The Mascot Betrayal

I looked ridiculous. That was the first thought that crossed my mind as I stared at my reflection in the gym bathroom mirror. The bull costume head sat on the sink next to me, its plaster smile mocking my decision to agree to this stupid bet.

"You won't last one period," Marcus had said, leaning against his locker with that annoying confidence that made half the sophomore class want to be him and the other half want to punch him. "Bet you can't wear the mascot costume all day without someone figuring out it's you."

Now it was fourth period – PE, naturally – and I was currently hiding in the boys' bathroom while the rest of the class played baseball outside. I'd already survived three teachers asking why a student was wandering the halls in a bull costume (" drama club project," I'd lied, my voice muffled through the mesh screen).

The bathroom door creaked open.

I froze.

"Yo, is someone in here?" It was Julian, the quiet kid from my English class who always sat in the back and wrote in a leather notebook. I held my breath, which was ironic considering I was already sweating inside this polyester nightmare. "Whatever, I'm just changing."

I waited for him to leave, but instead he kept talking. "I saw you earlier, by the way. During first period, outside Mr. Harrison's room. You looked like you were about to pass out."

My face burned hotter than it already was. I'd been exposed the whole time?

"Don't worry," Julian continued, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Your secret's safe with me. Besides, it's kind of badass. Marcus has been running that same bet since seventh grade, and you're the first one to actually go through with it."

I slowly opened the stall door. Julian stood there, holding a baseball bat, grinning.

"You knew?" I asked.

"Please." He rolled his eyes. "You're the only person who walks like that even when you're not trying to be subtle. I've been kind of..." He paused. "Keeping an eye on you today." He looked away, suddenly interested in the ceiling tiles.

Wait. Had he been spying on me?

"Why?"

"Because last week, when Marcus was being a jerk about that poem you wrote for the literary magazine?" Julian met my eyes. "You stood up to him. Nobody does that."

We stood there for a moment – me in a bull costume, him holding a baseball bat, the distant sounds of PE class filtering through the open window.

"Want to skip?" he asked. "I know a spot behind the bleachers where no one ever goes. We can... I don't know, talk about poetry or whatever."

I grinned behind the mesh screen. "Let me just get my head."