JORDAN
· FIVE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS EARLIER — FEBRUARY ·
“Colton and Miles just pulled into the driveway,” Mom says as she walks into the kitchen, sorting through the mail.
“Cool.” I tilt my cereal bowl up to my mouth and swallow the rest of the milk before unscrewing the lid from the milk carton on the table and polishing off the rest of that too. Then I toss the carton into the air, arcing it perfectly so it hits the wall by the trash and bounces right into the recycling can. Raising my arms in victory, I say, “Mom, please tell me you saw that.”
“If you chip the paint on that wall, you’re painting it,” Mom answers, unamused. “And did you seriously go through another gallon of milk?”
I stand up and throw my arms wide. “I’m a growing boy, Mom. You can’t stop this.” I pick my coat off a kitchen chair. “Besides, I only have so much longer to mooch off you, so I gotta take advantage.”
She rolls her eyes. “I can’t wait till you start buying your own groceries.”
“Less than four months. Admit it, you’re going to miss me.”
“Nope, it will be nothing but freedom over here.” Where other mothers break down in tears at even the mention of their kids going off to college, Mom’s eyes are nothing but dry deserts. But that’s just Mom. She’s tough as nails.
“Come on, Mom. You’re going to miss me.” I pinch two fingers together. “Just a little.”
I open my arms to clobber her with an obnoxious hug, but she slaps me with the mail.
“Get outta here,” she says.
A car horn honks outside, and I shrug on my coat, ready to endure the frozen tundra that is Pine Lakes in the winter, when I remember the last-minute change to the assembly schedule. “Oh yeah, Mom, they changed the assembly schedule today.” I shove a pair of gloves into my coat pocket. “The mascot-reveal assembly is now on March first at two o’clock.”
Mom shuffles over to the calendar with a pen, and her expression instantly changes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Oh,” she says, looking bothered. “I just have a doctor’s appointment scheduled at that time.”
I lean over the counter and give her my most deflated look. “C’mon, Mom. You’d rather go to the doctor’s office than watch your only child take off a smelly grizzly-bear head in front of the whole school?” Then I give her puppy-dog eyes.
Mom chews on the side of her cheek, thinking. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t caved yet. The puppy dogs get her every time.
“You can pee in a cup anytime,” I remind her. “But I’ll only have one mascot reveal.”
“Okay.” She sighs, crossing off her appointment on her calendar and scribbling in the assembly.
“Great.” I slap the counter and wave. “I’ll be back by twelve. Or one. Or two.”
“You’ll be back by midnight,” Mom says.
“Yeah, sure.” I fling the door open, and a rush of snow flurries enters the house. Then I shut it before Mom rethinks my curfew and makes it eleven.
· MARCH ·
“You ready for this?” Paige asks as the two of us stand just under the bleachers in the school gym. She holds the patchy-furred bear head that completes my mascot ensemble.
I bounce from one foot to the other and jab the air with my paws while my mascot pump-up playlist blares into my ear from an earbud. “Let’s do this.”
Paige laughs. “I saw your mom come in. She’s sitting next to Principal Henderson on the risers.”
“Oh good. I’m glad they showed her where to sit.”
Feet clatter above us as students take their places on the bleachers. I’ve been the school mascot pretty much since I moved here, so I’ve never been a part of a mascot-reveal assembly before. But from what my friends tell me and all the talk I’ve heard from other students in the school, people reallylook forward to this event. The mystery of who’s under the mascot head has had people speculating for almost two years now.No pressure.
“Okay, I think I’m going to lose my lunch,” I tell Paige, feeling queasier the louder the gym gets.
