Mascot Magic

The bull — aka Tyler, varsity quarterback and walking entitlement — had spent the entire week blocking my locker, 'accidentally' knocking my books out of my hands, and making sure everyone within earshot knew I was the kid who struck out during last week's baseball tryouts. 'Swing and a miss, loser,' he'd say, flashing that grin that made teachers think he was charming.

I hid in my room afterward, venting to Mittens. My sister's fat orange cat blinked at me, judging my pathetic freshman existence with half-closed eyes.

'He's right,' I muttered. 'I do choke under pressure.'

Then everything changed Friday night. The football game, halftime show, and me in this ridiculous bear costume — the school mascot suit I'd been roped into wearing because the regular guy had the flu. The mascot was supposed to be fierce, but inside, I was literally melting.

Through the mesh mouth, I watched Tyler mock some kid in the stands. Something in me snapped. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was just finally being done.

I lumbered over, this seven-foot fake bear, and stood directly in front of him. He flinched. The entire student section went silent.

'Hey,' I said, muffled through the costume, my voice deeper somehow. 'Pick on someone your own size. Oh wait — nobody IS your size except the guy wearing the bear suit.'

Someone laughed. Then someone cheered. Within seconds, the whole stadium was losing it. Tyler's face turned the color of a bruise.

I heard my name — my REAL name — start spreading through the crowd like magic. '#BearBrawl' was trending by halftime.

Monday morning, Tyler moved away from my locker before I even reached it. A senior gave me a fist bump in the hall. And when I finally worked up the courage to ask Maya to homecoming, she said yes.

Sometimes you don't find your voice until you're wearing someone else's — even if it's seven feet of fake fur and a plastic snout. Being nobody became the best thing that ever happened to me.