Since I live in a dorm on campus, Mom has been able to cut back on her work hours some, which means she gets to take the three-hour-drive to see me about once a month. I miss her incredibly, but I love knowing she’s much more relaxed than she’s been since my birth. She’ll be coming to have dinner with me next week, and I anxiously anticipate her arrival.
Racing across the campus of BCU, I dodge and weave past students who seem to be lollygagging. Friday is game night, and though they haven’t a care in the world, I need to get to my dorm room to change clothes. My day was spent bouncing between classes that span the entire campus, so I’m already exhausted mentally and physically. It’s only a matter of time before the place will be crawling with visitors, and I have to beat them to the stadium, so my thighs burn like fire thanks to the mad dash.
Hunching over briefly to catch my breath, I offer a quick prayer that the dormitory elevator is functional today. It’s notorious for getting stuck between floors, and today is NOT the day to deal with that drama. It’s working, and thankfully cooperates in getting me all the way to the fifth floor. My relieved sigh turns into a snort upon entering my room. My best friend’s leopard print thong pokes out from the top of her jeans as she leans over her boyfriend, Tim. Iris has linked her arms under his in an attempt to pull him upright, but based upon her grunts, and Tim’s lack of movement, she’s not getting anywhere.
“Stop laughing and help me.” Her request is met by a series of giggles from Tim.
“Um, do you need a hand?”
Iris swings around, and her deer-in-the-headlights look makes me chuckle. “What’s going on in here?”
“Mallory!” Her red curly hair bounces around her head as she steps over Tim to grab fistfuls of my t-shirt. “You can help! Tell me you will, please.”
“I said I would.” I chuckle while removing her vice-like grip from my top, then work to smooth out the material.
“You remember that Tim is the Nigel the Nutria mascot backup, right? Well, the dude who is normally the mascot is never sick. Never misses a game. Ever. Except for tonight. Tonight, he’s sick! How were we supposed to know all of this would happen?”
“I thought being Nigel is something he looked forward to doing. So, what’s wrong with him?” I ask, looking at the lanky man making kissy faces and giving eyebrow waggles to Iris’ stuffed animal collection.
“It’s his dream, and I guess that’s why he got so nervous. It’s a lot of pressure to entertain a stadium full of people during a nationally televised game. He nearly threw up, and he couldn’t breathe. I thought maybe a shot of something would help calm his nerves, so I gave him tequila from my secret stash. The fool ended up downing nearly the entire bottle.”
“What! You got him drunk? Iris, what the hell?” I glance over to see him using his fingertips to repeatedly trace his lips. “Are you sure it was just tequila? I think you broke him.”
Iris looks like she wants to puke. “I did.” She lets out a long wail, so I give her a slight shake.
“Stop that. Tell me how you broke him, and what do we need to do to fix him?”
“It was funny at first. I’d toss things at him, and yell, ‘spider’ or ‘roach,’ and every single time, he’d scream and nearly pee his pants.” She wipes at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Then I tossed a sock and yelled ‘snake.’”
“Snake! Where is it?” Tim yells, scooting across the floor on his butt. “I saw it! It was brown with stripes. Help me! I can’t stand because the dog bit my leg.”
“Shut up, Tim. I told you the snake was my sock, and no dog bit you. You shattered a table trying to get away from nothing,” Iris says, squatting to clamp her palm over Tim’s mouth. He pushes away her hand.
“It did bite me. The pink bitch right there is the culprit!” She covers his mouth once again.
“Shhhh,” she hisses into his ear before giving me pleading eyes. “I think he broke his leg trying to get away earlier. Shit Mallory, what are we going to do?”
“We? There is no ‘we.’ There is a you and Tim thing. Did he have something with that tequila?” Tim is steadily talking through Iris’ hand, but it’s so jumbled that I can’t make out a word.
“Oh Mallory, please. I really need your help.” I sigh because I’m not going to refuse her. She jumps backwards. “Ewww! You licked me!” Tim lets out an evil sounding giggle, then slowly falls over, eyes closed and snoring.
“Tim. Tim!” He smiles, so I tap his face and his eyes fly open.
