“So are you excited for Pep Week?” A brunette asked me jovially, hair bouncing behind her. She batted her lashes at me and I received a flipbook image of G-O J-U-N-.

“What happened to the eors?” I asked wryly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know the I-O-R-S’s. They’re missing. Or is that environmentally friendly?”

“No silly,” she said smiling giving me a gentle shove. “I ran out of lid.”

“Oh,” I said somewhat embarrassed.

“So are you ready for Pep Week? It’s going to be awesome! I’m in every event – from hall decorating and the football game to the pep rally and pajama day. I got the best 80’s costume ever! My mom saved some hot pink leggings and tennis shoes from high school. Oh my God it’s going to be soo funny! I’m going all out. Oh, and then there’s this yellow polka-dotted scarf…”

The girl reminded me of an elastic balloon – slowly filling, expanding, ready to burst. All she needed was a little pinprick.

“…and then the hall decorating! Oh it’s going to be so much fun. The juniors have the best city in the whole wide world –“

“I know. I’m doing it. All of it.” Before I knew what I was saying, the words were out, the smallest of whispers condemning me to a full week of outlandish clothing, interior hall decorating, excessive pie eating and more.
Then came the gush of hot air.

“Oooh, really?! It’s going to be just perfect!” she squealed. “We’re gunna do the three- legged race on Wednesday, wear a cute matching 80’s outfit on Thursday, and on Friday the Homecoming Dance…” she sighed her eyes glittering far off.

Oh boy.
The following events are best recorded in separate days:
Tuesday:
I dressed up like a cheerleader, well more or less like a toad in a tutu. It was by far the single most disturbing, most horrifically obscene action the opposite sex has ever persuaded me to do. It was downright demeaning. All the girls stopped me in the hall and giggled, telling me how good I looked. I didn’t even bother trying to decode those compliments. My brain hurt just thinking that for every second that went by my popularity went down two-fold. But then there was the girl – the source of all my trouble – bouncing lightly around the corner decked out in her football gear. She growled and tackled me. I squealed but I wasn’t pretending.
“You ready for the big game tonight?” she said jocking me around.
“No,” I replied, eyes like dice rolling in my head.
“Well you better be Shnuckums because when I score that winning touchdown, you’re gunna give me that awesome cheer routine you’ve been working on for the past three weeks.”
“What? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

****

Inevitably she was right. Much to my dismay she did score that winning touchdown and I was herded onto the frost-bitten field along with all the other overenthusiastic cheerleaders. Who knew she could be such a jock? But then the music started and I found my hips were rocking back and forth. What is wrong with me? Do I have any sense of dignity whatsoev- Just then a kid (insert description) dove straight over me and another jumped onto my shoulders. Two more pooped up and formed a pyramid, then the pyramid collapsed and I was convulsing on the ground doing the worm. The music completely consumed me and at that point I didn’t care what people thought of me. I was dirty dancing. We ended on a Michael Jackson song and I went down into a full split, legs only slightly burning. The stadium erupted in applause and I tenderly got up walking over to the sideline. The brunette hugged me; told me I was amazing, then kissed me and told me her name was Nicole. And from that moment on I was hooked.