I leave my bike near the library and race to the stadium. The trash cans are already overflowing with empty cans and hot dog trays. A group of kids blow their noisemakers right by my ear.
According to the scoreboard, visible from outside the stadium, no one’s made a goal yet. The words Half Time inch across the screen as the announcer reads advertisements. I hope Kali hasn’t performed yet, though I have to focus on finding Alice. My blend may be the worst elixir ever in the history of elixir making, but it’s all I have right now.
I pull my beret over my ears and work on my cotton gloves. With no BBG, I must be extra careful to avoid skin contact with anybody who could possibly take more than a friendly interest in me. Keeping my elbows in, I make myself as small as possible as I hurry into the stadium, passing people wearing panther ears, and others sporting opposition T-shirts for the Bulldogs.
The half-time show has begun. Someone, I think Cassandra, begins to sing. Definitely Cassandra. She chose a ballad so syrupy, my teeth ache.
“Hey, Mim!” yells Lauren. She and Pascha, linking arms, rush up beside me. Lauren’s fully decked out in panther wear, complete with black ears, whiskers drawn on her cheeks, even a tail pinned in the back. Pascha’s wearing the same ears atop her headscarf.
“Hello.”
Pascha pushes her friend with her arm, causing both of them to stumble sideways. “Lauren’s going to ask him tonight.”
It takes me a moment to figure out what she’s talking about. Ah, the boy Lauren wanted to ask to the homecoming dance. “That’s great.”
“Assuming I can find him. There’s a full house.”
I look up, swaying a little. The stadium’s crammed even at the highest levels, a dot matrix of color. The din of horns and people yelling feels like somone is pushing needles into my brain.
“Just look for the red glasses,” says Pascha.
My eyes fall back to the girls. Drew has red glasses. “Is it Drew Reaver?”
Lauren squeezes Pascha’s arm so hard, Pascha makes a face. “How do you know that?” Lauren asks me. “Can you smell that I like him? Or can you smell that he likes me?”
Pascha untangles her arm from her friend’s, and her bracelets jangle. “He’s the only junior with red glasses, dummy.”
“Oh, right.” Lauren has changed the rubber bands in her braces to silver, making her smile extra tinselly.
I look around me, as if I could be the butt of some colossal joke. Lauren likes Drew, but thanks to me, he already has one pant leg caught in the Vicky vacuum, and soon he’ll be whirling around in the vortex of her affections. There will be no room for Lauren.
“Now we have to work on a date for Pascha.”
“It’s okay. I need to babysit my brother. Plus, my dad thinks people just go to dances to make out.”
“He’s sort of right. But you’re on the committee. You’ll be too busy working to make out.”
A wave of vertigo passes through me again, and I grab a rail on one side of the pathway to steady myself. The lights hurt my eyes, and my head might explode soon with the combination of Cassandra’s high notes and the noisemakers.
Breathe. I close my eyes and inhale a few more times.
When I open them again, Pascha and Lauren are staring at me.
“Are you okay?” asks Lauren.
“Yes, thanks. I’m fine.” I still have a mission to accomplish and I can’t get sidelined. “Have either of you seen Alice, er, Court’s mom?”
“No,” says Lauren.
Pascha shakes her head. “Why?”
“I have to give her something.”
“There’s an empty seat by us,” says Pascha. “Front row because we’re officers. She might have seats there, too.”
“Thanks,” I murmur gratefully.
I scan the bleachers as I follow the girls, trying not to bump anyone.
Cassandra holds her final note long enough for my clothes to come back into fashion. When she finally cuts it off, the crowd applauds and she spends the next few minutes bowing, her curly tresses flipping up and down like she’s giving the crowd a car wash.
Pascha and Lauren finally park in front-row seats, right at the midline. I slide into the empty seat beside Pascha, then crane my neck in both directions. No Alice.
At last, the announcer hooks Cassandra away. “Now, get ready for the Panther’s own poet laureate performing her poem, ‘The Way We Are,’ Kali Apulu!”
Kali’s appearance distracts me for the moment. She lights up the stage in her neon ensemble and I yell like crazy, finding my second wind. The cheering is especially loud two sections up, where I spot her family, jumping up and down and waving.
Kali adjusts the microphone headset then gives a thumbs-up to the audio guys. A bass beat starts rocking the stadium, and a synthesizer adds a syncopated rhythm. She’s going to rap.
I’m-a get square with you,
Gonna share with you,
Kick a chair, let down my hair, and spare the air with you.
Living out loud is the way we groove it,
If they don’t like our crowd, they can go move it.
Kali bends her knees and begins moving them from side to side like she’s slaloming, and the crowd goes crazy.
They think we don’t know jack,
They think we just throw smack
Racing cars, hiding, and getting cash,