Never Trust An Angry Cheerleader

I just have to say, people in Texas can be quite horrible to outsiders. Especially someone like me who has never heard of FFA or Ag class. All I know is that my father uprooted us halfway through my high school career and dumped our family in the middle of the podunkiest town I’d ever seen.

My old high school had the best: award winning education, a strong band, and amazing sports programs. Kids from that school went on to become scholarship winners, a few made it to the NFL and one kid actually became a rocket scientist. But my old life came to a screeching halt in Texas.

They didn’t offer French classes, only Spanish, and I needed to complete three years in half the time. The books stacked up, and I was no longer the star player on the softball team. I hated my new school and couldn’t wait to graduate to return to the East Coast.

In a strange stroke of luck, I made friends with one of the more popular boys in school. He was the captain of the baseball team, tall and mildly handsome, but certainly not my type...I could still see the farm mud caked on the bottom of his cowboy boots, the same ones he wore every day to class.

Still, I was extended an invitation to the coolest end of the school year party, at least according to the card he handed me. I turned it over several times in my hand, looking for a “just kidding” note but found none. All the snobby girls in the locker room were talking about it. I never mentioned I was going, but I could hear the excitement in their voices. They giggled to one another over who was going to catch the eye of the football team captain.

I trudged home that evening and plopped my overloaded bookbag on the dining room table. My father looked up from his paper and I shoved the invitation in his face, hoping for a resounding no so I could stay away.

“That sounds like fun, you can take my car,” he replied as I stood there slack jawed and shocked. He rummaged in his pocket and tossed me the keys to his Volvo station wagon. “Be home by midnight please,” he mumbled and went back to his paper.

Well damn, that backfired. I went to find something to wear, no jacket needed since the middle of Texas is hotter than a cast iron skillet handle. Double damn. Now I was even thinking in Texas metaphors.

I stood in my closet and carefully slid the color-coded hangers across the rack. I only owned a handful of t-shirts so I picked the least mockable one: a dark grey Van Halen tee, form fitting and quite comfortable. I paired it with jean shorts and my rarely used black Converse shoes. My long brown hair was pulled tightly back in a high hanging ponytail and I squared my shoulders. How bad could this be?

Bad. It was so bad.

I drove to the address on the card; it took way too long, every piece of farmland I encountered looked identical to the one before it. The tell-tale sign of a Texas party was apparently a bonfire, so I turned down the dirt road that led to a dilapidated barn with a circle of redneck cowfolk standing around.

Parking in between two massive farm trucks, I turned off the engine and stepped out, picking up the tray of cookies I’d bought on the way. I didn’t think to lock the doors; who in their right mind would wander out here and steal anything from a maroon Volvo?

Looking for my host, my shoes crunched along the gravel and paused at the metal swinging gate. I recognized a handful of people from all groups: nerds, jocks, artsy types, and even a few stoner looking kids. There was one boy that stood out, and looked damn near as awkward as I felt. He hovered around the fringes of the bonfire circle. I recognized him from my advanced placement Calculus class; he was quiet, and smart too, like me. I figured I’d go stand next to him so we could be unrecognizable together.

Out of nowhere, our handsome host materialized in front of me and yelled “COOKIES!!” It startled me so badly that I almost dropped the tray. He snatched them out of my arms and unlatched the fence so I could step in.

As I was ushered toward the bonfire, I was handed a plastic cup full of what I can only assume was a vicious cocktail of several upended bottles into a trash can. I raised it to my lips in a fake sip and lifted it in a mock toast.

“Please let this be over quickly,” I muttered to myself.

“But why?” a deep voice rang out next to me.

Alarmed that someone had actually heard me, I looked to my right to see Mr. Calculus standing there.

“I’m just not one for parties. Especially ones where most people are strangers to me,” I replied.

He nodded in agreement. “I understand that. I’ve lived here all my life and most of these people are strangers to me. And the ones I do know are just strange.”

I chuckled into the vile cup of whatever it was.

“Yeah, probably best not to drink that. Pretty sure it’s nothing but cheap liquor and a packet of Kool-aid,” he said to me.

“It smells like a jar of pickles that went to the bottom of the sea with the Titanic,” I replied.

He threw his head back and laughed, a tremendous and resonant sound, its melodic vibe washing over me in waves and bringing a much needed smile to my face. I could only stand there, smiling like a donkey, watching him hold his chest with each chortle of laughter.

“I can't be that funny,” I joked.

“God, that got me good! Most girls around here I know would have just giggled, twirled their hair and pretended to like it!”

