“That sounds cool,” I said. My mind starting racing to find grizzly bear songs. But none came to me.
“I don’t have a theme song,” said Pierre. “Because I think it runs counter to being a potato. We are simple vegetables. Tubers, actually.”
“Right,” I said. We’d learned that in nutrition.
“Looks like you’re not going to have a costume for the first half,” Duke said, “so you should probably just work on moves.”
I glanced around the room. All the other mascots seemed to already be practicing stuff. I think that Pierre could tell that I was nervous.
“Is this your first clinic?” Pierre said.
I nodded.
“Do you want us to show you our introductory cheers first?” Pierre asked.
“Yes, please,” I said. Maybe it was a good thing I hadn’t gotten paired with a vicious mascot. Because Pierre and Duke were very helpful.
“Here’s mine,” Duke said. “We take our heads off for the introductory cheer. Because we need to chant and a mascot never does that with his head on. You knew that, right?”
“You want to reduce vocal strain,” Pierre said pointing to his neck. “Over time your throat will develop painful nodules.”
I nodded like I knew that. But I actually had no idea.
I watched as Duke jogged in place and flapped his feathered arms. “We run. We block. We fly. So high.” He took a breath and kicked face-level at the audience two times. “Flat Creek Eagles take the win. Victory or die!” Then he released a high-pitched bird cry that made me cover my ears.
“So we don’t say our names in the introductory cheer?” I asked. Because I thought that was the main reason we were introducing ourselves.
“No,” Pierre said quickly. “As a mascot, your identity should be fused with your team.”
I thought about my school’s team. Did I want my identity fused with them? I guessed it was too late to feel differently.
“My turn,” Pierre said.
“Hit high! Hit low. Let’s go, Potato!”
Pierre’s cheer might have been short. But he repeated it three times. And each time he finished, he did a forward or backward somersault and jumped to his feet again.
“Don’t you get dizzy?” I asked. Because I thought I would.
“The trick is to close your eyes,” Pierre said.
“Okay,” Duke said. “Show us what you have.”
I thought back to my cheer that I’d performed to win half mascot. I’d used a jump rope and skipped around the gym with it, mostly shouting, “I’m a bear!” I’d sweated so hard my pants had slipped off and I accidentally flung them onto the crowd and Ms. Penrod’s head. I didn’t want to do that again. So I thought up a short cheer and yelled, “Bear! Bear! Win!”
And I grabbed my jump rope out of my bag and yelled, “I’m a bear!” And I jumped rope a few more times and then I stopped and released a bunch of power kicks. It bummed me out when one of my mascot paws flew off my foot and hit Pierre in the face.
“Whoa,” Duke said. “Careful.”
“Sorry,” I said. Then I put my paw back on my foot.
Pierre and Duke looked at each other. “Do you want some friendly advice?” Duke asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“Don’t do that as your introductory cheer,” Duke said.
This made me feel terrible. But I didn’t tell them that. I decided to follow the advice of my speech teacher, who said you could always locate ways to improve if you focused on your strengths.
“What was the best part of my cheer?” I asked.
Pierre looked at his brown spud feet, and Duke looked at the ceiling.
After some silence, Duke finally said, “It’s definitely good that you mentioned you’re a bear.”
There was more silence.
“Have you ever watched a bear?” Pierre asked.
I couldn’t believe I was being judged so harshly by a potato.
“Think of it this way,” Duke said. “In my cheer I brought eagle attitude. And Pierre brought potato personality. That’s the whole trick of being a mascot. You have to bring it.”
“And be more bear,” Pierre said.
I wanted to tell Duke and Pierre that I already knew that. But I didn’t feel like defending myself. I heard Alice Potgeiser’s voice exploding at the other end of the gym.
“Who dat? Who dat? Yell it! Sell it!” I watched as Alice did a series of high kicks in the bear suit. It looked a little funny to watch furry legs move like that, but it also looked very amazing. “We’re the best! From the west! Yell it! Sell it! Bear! Bear! Bear!”