“Mallory? When did you get a twin? Or are there three of you?” He squints, closes one eye, opens both eyes very wide, then grins. “Nope just two of you.” He reaches out and pinches my cheek. “Mallory, I’ve got an ouchy.”
“Iris, let’s get him up.” We stand on either side of Tim, each hooking an arm under his. “On the count of three. One, two, three…” We barely manage to haul him to the bed.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Tim’s voice is pained as he rolls back into the fetal position while sinking into the mattress. “It hurts so bad. I need my mommy.”
Iris tries touching his ankle, but this only makes him yelp. “Oh no, Tim. I think you need to go to the hospital.”
“No, the pink dog will not best me! Nor will the snakes, spiders, or roaches. I will be victorious!” He stands and throws an arm in the air, but because his ankle can’t support his weight, he stumbles back down.
“You can’t stand, let alone jump around a football stadium dressed as a giant rat,” Iris states firmly. “Victory isn’t yours today. You need to go to the hospital.”
Tim hangs his head in defeat. “That’s it. I’m done.”
“No you’re not. Just call the next alternate.”
“Can’t,” Iris shakes her head. “Tim’s the only one.”
“What? Well, I’m out of ideas. Guess he needs to get in touch with…”
“No! He has to be there. Tim will get into so much trouble, otherwise.”
“Surely he won’t get into trouble if you tell them he’s sick.”
Iris begins sniffling. “They’ll want proof of his illness documented by a medical professional. I can’t take him in like this! What if he loses his scholarship, and they kick him out of school? I need my Tiny Tim.” Now she’s blubbering like a baby.
“Tiny as in stature, not as in my man sword,” Tim chimes in.
“First, eww. Way more than I care or need to know, and second, Iris, they won’t kick him out of school.”
“You don’t know that,” she wails.
Eyes closed, but eyebrows arched high in the air, Tim very nonchalantly responds, “Oh yes. They will kick me out for certain.”
Iris suddenly stops crying. “I know what we can do! Mallory, you take his place!”
A laugh bubbles to the surface. “No way! I know nothing about being a mascot.”
“Mallory, please, there is no one else. You’ll be in a costume, so no one will be the wiser.”
“Even so, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, Iris! And what if someone does find out; I’ll be the one getting into trouble.” My voice gets higher as I consider being on an actual field with all those eyes pinned to me.
“You know exactly what to do because you’ve been to every home game since enrolling here.” She drops to her knees, hands clenched together. “Please, Mallory, there isn’t anyone else, and I need to stay here until he sobers up enough to get to the hospital. You’re our only hope.”
“I can be the mascot. Me and pink bitch dog will do it together,” Tim says between hiccups while squeezing the stuffed animal. “Bitches love me.”
I roll my eyes. “Look, Iris, I’d love to help, but I can’t. I don’t like crowds, much less being the center of attention. You know this.”
Iris looks desperate. “I get it. I really do, but Mallory, I need you like I’ve never needed anyone before.”
“What are you saying? Are you breaking up with me to go with her?” Tim asks theatrically.
“No, and shut up.” She direc
ts her attention back to me. “Please. I’ll owe you so big for this. You won’t get caught, and you’ll be saving Tim, and me, too.”
With a heavy sigh, I slowly nod, and Iris fist pumps the air. “Mallory, you won’t regret this. I’m going to make it up to you, I swear!”
“I’m already regretting it.”
“Hush. You’ll be great! The suit is in the closet. Let me grab it.”
I stare wide-eyed at the cumbersome outfit, especially when she nearly falls simply trying to carry it over. Reluctantly, I step in, and Iris manages to suit me up. It smells like feet and fermented fish, not to mention the fact that I feel like a complete idiot while wearing the furry outfit.
“Thank you again; you’re a life saver.” Iris smiles, pushing me out the door. “Have fun. You look great.”
“Yeah, but you both owe me big time.” They don’t hear me through the nutria head, so I just shrug, wave, and walk off.
My heart pounds the whole way to the stadium because there is NO WAY I can pull this off. Factor in humid Louisiana heat along with nerves, skepticism, general self-esteem issues, and being enclosed in this giant rat suit equals hell. The only positive is maybe I’ll sweat off the few extra pounds added by the double helping of cornbread I ate with supper. I can’t help myself with that stuff; it’s like a drug.
