Proposal

The activity fair is an annual event at the beginning of the school year. Club leaders will present to supposedly interested students who are only there for the free snacks, and it's (hopefully) a good night for everyone.

I'm currently running on two energy drinks and a handful of Skittles I stole from an unmanned booth. In other words, I am the definition of an unhinged junior. I do not think it will be a good night.

The first thing I notice when I step foot into the gymnasium is that it reeks of testosterone and sweat. I honestly want to leave right away, but as I scan the room, I can feel myself beginning to cheer up slightly.

There's some kind of STEM Club contraption in the corner that's whizzing and beeping. Jacob Rivers is standing on top of a chair with a megaphone, literally screaming at people to join choir. (I had signed up in 4th grade—let's just stay I learned exactly how tone deaf I really am.)

But before I can walk to the other side of the gym, someone calls out to me from my right. I spin and see a tall girl smiling at me. She seems to be alone; behind her, there's a big poster that's, like, twice the size of her. It looks sporty, huge, and intimidating.

I am very intimidated.

"Hey." Her eyes are a dark and intense brown, and she looks at me with great interest as I slowly stride forward. "You should join volleyball."

I wince. "I have no athletic talent at all," I reply. "I think you're going to have to find someone else."

She blinks, seemingly surprised; gives me a quick once-over. It's not like I'm tall or buff or something, so I don't quite understand her shock. In fact, I feel like I look like the epitome of a basic high school girl. The jacket I shrugged on this morning is currently tied around my waist, and I'm wearing a simple top and jeans.

"Basketball, then." I stare at her, and she quickly runs a hand through her light cropped hair. "Right, I guess you're not a fan of jumping, then. What about soccer?"

I frantically wave my arms around. She doesn't seem to understand my point.

"I can't run or sprint or jump. I hate exercise. I hate doing anything physical at all, actually."

Her mouth forms a small 'o'. "Oh. Damn." She laughs, flashing her teeth, and up close, I notice her canines are sharper, almost like fangs. "I guess I just assumed. I play five sports, so I'm sort of inclined to believe everyone likes them."

"How is that even physically possible?" I ask. My body aches just thinking about it.

She shoots me a flamboyant grin, flexing her arms a little in the air. I try not to focus on the slant of her arms; how they're toned and strong and framed by muscle.

I literally cannot be falling for a random jock who will forget my name after today. This cannot be my fate. I am better than this.

"I like running and all of the other things you hate. It's why I'm here in the first place." She steps to the side and motions at the trifolder behind her, which is plastered with big photos of her in different athletic gear. "Gotta promote all of 'em, you know?"

(She has no right to look that good in a jersey and shorts, god damn it.)

"Alyssa," a boy behind her drawls, his hands shoved into his pockets, "stop trying to scare her into joining."

"Alyssa" scowls, annoyance flashing across her face. She turns, rolls her eyes at him, then turns back to me. "Sorry about Derek. He's an ass…asinine person. Yeah."

Briefly, I look over her shoulder and make eye contact with the boy.

His startling blue eyes are framed by his shaggy, sand-blonde hair. His shoulders are broad; the white T-shirt he's wearing wraps tightly around them. Smiling at me a little hesitantly, the corners of his lips curving, he raises a hand and waves. His eyes crinkle up at the corners.

I can feel my heart stop.

"Wait," says Alyssa, pulling me back to the present, and suddenly my heart rate is speeding up. She extends her arm, hand open. "I never quite caught your name."

"Madison," I say, catching her hand. Her grip is tight and warm, and I can smell her floral perfume—designer, from what I can tell. "And I take it you're Alyssa."

"Mm. Cute." The flush on my cheeks clearly does not go unnoticed, because she winks. "Here, give me your phone. I'll put my number in."

My hand shoots to my pocket so fast that I miss it the first time. Alyssa smiles in the "I'm-trying-to-keep-it-in" way, and I give a self-deprecating laugh.

"My hand-eye coordination is terrible, too."

"Trust me. Everyone thinks they suck until they play a little and realize they don't," she's says as she types in her number. She looks up and raises an eyebrow at me, inquisitive. "Don't you want to find out what your limits are?"

"Uh." Alyssa is stepping forward and handing back my phone. Her eyes are flecked with gold. And she's, like, really close. "Well. Sure. You know—I'll join the team."

"Really?" She looks positively elated, clapping her hands. "Which one?"

I curse myself internally while I scan the rows of pictures. Swimming is a huge no. I've been scared of it ever since I was a little kid. "Um. I dunno. Which one would you recommend for someone like me?"

She hums, cocking her head to the left. Then throws a glance in the other direction and purses her lips.

"Derek's on the football team. And our cheerleading team is pretty friendly to beginners."

What the hell. What the actual hell am I doing?

"Oh, definitely. I'll join the cheerleading team. You're in it too, right?"

Alyssa beams. "I'm the star of the show, darling."

Yeah, no. I'm not better than this.

"Hey, Mads! Are you interested in singing? In a choir, perhaps?" Jacob shouts at me as I'm leaving.

"I'm a cheerleader now," I mutter to myself, stalking away.