“She’s good,” Duke said.
“Real good,” Pierre said.
It disappointed me that they were right.
Ms. Rich came by with a handout that listed all our games and the times we needed to arrive in our costumes on the field. Instead of working more on my introductory cheer, I decided to go and read the list and maybe eat a snack.
I moved off to the sidelines and sat next to my backpack. Being a mascot was difficult. And also sort of a bummer.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Oh. I’d forgotten I had my phone. I pulled it out. Wow! It was a new text from Sylvie. I guess our war of texts wasn’t over after all.
Sylvie: Are you still mean?
I stared at the text. How could she call me mean? That was ridiculous. I could think of forty people who were much meaner than I was. So I texted her back.
Me: Are you still lame?
I held my phone and anxiously awaited Sylvie’s response. I didn’t think it would be good.
“No phones in the gym!” a voice called. I don’t even know whose voice it was. I just got up and went into the hallway and walked around and watched my phone.
Sylvie: You used to be nice.
That was so low. I texted back a good response right away.
Me: Whatev.
I turned left and right and left again waiting for Sylvie’s next text. It didn’t arrive. So I texted something else.
Me: You act like you’re 10.
Then I got the great idea to spell out the sound of a baby crying, so I sent that too.
Me: WAH! WAH!
I waited and waited. It’s hard to be in a war of texts with somebody when they don’t text back. I finally stopped walking when I realized I was in a kitchen. How had I gotten here? I walked past some stoves and refrigerators and ended up in the empty cafeteria. Out of curiosity I opened one of the refrigerators and saw giant containers of mayonnaise and mustard. And an enormous vat of chocolate pudding. Yum. Then I shut the door and noticed that my phone was out of range.
This wasn’t good. I walked to the closed gate and shook it a little to see if it would open. But it wouldn’t. Then I tried to follow my steps and get out of the kitchen. But every door I found in there was a closet. I felt very panicked. I couldn’t miss my first mascot clinic!
Walk. Walk. Walk.
How had I even gotten in this place? There was no way out. “Hello? Hello?” I called. “I’m locked in the kitchen!” But nobody was around. I tried opening all the doors again. One of them had to lead to freedom. I finally found one that wasn’t a closet. It led to a hallway. But when I went into the hallway, I was blocked by another locked metal gate.
I was pretty sure this was the direction I’d come from. Somebody must have come behind me and locked me in. A janitor? A lunch worker? Alice Potgeiser? Anything seemed possible. “Hello! Hello!” I yelled. “I’m here for the mascot clinic!”
But nobody answered me.
I wandered back into the kitchen. Maybe there was an emergency phone. Walk. Walk. Walk. Nope. I tried to think of a good solution. Maybe I should start a fire and set off the smoke detectors! But then I would be locked inside a cafeteria that was burning down. I sat down at one of the tables and listened to the terrible silence. Far away I could hear the sounds of squeaking and cheering. Wouldn’t somebody eventually come and look for me?
Maybe. But h
ow long would that take? I stared at my bear paws. How had this happened to me? Was I trying to sabotage myself? No. That wasn’t what had happened. It was the war of texts with Sylvie. That was how I ended up caged in Flat Creek’s cafeteria.
I jumped up and ran to the front gate. Somebody would hear me if I shook it hard enough. “Hello! Hello!” I thought about what Pierre had said about throat stress causing nodules. Oh well. “Hello! I’m stuck!” I grabbed the gate with both hands and yanked on it.
Rattle. Rattle. Rattle.
Not only was I not learning anything useful at mascot clinic, I was freaking out.
“My name is Bessica Lefter and I am trapped!”
I felt myself crying and I let go of the gate. I sat down on the floor and buried my head in my hands. I was going to be so behind by the time I learned any cheers.
“You really are trapped,” a voice said.
