inked on my bicep, declaring Nolege is Power!! in large block letters over a disproportionate tracing of the state of Florida. On top of that, my girlfriend had dumped me, I'd gotten rejected from MIT, and I could hardly remember a thing about the night before. I only remembered flashes and blurs, puzzle pieces of a complex picture that I couldn't quite fit together. By Monday morning, I'd convinced myself that I could fix this. I could reverse the damage that had been done Friday night. Hangovers passed, tattoos were removable, ex-girlfriends could always become girlfriends again, and I could write to the admissions center of MIT for a second overview of my application. It would all work out, and I could forget that night had ever happened. I arrived at school promptly at 7:45 and parked in my usual spot in the B parking lot. As I walked over to the main entrance, I could see a commotion gathered around the concrete fountain that stands in front of the building. Students were stopping, pointing their fingers and whispering to one another, snapping pictures on their cell phones. When I got closer and the mob of people cleared, I could see why. The concrete fountain, South Westport High's pride and joy, had been defaced. Literally, defaced. As in, our mascot Atlas no longer had a face. Or a head. A long crack disfigured Atlas' neck and shoulder, and his scruntish, bulbous head lay in pieces in the pool of the fountain. The puzzle pieces clicked in my head. The swing of the metal baseball bat. A loud, sickening thunk. Beers in a cold October Halloween, and at the center of it all, Marcy Hannon. 

A bitter taste rose in the back of my throat. The morning sky seemed too bright, and no matter how many times I blinked, I couldn't clear the black spots from my vision. When I closed my eyes, the image of the destroyed statue was imprinted on the backs of my lids. All of a sudden, my mistakes from Friday night didn't seem so easily fixable. I ducked my head down and pushed through the crowd, ignoring the complaints and objections as I shoved students aside. I quickly entered the building, my hands clenched tight around my backpack straps. There's no way they could've known it was me, right? I was a straight A student, an NHS member. And besides, it was dark that night. Even if the security cameras caught anything, it would just be two silhouettes. I relaxed slightly when I reached my locker. I'd half expected there to be bright red letters spelling out WE KNOW IT WAS YOU on my door. I spunthe combination in and opened my locker, depositing my backpack inside and picking out my AP Civics binder and textbook for first hour. My friend Oliver caught me in the hallway as I was walking to class. He clapped my shoulder when he approached me and fell into step beside me. 

"So, I saw Kathy this morning--" 

I cringed. I couldn't think about Kathy right now. "I really don't want to talk about this." 

"--and she said she was worried about you," Oliver finished. A smile tilted his lips upwards. "Ay? That's good, right? If she was worried, then that means she still cares."

The hallways are always packed at 7:50 am, and it's my least favorite part of the day. The noise of everybody talking at once, the students crowded so close together; the claustrophobia of it all makes me want to throw up. I wrinkled my nose, both at the prospect of Kathy still caring and at the peculiar warm smell that came from every students' body heat mixing together. 

"I doubt it, Oliver. She made it very clear that she wanted to break up with me." 

"Just hear me out, all right? She said she--"

"Not in the mood, Oliver," I said flatly.

He frowned, huffing at my cut off. "Fine then. Different topic. Why weren't you answering your phone Friday night?"