Getting closer to the stadium, I wonder just how I’m supposed to navigate the field with the stupid eye holes on either side of the huge plastic orange teeth of the nutria head. I have to keep it cocked sideways, and even then, I’m only offered about ten percent of my peripheral vision. It’s sweltering, and I’ve tripped over the huge rat tail about six times while walking a straight line. I’m still trying to talk myself into it when I slam into something hard.
“You’re supposed to be in the locker room, dude! Everyone is freaking because you’re late for our ritual,” says a familiar voice. Nate. Oh shit. What’s the ritual?
“Come on. Get your tail in that locker room.” After giving me a solid push in the right direction, he strides ahead, and I struggle to keep up. Locker room! He said locker room. My breath catches when he opens the double doors and pushes me through. Very fit, half-naked athletes are everywhere. “Guys! I found him!”
“About fucking time! If we lose this game, it’s thanks to you!” I peep through the eye holes to see a massive player with a white towel wrapped around his waist. I swallow hard, unable to look away from the bulge that clearly protrudes from under it.
“No, if you lose, you have only yourself to blame. I’ve taught you better. Regardless, let’s wrap this up so we can get out on the field,” the coach grumbles.
I’m still mesmerized by the handsome guy’s bulge, so I’m taken aback when someone stands right in front of me, double fist bumps the oversized orange nutria teeth of the costume, screams, “Get ‘em!” then hustles out of the room. I clutch onto the head to keep it from coming off, and one by one, the guys line up to take a hit. My eyes lock onto Brent, and it’s as though everything else ceases to exist around me. Brent! He’ll be looking for me in my stadium seat to give me the sign, and it’ll be empty. I have to find a way to let him know I’m here.
My head is spinning from all of the double fist bumps to the plastic teeth, and when it’s Brent’s turn to tap, I hold up one of my furry gloved hands to stop him. It’s supposed to be the equivalent of our sign, but it must not translate well in a nutria costume because I’m met with hostility. “What the fuck?” he growls. “Is that a threat?” Shit! It must’ve looked like the slitting-the-throat sign, rather than our sign. I rapidly shake my head while tightly gripping it. “You’re lucky,” Brent grumbles, popping his fists against the teeth extra forcefully before taking off for the field. I slam back into a set of lockers, but the only thing hurt is my pride. Well, that sucked. The entire team and slew of coaches finish whacking the teeth of the costume, so I hesitantly make my way onto the field.
I’m miserable and want to go home to change. The suit is so damn claustrophobic, I’m drenched in sweat, and the awkwardness of the outfit makes my body ache. I’m also worried about Brent, and what he’ll think if I’m not in the stands. Will he be upset? Will it even faze him? I decide that I’m done with helping out Tim and Iris. Turning to leave, I spot a cheerleader hustling towards me.
“Silly goose. Always joking around. Get out on that field. Time to get the crowd pumped. They’re about to introduce you!”
Sure enough, the announcer’s voice echoes throughout the stadium. “He will gnaw at your heart just like he gnaws at the opponent. Everyone, please give it up for Bayou Cypress University’s very own, Nigel the Nutria!” Over a hundred thousand people are in attendance, millions watch on television, and all of their eyes are on me.
My pulse pounds in my ear as I struggle to remember what the mascot did all those times I was in the stands. A song plays over the loud speaker, so I think I’m supposed to dance. The first thing that comes to mind is the disco point, so I do it, and the crowd goes wild. Okay, this isn’t so bad. I point in the opposite direction and throw my hand on my hip as I do it. The crowd roars even louder. My dancing skills are minimal on a good day, much less while donning a huge nutria costume. I wiggle my hips, my butt, and my arms, yet none of the movements are coordinated. The crowd still goes crazy. Getting a little too cocky, I lose my balance and land on one of the cheerleaders.
“Get off me!” she hisses. “You’re squishing me.” Rocking back, I desperately try lifting myself, but with me keeping a death grip on the head portion of the cumbersome suit, all I can do is helplessly flail around.
