tropical storm, Patricia had lumbered her lard ass up the East Coast, turning the Outer Banks and most of Virginia into a dumping ground of floodwaters. Pennsylvania was enjoying her wrath now.
The stadium field was under four inches of water, and we were ten minutes away from an early dismissal before all the local creeks barfed up storm water and closed roads. I was packed and ready to go spend an unexpected free afternoon naked at Jake’s.
At least, I had been before receiving the summons to the principal’s office.
“Then we’ll reschedule,” Vince said stubbornly.
“We have rescheduled. Homecoming will be next Friday.”
It was becoming clear why I was invited to a front row seat of Coach Vince’s rage. I swallowed hard.
“We have a home game Friday,” I said. Not just any home game. We were playing Culpepper’s rivals the New Holland Buglers. Buglers sounded friendly and peppy. Unfortunately, the New Holland Buglers were aggressive, eyeball-gouging Amazonians who could put the ball in the back of the net better than any other team in our league.
I remembered losing to them spectacularly my junior year. One girl hit me so hard going for the ball that I lay there staring up at the lights wondering if I should head toward them or not.
“Ms. Cicero, your game is now the Homecoming game,” Principal Eccles announced.
Shit. Shitty shitty shit shit. Homecoming games were meant to be won. No one wanted to get slaughtered on the field in front of the entire town and then go to a dance where your classmates made fun of you.
“This is bullshit, Eccles,” Vince raged. I wondered if I could talk him into the nurse’s office next door for a blood pressure check. I didn’t like his color. “I demand that you reschedule. We have a game that Saturday.”
“Your Saturday game is an hour away,” she pointed out, not particularly disturbed by the hulking primate throwing a hissy fit inches from her face. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I demand that you get out of my office so I can send everyone home before the buses float away.”
I stood up and followed Principal Eccles out of the office in a fog while Coach Vince snarled his disappointment behind me.
“Uh, Principal Eccles. I don’t know if you’re aware, but I was kind of banned for life from Culpepper Homecomings,” I explained, jogging after her.
“That was just a rumor started by a disgruntled student. I checked,” she said, ducking outside to check the bus line.
“A rumor?” Amie Jo. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’d adhered to a punishment that hadn’t even been real.
Coach Vince elbowed his way past us. He kicked at a fire hydrant and then howled in pain.
There was a hard glint in her eye. “I’m going to admit that it gives me a small sliver of pleasure to take something away from that gigantic ass.”
“I can’t imagine why,” I said dryly.
“Just do me a favor and don’t screw it up,” Principal Eccles said.
I nodded and swallowed hard.
She paused. “Oh, by the way, thank you for volunteering to chaperone the dance.”
“I did what now?”
She gave me a knowing smile. “Ask Jake. He volunteered the two of you to chaperone the Homecoming dance.”
I had several more important questions for her, but the dismissal bell rang, and hundreds of excited students came flooding toward us. We’d made it past lunch. The school day counted and wouldn’t have to be made up. I’d initially felt the residual excitement of the students at an unexpected surprise afternoon off. But the damn New Holland Buglers had stolen that excitement from me.
It would take a miracle to beat them. And we had a week to figure out exactly what that miracle would look like. And a week to find a stupid Homecoming dress.
Coach Cicero: Okay, gang. Breaking news. Our home game Friday is the new Culpepper Homecoming.
Phoebe: Awesome!
Morgan E.: I’m wearing my tux to play!
Ruby: Wait a second. Friday? We’re playing the Bulging Buglers. They’ll murder us and paint their faces with our blood while everyone else is too depressed to go to the dance.
Angela: Crap.
Natalee: I think I’m coming down with something. *Cough cough cough*
Ashlynn: Guys, we’ve been winning this season. There’s no reason we can’t beat the Bugling Bastards.
Sophie S.: Are you drunk right now, Ashlynn? We’ve never beat New Holland. Not in the entire history of girls soccer in Culpepper.