I looked up happily. Freedom. That was what this voice meant to me. I was going to be let out of the cafeteria cage. But then I realized the boy standing on the other side was probably a kindergartener and most likely didn’t have the keys.
“Go get your mom and tell her I’m locked in the cafeteria,” I said. I stood up and held my hands out in a pleading way.
“My mom isn’t here,” the boy said.
“Okay,” I said. “Get your dad.”
“I can’t,” he said.
“Why not?” I asked. I was beginning to worry that maybe this kid was an orphan and I was making him feel bad.
“I don’t know where he is,” the boy said. “My name is Cole. And I’m lost.”
“Bummer,” I said. But I still had a lot of hope. Because Cole wasn’t trapped inside the cafeteria and I could send him to get help for both of us.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to give you my phone and I want you to walk over to the end of that hallway so you can get in range. Don’t turn any corners. And I want you to call my mom and tell her to come back to the school because I’m locked in the cafeteria.”
“That’s a big message,” the boy said.
“You can do it!” I said.
I handed him my phone through the metal gate. “Do you know how to use a cell phone? Just press the green button.”
“I know how to use a phone. I’m in first grade.”
It seemed like it took forever for Cole to take my phone and walk to the end of the hallway. I heard him say what I’d told him to say and then he walked back.
“What did she say?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “I got her voice mail.”
This was awful. “Okay,” I said. “You need to call my dad. Hand me my phone and I’ll dial his number.”
“Maybe I should call my sister,” Cole said. “She’s in the school.”
“Really?” I asked. I got excited that his sister might be a teacher who had keys to the metal gates.
“She’s a mascot,” he said. “Her name is Alice.”
Ugh. I didn’t really want Alice Potgeiser to know that I had locked myself in a cafeteria. But I couldn’t stay in this cage any longer.
It only took a few minutes after Cole called Alice for a huge group of people to arrive. Ms. Penrod and Ms. Rich seemed very concerned. And Flat Creek’s cheer coach, Mrs. Dudley, also seemed upset.
“How did this happen?” she asked.
“I left to send a text and ended up in the kitchen somehow, and then I couldn’t get back out,” I explained.
“Bessica! Bessica!” I looked up and saw my mother running down the hallway toward me.
“I’m okay now,” I said. But that wasn’t entirely true. Because I was still locked in the cafeteria.
“We need to get her out,” my mom said.
“Right now!” my dad said.
Ooh. It was good to see my dad. I hadn’t seen him running behind my mom. I figured if they couldn’t find the keys, he’d insist on sawing me free.
“We’ve walkie-talkied the janitor and he’s on his way,” Mrs. Dudley said.
“Sorry about this,” I said.
Alice covered her mouth. It looked like she was laughing at me. I wished she’d put the stupid bear head back on so I wouldn’t have to look at her.
“Are you doing okay in there?” Ms. Penrod asked. “I bet one of the refrigerators has some snacks if you need them.”
I thought back to the jars of mayonnaise and vat of chocolate pudding. “I’m good.”
“As much as I hate to say it, we should probably head back to the gym and finish up the clinic,” Ms. Rich said.
“I understand,” my mom said. “We’ll wait here for the janitor.”
“Do you want my phone number in case you’ve got any mascot questions?” Duke asked.
“Mine too?” Pierre offered.
“Sure,” I said.
So I loaded them into my cruddy out-of-range phone. Then everybody except my mom and dad left.
“It’s neat that you made some friends,” my mom said. “I think I know the eagle boy’s mother.”
“And the potato kid seemed nice too,” my dad said.
“Whatever,” I said.
I reached my arm through the metal gate and my mom held my hand until the janitor came.
“I knew one day this would happen,” the janitor said.
That didn’t make me feel any better.
“If this ever happens again,” the janitor said, and he unlocked the gate and rolled it open, “keep in mind there is a fire exit inside the kitchen. It will set off the alarm if you open it. But it’s better than being stuck in the cafeteria all day.”
