There really isn’t anything worse than being a freshman in the middle of a pep rally. First off, let me state that I didn’t want to come here in the first place. Danny Camargo, the soccer player without a spine and also my sophomore buddy, pleaded I’d come to his game because this would be the first time he’d actually be able to play. After about thirty texts, five missed calls, and two calls from my mom’s phone, I unhappily obliged and promptly told him I’d be complaining the whole time.
Which I am. Right now.
But anyway, pep rallies. I’ve been in the American education system for over nine years now and I have yet to understand what the hell school spirit is. I guess it has something to do with inappropriate skirt lengths, smelly face paint, and sharp-edged signs that create dents by your temples whenever you try to squint. School spirit, oh man that kills me.
But that’s not the worse part, though. No, the worst part is being a freshman who looks exactly like a freshman. In other words, me. Sophomores, really, because no other grade feels the need to harass lower classmen, have taken upon themselves this tradition that only a few of them find “cool”. They do two things: chant “GO HOME FRESHMEN GO HOME!” and throw stupid pennies. Morons.
Right now, before the game, they’re doing the latter. I’m with Fisher by the way, who’s brother warned him about these specific situations. The moron brought a jar to collect the money. So as sophomores are walking past, throwing money and aiming for our eyes, Fisher is playing a silent game of catch and thanking them for their donation to his college fund. It’s stupid, yeah, but funny as hell.
“Can you stop throwing your mom’s goddamn purse money at me?!” I yelled as a redheaded sophomore threw about six pennies in my lap. The boy scowled at me, threw three more, and then ran over to his buddies. I swear, sophomores are some of the biggest morons out there.
As the guy left though, I felt something heavier connect with the side of my face. I looked down and saw it was three quarters, twenty-five cent fucking coins. I looked up and saw Danny Camargo’s droopy, brown eyes and sweaty forehead.
“Quarters?” I asked, watching as Fisher picked them up from the bleacher.
“I’m a classy bitch,” Danny laughed, “But you better buy me some M&M’s with those, Fisher.”
Fisher jiggled his jar at Danny and shook his head, “No way, brother.”
That’s another thing about Fisher that makes him an even bigger moron. He calls everyone “brother”, I bet he even calls his goddamn grandma “brother”.
“Whatever, sister. Where’s your pink-haired friend?” Danny asked as he turned to look back at me. He reeked of desperation and Gatorade.
“Cliff? He’s my locker neighbor.” I told him nonchalantly.
Danny furrowed his brow, “Isn’t he the guy who—“
“Yeah, yeah, he is,” Fisher said while counting his daily profit.
I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what they were talking about. Cliff has a very soft voice, but it doesn’t mean he’s soft-spoken. During the first day of school, when the first quarter assembly happened, a guest speaker came in to talk about bullying (a cliché topic for a cliché assembly). He talked about how people shouldn’t bully, why people bully, and how we can prevent people from bullying. The guy, who had this really obvious toupee, later asked if people had any questions or experiences they’d like to add. Being this was a whole gymnasium of high school students, no hands went up except for one. A pink haired boy stood up and opened his statement with, “I honestly couldn’t care less why people decide to be jerks every day.” I’d like to believe he was all bad ass and replaced some of those words with swear words, but that obviously was not gonna fly if he wanted people to listen without being interrupted by the dean.
Anyway, Cliff gave this speech on why bullies have already had their fame and glory and that the attention is always on them instead of the victims. I wish I could repeat his speech word for word, but I have a really shitty memory and I wasn’t all that interested in that assembly in the first place. Nevertheless, Cliff got his week of fame (He was in the school newsletter. Oh boy!) , but later died down like everything else that easily-distracted teens have to endure.
“Is he gay?” Danny asked, looking at me as if I knew the answer.
“I don’t know, stop asking stupid questions.” I said, uninterested.
“I bet he is,” He nodded.
“Oh, dude, totally. I went to band camp with him,” Fisher said.
They laughed in unison, for whatever idiotic reason. Honestly, the only good thing about being friends with morons is feeling like you’re motherfucking Tesla whenever you’re around them.
“Aren’t you going to play?” I asked.
Danny jumped, “Oh, shit, right. I forgot.”
Clumsily, he made his way down the bleachers and toward the field. I guess he's just really used to not-playing. Moron.
Speaking of morons, though, the pep rally was commencing and the inevitable chant was brewing. Students that weren’t sophomores and staff were trying to cover the chant with the school song, but it just sounded like a complete train wreck. Fisher was beside me, chanting with the sophomores, "GO HOME FRESHMEN GO HOME!" I chucked his shoulder, but he only laughed at me and shook his money jar.
“IF YOU CAN’T BEAT ‘EM, JOIN ‘EM!”
And even though Fisher was a moron. And sophomores were a bunch of morons. And the school song was being sung by a bunch of morons. And this whole game consisted of a bunch of morons. And anyone who ever enjoyed a stupid, high school soccer game was a moron.
I chanted with Fisher and all the morons out there, because goddamn it, at least they were having fun.
A/N: This story literally has no plot-line. Cheers. - Parker
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The Misadventures of Owen Bonner
Teen Fiction❝I swear, people are the cause of cancer.❞
