Thunder Strike

The mascot costume smelled like every boy's gym locker from the last decade combined. Which, honestly, wasn't even the worst part.

"You got this, Leo," Maya whispered from behind me, her voice doing that thing where it sounded supportive but also like she was mentally preparing her condolence speech.

I adjusted the giant foam **bull** head, my face already sweating inside the fake fur. This was it. Junior year mascot tryouts, and somehow I'd let Tyler talk me into this. Tyler, who was currently sprawled across the bleachers with his phone, probably filming this for future blackmail material.

The gym lights flickered. Someone had yelled "**LIGHTNING** round!" and now Principal Martinez was actually timing us with a stopwatch while the entire school watched like this was the Super Bowl halftime show.

"Your mascot philosophy," Martinez called out. "Go."

I froze. Philosophy? For a guy in a bull costume? I'd prepared a whole routine – spins, stomps, the classic crowd-surfing move that definitely violated school policy. Philosophy hadn't been in the group chat.

Then I saw them: the seniors' table, where my ex-best-friend-now-ultimate-frisbee-god Ethan sat with his new friends, already laughing. Probably at me. They'd been relentless since I quit the team to, in their words, "become some emo art kid who wears too much black."

Black wasn't emo. It was practical.

The **bear** mascot from West High – our actual opponent tonight – stumbled onto the court like they'd already started celebrating post-game. They were doing that thing where they pretended not to see us, all casual confidence and zero awareness.

"WEST HIGH WHAT?" their bear yelled, and their student section went feral.

Something snapped. Maybe it was the weeks of their Instagram stories bragging about how they'd destroy us. Maybe it was Maya actually believing I could do this. Maybe it was the accumulated frustration of every "what happened to you?" comment since I'd quit everything freshman year.

I charged.

The foam bull head made everything echo-y and weird, but suddenly I was spinning, stomping, basically throwing the most unhinged solo dance party this gym had ever seen. I incorporated actual bull moves, which apparently meant aggressively charging at nothing while spinning in circles. The student section went absolutely insane.

"That's my boy!" I heard Tyler yell, and I knew this was being posted everywhere within minutes.

Then my **dog** Thunder – who I'd explicitly told Tyler to keep outside, who was definitely not allowed on school property, who had NEVER before disobeyed a single command – burst through the gym doors.

Thunder spotted me in the bull costume, did a full-body wiggle, and sprinted across the basketball court like this was the greatest reunion in history.

The West High bear mascot froze. Thunder reached them, decided this fuzzy intruder was suspicious, and started barking his head off while jumping all over them.

The entire gym lost it. Even the West High section was dying. Their bear was trying to play it cool while being aggressively investigated by a very enthusiastic golden retriever.

Principal Martinez was going to kill me. I was going to get detention until graduation. Tyler was definitely posting this.

But as I yanked off the bull head, gasping for air, Maya was doubled over laughing so hard she was crying, and for the first time since freshman year, I wasn't thinking about what I used to be. I was just here – sweaty, embarrassed, holding a foam bull head, with my dog causing a scene.

And honestly? Thunder could chase any mascot he wanted. I was done pretending to be someone I wasn't.

"You're actually viral," Maya said, showing me her phone. "Like, thousands of views viral."

Thunder sat next to me, looking proud of himself.

"Good boy," I said, scratching behind his ears. "But we're working on your entrance timing."