“Good information,” my mom said.
Once I was out of there all I wanted was to go home.
“Do you want a treat for the ride?” my dad asked as we passed through town.
“No,” I said. “The only thing I want is my bed. And maybe we should start getting the house ready for Grandma.”
Grandma. Grandma. Grandma. I missed her so much. Having her back in my life would make everything feel one hundred percent better. I just knew it.
“Grandma is going to refuse to live with us if we can’t make her room smell better than this,” I said.
My mother had her hair tied back in a ponytail and was using a soapy sponge to clean the walls.
“You’re being so negative,” my mother said.
“No,” I said as I gave a prolonged spray of ocean-scented air freshener, “I am talking to you like we’re both adults. And storing mothballs down here was evil.”
My mother stopped sponging the walls. “If we didn’t use mothballs our clothes would look like Swiss cheese.”
“Mom,” I said, releasing more air freshener, “Grandma’s room smells so poisony that I think I’m going blind.”
Preparing the house for Grandma was taking a lot more time and energy than I’d thought it would. Because in the weeks since she had left, her room had turned into a dump.
“What are these?” I asked. I’d opened Grandma’s chest of drawers and encountered a weird plastic thing and a bunch of small glass jars.
“That’s a canning funnel and my best jam jars,” my mom said. “I’m considering making strawberry preserves for the holidays.”
My mom had tried to can vegetables and make jam once before and she’d caused an explosion that scattered broken glass all over the kitchen floor. We hadn’t been able to go barefoot in there since.
“Why did you put all this junk in Grandma’s room? She was only going to be gone a few weeks,” I said.
“Our house feels like it’s shrinking. Our stuff has to go somewhere,” my mom said. “And sometimes people’s plans change. I don’t think Grandma plans to live here forever.”
I turned around and looked directly at my mother. “Sure she does. It’s great here.” I wagged the canning funnel at her to really grab her attention. Then I suggested, “I think we should throw this away.”
“Grandma won’t need all the drawers,” my mom said. She’d started sponging the walls
again.
I cleared my throat in disgust. “If we don’t give Grandma all her space back she’s going to think we love her less.” And I wasn’t kidding. That was exactly how I would have felt if I came back and found a canning funnel in my underwear drawer.
“Fine,” my mom said, scrubbing the baseboard energetically. “Where do you suggest I put my supplies?”
I didn’t miss a beat. “A garbage can.”
“Bessica, this cleanup should be enjoyable. Don’t be difficult.”
I put my finger on the air-freshener nozzle and held it down hard. I wasn’t being difficult. I was looking out for Grandma and her feelings. And her underwear.
“I think you’ve released enough ocean scent,” my mom said. “Grandma has a very sensitive nose.”
“I know. The mothballs are going to kill her.”
“Okay. Okay. Okay,” my mom said, standing up and dropping the sponge in a bucket. “We need a break.”
“Sweet!” Because that meant it was getting very close to the time when Lola would be coming over to watch a movie and eat junk food with me. I raced up the stairs to get the cheese puffs. But I couldn’t find them, even after I’d opened all the cupboards where they should have been.
“What happened to the cheese puffs?” I asked.
“When you make your food collage, aren’t you going to be embarrassed to have to put cheese puffs on it?” my mom asked.
“Not at all,” I said.
“I have pickles and olives,” my mom said.
“I don’t want my nutrition class to think I eat pickles and olives. Those are weird foods.”
“What are weird foods?” my dad asked as he walked into the kitchen and plopped down a box.
“Pickles and olives,” I explained. “I don’t want pickles in my collage.”
“She wants cheese puffs,” my mom explained.
“I hardly have any orange food,” I said. “The puffs will look great.”
“I don’t believe this!” my dad said. “Isn’t anybody going to ask what I’ve got in the box?”
Bessica 2 - Bessica Lefter Bites Back Page 6
