Mascots Don't Dance

The suit smelled like every single sweaty teenager who'd worn it before me, which, according to the label inside, was approximately three hundred and forty-two people. I was officially the new school mascot—a bear that looked less like a fearsome predator and more like a plush toy that had survived a house fire.

'Twenty minutes until halftime,' the band director called from across the field. 'Don't forget the routine!'

My best friend Maya had volunteered me for this. She'd said it would be 'character building' and 'a great way to come out of your shell.' My shell, apparently, was a polyester fur costume that made me look like I was cosplaying as a rejected Muppet.

The football players ignored me, which was fine. I was used to being invisible. Until HE walked by—Lucas, the guy who sat behind me in AP English, the one whose eyes were the exact color of the ocean on overcast days. He stopped.

'Nice bear,' he said, and I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. 'My sister was the mascot last year. She said the key is commitment. You gotta sell it like it's the greatest role of your life.'

'Oh, I'm selling it,' I deadpanned through the mesh mouth. 'I'm practically method acting.'

Lucas laughed—a real laugh, not the fake one he used when his friends made stupid jokes. 'You're funny. I like funny.' Then he jogged away to join the team, leaving me standing there in my sweltering fortress of solitude.

At halftime, everything went sideways. Some idiot had decided the mascot should do a backflip, which nobody had warned me about, and I landed directly on top of the school's backup quarterback—a guy named Bull whose parents had clearly made some questionable life choices.

The crowd went wild. I died inside, approximately seven times over.

But then Lucas was there, helping me up, checking if I was okay, not even making fun of the fact that my bear head was sideways and one of the ears was flopping tragically.

'You okay?' he asked, and his hand on my arm felt like electricity, or maybe that was just the static from the costume. 'That was actually kind of legendary.'

'Legendary like 'legendary fail' or 'legendary cool'?' I asked, trying to sound nonchalant while sweating through three layers of synthetic fur.

'Just legendary.' Lucas grinned. 'Hey, I heard there's this party after the game. My friend Fox is DJing—you should come. Actual clothes required, obviously.'

Fox turned out to be a sophomore with bright red hair and an encyclopedic knowledge of eighties pop. The party was in someone's basement that smelled like vanilla candles and rebellion. I spent the whole night next to Lucas, talking about everything and nothing—how much we both hated that one required reading book, our mutual fear of driving on highways, the time his dog ate an entire pizza.

Around midnight, Lucas looked at me. Really looked at me.

'I'm glad you fell on Bull,' he said. 'Otherwise I might not have talked to you tonight.'

'Me too,' I admitted, my heart doing this stupid flutter thing that happened every time he got close. 'Even if I can never show my face at school again.'

'Doubt that.' Lucas stepped closer. 'I think you're going to be just fine, bear girl.'

And in that moment, sweating through a polyester costume and smelling like three hundred and forty-two teenagers before me, I knew he was right. Sometimes the worst things—the most embarrassing, ridiculous moments—were just plot twists. Just the beginning of something I hadn't even known I was waiting for.