What if I quit cheerleading and wrote for the Reporter? People would think I’d lost my marbles. There would be no coming back from that. So I’m kind of stuck here.
“Yes, Georgia,” Lauren says, hopping up and down in her seat. “Marry Jake and be set for life!”
Dating in high school can be so predictable, so boring. Mia is exclusive with the star linebacker, and Lauren is practically engaged to the captain of the soccer team. It’s all so obvious.
Kelly hasn’t dated much. She claims that being mascot takes up too much of her time, but I call bullshit. I have vague memories of a boyfriend in middle school for a month, but she’s not interested in all that. She’s smart.
“Nothing is happening with me and Jake,” I answer. “Remember? I’m not dating this year?”
Lauren waves me off. “Come on, Georgie! Me, you, and Mia could triple-date!” Her eyes get big, realizing that Kelly wasn’t in the triple-date equation. She tries to correct herself, “Kelly, you can come too! You can date one of Matt’s friends!”
Kelly doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Thanks, Lauren, very sweet of you, but I’m going to pass on that tempting offer of eternal love.”
I jump in to help. “Don’t worry, Kelly. There will be no triple date. You’re off the hook.”
“Phew,” she says.
Mia and Lauren both turn around, focused on me.
“Georgia, Jake is a nice guy,” Mia says.
“Such a nice guy,” Lauren echoes.
“And he likes you!”
“He really likes you!”
“Just give him a shot,” Mia pleads.
“Fine,” I say, just to quiet them down.
Lauren and Mia start squealing and high-fiving. I can’t fault my girls—they’re just trying to help. I was devastated after the night of Tiffany’s party, the ground zero of my breakup with Anthony. I took to my bed for seven days like a character in a Jane Austen novel. It freaked out my dad. I didn’t care. I needed to lie flat, feel safe, and sleep until I was human again. On the eighth day, I got out of bed and on with my life, but I’m still working through it all.
The important thing is, who was there for me every night with ice cream? Lying in bed with me while I cried all the tears out of my body? My girls. They aren’t perfect, but who is? Those girls have my back always. And they enacted revenge on Anthony by keying his truck. Don’t cross us, I swear.
The carhop skates up to the window, balancing four jumbo drinks on a tray. Now that’s true skill. After Mia pays, we pass around her flask and splash some vodka in our slushes.
Mia raises her Styrofoam cup. “A toast is in order!” We all begrudgingly raise our cups. “Girls, we are seniors! This is our year. Let’s do things that scare us! Let’s do things that we will regret! Let’s do things that will put us in the Hillcrest history books!”
“Like get good grades and go to college?” Kelly sarcastically asks.
“What? Ew. Boring. I have something else in mind,” Mia says, pulling a duffel bag from the back seat. “How about we start this year off right?”
She unzips the bag, revealing tubes of plastic wrap, eggs, and shoe polish. Kelly drops her phone, finally paying attention. “Prank on the first day? Bold move.”
Mia nods in the direction of the Piggly Wiggly, where the football guys’ trucks are parked, unguarded. “Yes, girl,” she confirms.
Another tradition: cheerleaders and football players pulling pranks on each other. Constantly. Last year, the football team stuck thousands of plastic forks and knives into the lawn of the head cheerleader. And I do mean thousands. It took the squad three hours to defork that yard.
We cover all the pranking hits: toilet-papering houses, egging cars, fake kidnapping, whipped cream on lockers. The stakes are high. I hate how much fun it is. But this seems like a suicide mission.
“It’s broad daylight. Are you being serious right now?” I ask.
“Ugh, Georgia. We need to go hard this year. Remember?” She pauses and looks me right in the eye. “We made this promise after what happened to you this summer. Revenge is ours.”
“I don’t know . . .”
Mia hands me a roll of plastic wrap. “G, this will be cathartic.”
Kelly grabs two tubes of shoe polish. She is the undisputed champ of writing lewd things on car windows. We all look at Lauren. She’s hesitating. Matt’s truck is in the mix because he hangs out with football guys. To our shock, she shrugs, pops open Mia’s glove box, and pulls out the pepper spray. “Let’s do this!”
“I love the enthusiasm, Lauren. I really I do,” Mia says as she removes the spray from Lauren’s hand and replaces it with a carton of eggs. “But let’s start here.”
“Look at them,” I say. The guys are on the benches showing off for the freshman girls. “They won’t even see it coming.”
We make a game plan while taking big sips of our slightly alcoholic drinks. The cheap vodka warms my body and gives me courage. This is not our first public pranking—we know how to keep a low profile. It would be too obvious if we all got out at once. Lauren and Kelly exit first and head toward the Piggly Wiggly.
Mia turns back to me. “You doing OK, babe?”
“Better every day,” I say.
“You need to move on. That’s why we are all Team Jake.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
Mia claps her hands, celebrating like a salesperson who just closed the deal. She opens the car door. “And if you need someone to talk to, I am always here for you. I love you, Georgie.”
Before I can say anything, Mia gets out of the car and slings the bag stuffed with backup supplies over her shoulder. I follow her lead, and we keep it casual, walking fast but not suspiciously fast, heading across the street to the Piggly Wiggly. Once out of sight of the Sonic, Mia drops the bag between trucks.
Lauren and Kelly find our hiding spot, and we circle up around the bag of tricks. For no reason at all, we’re giggling our heads off.
“OK, deep breath. Shhh. Shhh.” Mia is trying to send us into battle, but we can’t keep it together. “Be fast and effective, and then scatter when the enemy comes running.”
“And if you’re caught, take your cyanide pill,” Kelly says.
“NOW! GO NOW!” Mia screams, and we start running around like crazy.
“I didn’t get the cyanide pill!” Lauren yells.
Mia helps me wrap the cars. And by helps, I mean she holds the end of the roll as I run around and around, until the truck looks like leftovers in the freezer. Every few seconds, an egg cracks against a truck. I smell the shoe polish and hear Kelly laughing at her artistry. After the third wrap job, Mia and I stop and snap a selfie with the trucks in the background. We are doing some serious damage.
“HEY! OUR TRUCKS,” some dude screams from the Sonic picnic tables.
And that’s our cue. Time to get the hell out. I drop the evidence and take off, headed to the 7-Eleven on the corner. I look back and see that Kelly has shoe-polished cartoon penises all over the windows of the trucks. Classic.
Lauren’s boyfriend has already caught her. He’s picked her up, spinning her around as she’s laughing and pretending to escape. God, they are the worst. I spot a guy throwing his Sonic cup on the ground, pissed, sending ice everywhere. Some people take the prank game more seriously than others. The guys huddle up to form a plan, and I pick up my pace.