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not from around here.”

“Duly noted,” he said with a grin.

Our conversation continued for a few more minutes, ranging in topic from music, to math, to leaving Texas as soon as the tassel on our caps was flipped. I suddenly found myself enjoying the bonfire party. But it didn’t last long.

From a distance I could see the tall, blonde bombshell making a bee-line for my safe space. She staggered slightly and had a look of violence in her eyes. Why she looked at me with such hatred, I couldn’t guess, but she was coming up on me quickly.

“Any reason you’re flirting with my boyfriend, Yankee-girl?” she said with a slurred, Southern drawl.

“Pardon?”

“You heard me, I should *hiccup* slap you for your attitude,” she managed to get out.

I couldn’t help but grin at the obviously intoxicated cheerleader. “You could try to slap me, but I doubt that would end well.”

“You smart ass *hiccup* little….” she started when Mr. Calculus stepped in between us.

“You need to calm down. We’re not dating anymore, remember? You broke it off with me weeks ago,” he reminded her.

“Doesn’t matter, you're untouchable now, everyone knows that. And Yankee-girl needs to learn her place.”

“My place?” I interjected. “My place was shortstop on the softball team but your daddy, the coach, gave it to you. Your place is on the bench because you couldn’t field a grounder with a snow shovel. And don’t get me started on your batting average...”

Every voice was silenced as she shouted “What did you say to ME?!”

“I’d be happy to repeat it, perhaps if I slow down some you’ll understand.” I don’t know where my moxie came from; maybe it was the heat of the bonfire, or maybe it was the insulting presence of this girl interrupting my pleasant conversation.

“I’ll make you a bet, you mouthy bitch,” she growled. “You see that bull over there in the pasture sleeping? Ever heard of cow-tipping?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, everyone has heard of that,” I said, although I clearly had never heard of that.

“Sneak up over there and *hiccup* shove him over. You do that, and I’ll let you talk to my boyfriend.”

I snorted at the offer. “Let’s up the ante. I’ll talk to whomever I damn well please AND you give me shortstop next year.”

There was a collective gasp from the crowd that was now forming around us. I looked back at Mr. Calculus - he was shaking his head no and mouthing the words “don’t do it”.

She leaned in too close and breathed the word “Deal” into my face. I stepped back and waved my hand in front of my nose to flap away the horrible stench of cheap wine wafting from her lips.

I spun on my heel and marched to the fence separating the crowd and the lone bull in the pasture. I estimated he was no more than fifty yards from me, and I knew I could close the distance quickly. There was a soft murmured chant of “Yan-kee, Yan-kee” coming from the bonfire as others scrambled to watch the show.

I snuck up on the bull, positioned my hands on his shoulder blades, and shoved as hard as I could. The obviously NOT sleeping bull took great offense to this and swung his massive eyes towards me with a horrifying snort.

Well damn, this is how I die. The middle of a field in god-awful Texas on a dare because I got bold. Peals of laughter rang out from the fence line as I stood frozen, staring into the eye of the massive beast that was certainly going to impale and then stomp me to death. I heard one familiar voice ring out louder from the crowd…

“RUN!!”

And that’s what I did. I don’t know how my feet unglued from the soggy pasture, but they did and I hauled ass back towards the bonfire. Never had I run so quickly in my short life, my feet never fully touching the ground as the fence inched closer and closer. My heart beat like an animal in my chest; just as ferocious as the angry, raging bull only a few feet behind me. I could feel his hateful breath on my back.

20 yards, 10 yards, 5 yards...I could almost touch the fence when the bull caught up to me. His massive muzzle caught the back of my leg just as my hand gripped the fence. With his head lowered, undoubtedly to skewer me, I lifted my foot to use his head as a springboard and shot myself over the barricade as he slid to a halt inches from the fence and my body.

It was silent for a moment, and then the crowd erupted.

“Holy shit, did you see that?!”

“She out ran the freaking BULL!!”

“Did you see how she flipped over the damn fence?!”

Shakily, I got to my feet and turned around to a hundred stunned and smiling faces. Well, all but one. I walked over to the snarky blonde, stood nose to nose with her, and stuck my finger into her chest. She was seething in anger.

“Short. Stop. Belongs. To. Me,” I said forcefully, each word punctuated with a jab as she stumbled backwards.

The crowd roared with laughter as I turned to walk away, stopping only to say to Mr. Calculus, “See you next year.”

He saluted with his cup and said, “Looking forward to it Yankee.”

One of the best nights of my life...even if it did happen in Texas.