Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,1

there’s only him and her, ’cause she’s the love interest and nothing else matters.

Reality comes crashing back when a kid runs into me from behind, almost pushing me down the stairs. I shake my head in disbelief and walk into the school, wondering what kind of guy I need to be to date her.

GEORGIA, 8:40 A.M.

Whoever that guy was, I think our eyes just made out.

“What the what, Georgia?” Mia asks, entering my personal space. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Mia Davis is the head cheerleader and takes her position very seriously. And right now, she’s staring daggers directly into my soul. But what did she notice exactly? Me making crazy eye contact with some guy who isn’t on the football team? Maybe. I scan my body for error: white cheerleading outfit with red trim, white socks, white Keds with red laces. Couldn’t be my look—I nailed it.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, pushing my hair behind my ear. Oh, crap. I was supposed to wear a high-and-tight ponytail with . . .

Mia finishes my thought: “Red bow! Red bow! RED BOW!”

I can’t help but laugh. Mia shakes her head in utter disappointment. “This is not funny, Georgia Lynn.”

Damn, middle name shade. This situation is severe. It is time to do what I do best: lie my butt off.

“Mia, that red bow, it was ready to go last night when . . . you’ll never believe this—”

“Here we go,” Mia interrupts.

“I woke up and saw a ghost. A cheerleading ghost! Who took my bow! I was completely frozen—I couldn’t fight back. Trust me, Mia, I would have died for that bow.”

She rolls her eyes. “As much as I hate to do this, Georgie, I have to give you a demerit.”

Cheerleaders are punished on the demerit system. When we do something wrong—like show up late to practice or forget to wear dumb hair bows—we get a demerit. Rack up enough of them and you get sidelined from games and competitions.

“Fine,” I concede, and Mia makes a note on her clipboard. What’s one more? I’m on track to break the record. I’m the LeBron James of demerits.

A freshman with a fishing net over his head pushes past me. “Sorry,” he says with big eyes, like I could ruin his career at Hillcrest. Cheerleaders are highly regarded around here. So I technically could ruin him. But I try to use my powers only for good.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say with a smile. He looks relieved and gets lost in the crowd. This lawn is pure madness, littered with students.

Hillcrest High is home to hundreds of students and thousands of traditions. This school was built with cheap bricks and meaningless rituals. One of those sacred—and never questioned—traditions is Walk of Shame: Fishman Edition. On the first day of school, the seniors dress in camouflage outfits, holding fishing poles and nets, and catch “fishmen” as they walk into school for the first time.

There must be fifty guys running around giving the school lawn a sporting-department-at-Walmart vibe. They have outdone themselves this year, even dragging a couple paddleboats onto the grass. Seniors don’t miss a chance to celebrate their dominance and impending freedom. It’s loud, rowdy, and smells like worms and Axe body spray.

Hence the cheerleader presence on the lawn. We line up along the sidewalk and serve as friendly faces to the freshmen walking up to the school. Otherwise, they would probably run back to the bus and never return. We smile, say hi, and shake our pom-poms at the frightened kids. So charitable and giving, right? How Michelle Obama of us.

I feel sweat dripping down my back. I am literally melting. Texas summers are twelve months long and scorching, unbearable, oppressive, icky hot. It must be—and I am not being dramatic—at least three thousand degrees out.

Mia finishes noting my gross misconduct in her demerit diary (that she probably holds when she sleeps) and gives me one last look. “Georgia! Chin up and smile ON!”

“Oh, I thought I told you,” I say, “I broke my smile last week. Horrible smile-related accident . . .”

Mia crosses her arms. “How tragic.”

“Check it out, this is the best I can do now.” I twist up my lips, jut out my jaw, and cross my eyes. “Is this better, fearless leader?” I ask while trying to maintain the look.

“You’re more beautiful than ever, actually,” Mia says, then flashes the smile that won her Little Miss Dallas 2012. Like always, she gives up on me