The next couple of weeks flew by, and before I knew it, we were several basketball games into the season, and not only was the homecoming dance less than a month away, Valentine’s Day was just around the corner. Lucy and I had found a way to get Emma to “hypothetically” join in our conversation, and while all three of us were now having weird dreams, I was pretty sure it was due to the fact that we kept talking about monsters and not because of any actual bloodsuckers infiltrating our thoughts, though I couldn’t one hundred percent rule that out.
On game days, we wore our uniforms to school, and the boys on the basketball team all wore matching shirts. I was standing at my locker thinking about whether or not Liam would notice I’d curled the ends of my hair when I heard what sounded like a cheer coming from down the hallway. Puzzled, I looked around and caught a few other narrowed eyes before I grabbed my books and headed in that direction.
I wasn’t quite prepared for what I saw. Standing outside of Mrs. Neely’s classroom, Elliott was doing some sort of dance (if you want to call it that) while playing our school fight song on his phone. As each kid passed him in the hallway, he stopped long enough to give them a high five or fist bump, and then continued with his Pee Wee Herman-esque routine. The kids were cheering him on, and something told me even if the principal came by, he wouldn’t mind at all, even if it was a total disruption.
Glad that meant Mrs. Neely was out for the day, and I’d get to start my Thursday off with a fun teacher, I took my place amongst the other “cheerleaders,” though most of the others weren’t dressed for the occasion, and cheered him on. When the song was over, he clicked a few buttons on his phone and said, “All right, folks! Time to get to class!” His adoring fans stopped for one more acknowledgement each and then headed either into history class or on down the hallway.
“Cassidy!” He shouted, as if he’d just noticed me. “How goes it?”
With a big sappy grin on my face, I said, “Okay. What was that?”
“Well, I just figured, it’s not fair that the varsity team gets a pep rally every time they have a home game, and the JV team doesn’t get squat. So… I put on my own pep rally.”
“I see,” I replied, hugging my books to my chest as I walked around him, headed for class. “Well, that was… something.”
“Oh, come on now. Don’t dis my dance moves. I’m pretty good for my age.”
He had a point there. I didn’t mention that he didn’t even look half as old as he truly was. “I’m not dissing,” I assured him. He had his hand out for me to slap, so I did, even though I kind of thought the whole thing was silly. Clearly, I was the only one as kids weighed the possibility of being late with waiting for Elliott’s attention and formed a line in the hallway. I found my seat and tried not to laugh at the rest of my brainwashed classmates.
As soon as I heard Liam’s voice in the hallway, my breath caught in my throat, and I felt my skin get all warm and clammy. I felt like he had been paying more attention to me recently. At lunch, he’d shifted his seat to the other side of the table so that he was looking my way, and a lot of times when I’d look up, I’d notice him looking at me. With Valentine’s Day next week, I was still debating whether or not I should take a chance and get him something. Was there a chance he would surprise me that day with flowers or candy? What if he asked me to homecoming?
He walked in the door, and my heart literally fluttered. I know it sounds ridiculously cliché, but it’s true. His basketball shirt made him look especially handsome, like a professional athlete. He had a big grin on his face, likely because he was just as fond of Elliott as everyone else, and when he caught my eyes, he was still smiling at me. “Hey, Cass,” he said, walking past me to take his seat. “How’s it going?”
“Great,” I said. “How ‘bout you?” I realized that didn’t quite make sense but figured he wouldn’t notice.
“Awesome. We have a fun teacher today.”
I couldn’t agree more. I opened my mouth to say something, but the bell rang, and a few moments later, Elliott came in, closing the door behind him. “All right, guys. Tell me again what class this is?”
There was a laugh and someone shouted, “American History!”
“That’s right,” he said, picking up a dry erase marker and sprawling, “Dr. Sanderson” on the board. Turning back to face us, he said, “Now, that’s me. A real American history relic.” The class laughed, but I was the only one who knew he wasn’t just joking around. He walked over to Mrs. Neely’s desk and read over what I assumed were some sub notes. He scrunched his face up, like he was concentrating, and then shook his head before picking up the textbook and flipping a few pages. “American Revolution, huh?” He was still shaking his head. He closed the book and pushed all of Mrs. Neely’s perfectly placed artifacts back so that he could sit on the corner of the desk. “All right, kids, we’re not gonna talk about the Battle of Saratoga today.”
Everyone began to cheer, and I raised both of my eyebrows at him. He winked at me, which I thought others might think odd, except no one else seemed to notice. “Let’s talk about what you wanna know about American history,” he said. “A lot of people might think it’s boring, like all those guys are dead and who cares, right?”
“Right!” over half the class shouted.
“Wrong!” he corrected us. “Because, here’s the thing, not all of those guys are dead.”