The entire stadium breaks out in uncontrollable laughter when most of the cheerleading squad helps to get me off the crying cheerleader. A loud series of cat calls, inappropriate chants, and hollering happen when I’m rolled over to straddle her before finally getting up. The possible headlines run through my head: Naughty Nutria Lands Cheerleader or Sideline Sex: Did BCU Mascot Take It Too Far? Trying to make the best out of a terrible situation once I’m back on my two feet, I exaggeratedly fan my face before blowing a series of kisses in her direction. She gives me an evil glare, but then plants a huge smile across her face, turns to the crowd, and plays along with my charade. Feigning embarrassment, she exaggeratedly shakes her head while waggling her finger before playfully shooing me away. Though it’s hidden from the crowd, she very clearly shoots me the middle finger, and I can’t really blame her.
The home team is announced, and feeling the charge of excitement, I jump up and down as they run onto the field. I spot Brent’s last name in bold letters across the back of his jersey, and just before he puts on his helmet, I catch him scanning the crowd. I want to yell to him so he’ll know I’m here. His expression changes from hopeful and excited, to confused and disappointed. He quickly masks his feelings, then makes a big show by calling out to and acting boisterous for the crowd. Giving one final scan in the stands, Brent shakes his head, then fastens his helmet.
It’s obvious by the time the second half begins that Brent’s off his game. Even though we attend the same college, and we’ve had very little interaction over the years, Brent knows I’ve never missed a home game. He knows exactly where I’ll be, and we’ve grown to savor our brief moments.
He needs to know I’m here. Play on the field has stopped, so I take the opportunity to sidle closer to the players until I’m just a few yards from him. Trying to be discreet, I give a little wave, but he cuts a pair of evil eyes in my direction. Guess he’s still holding a grudge from the locker room incident. Maybe if he heard my voice?
“Psssttt.” I repeat over and over, getting louder each time. This gets his attention, but play continues, so I lose my chance when he goes back into the game. The next time he’s on the sideline, I gingerly side step until I’m right beside him.
“Didn’t I warn you? What the hell are you doing with the players anyway? You’re supposed to be with the cheerleaders.”
“Brent, it’s me,” I say, after a quick g
lance around.
“Me who?”
“Who do you think?” This gets his attention, and he slowly turns his head to face me.
“Triple P?” I nod. At first, he’s shocked, and it takes a moment for a smile to grow. After taking it all in, he’s left struggling to control his laughter. “Why in the hell are you dressed as Nigel the Nutria? The stands no longer exciting enough?”
“Shhh. I’m helping a friend. If I’m found out, Tim and I will both get into deep trouble.”
“Who is Tim?”
“Iris’ boyfriend.”
“Who’s Iris?”
“My roommate. You know that!” I snap.
“Hey! If you’re done chatting up the rat, you think you could possibly join us out on the field?” the coach yells to Brent.
“Meet me in the storage room after the game, okay?” Brent says into the eyeholes before hustling onto the field. Coach shoots daggers, so I casually slink down the line of players and make my way back to the cheerleaders just in time for a BCU touchdown. The crowd goes wild, and the game is clenched. Sneaking off the field, I find the place Brent talked about, strip from the nasty suit, and anxiously wait in the abandoned equipment room before the fourth quarter even ends. What will he say? What will he do? What is that smell? It’s me! I find a mirror on the wall and want to cry when I see my reflection. My hair is flat, matted down against my forehead, except for the part around my crown. For some reason, that bit stands sky-high. I look like shit, so I hurriedly scan the room for anything of use to freshen up. I find a towel and some bottles of water, but I need something to make me smell better. Muscle rub or athlete’s foot spray? Muscle rub seems the logical choice. I’m writhing around on the ground when the door opens.
“So cold, but it burns,” I say to a confused Brent. For the second time tonight, he laughs at me.
“Come on. The stadium is pretty much cleared out.” He helps me up then brings me into the abandoned locker room where he runs a shower. “Get in. You can wear this after you wash all of that stuff off you. It’ll sting at first, but the soap will help.” He hands me an oversized jersey from his locker.
The Broken Road to Forever Page 7
