All summer was devoted to this night. This moment, in a small town in southern Wisconsin, all eyes were fixed on us. The girls in light blue and bright red uniforms, engaging and pumping up the Arrowhead High School crowd. Yelling, “Let’s go warhawks” and “Make that kick,” or throwing some of our teammates up in the air everytime our football team scores a touchdown. 

Blink and it’s pouring. Flash and lightning reveals everyone's countenance. Screams fill the air with fear from little ones to the elderly. Drops wash over our meticulous makeup. Our hard work wasted within seconds. The feeling of being moist makes us cringe. 

We spring off the islands created — slowly the ground engulfed by puddles. Wishing our clothes could be wrung out and suddenly we’d be as dry as a desert. At last we arrive to a safe spot — the school building.

Clouds roar above the roof that makes us feel like there is bowling alley thousands of miles up in the pitch black sky. 

Looking up at the dark sky, the clashing clouds halted and the winds hushed. Quiet as a mouse, suddenly, the angry sky had calmed. Still standing there, the surface slick as a thin sheet of ice. The light mist fell over all of us like snowflakes — gracefully falling on a cold winter night. Soft like a polar bear, sliding down our faces. Without any hesitation, we look over, “It’s pretty, isn't it?”