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My uniform was really tight and itchy. I pulled my shell down, which had been riding up, and looked for him. I watched him from the wet track, where I was standing with all the other cheerleaders. His white jersey shined under the bright lights, the purple number stood out. He was in the line of players adjusting his helmet.
I wished that he would turn around and look at me for like 5 seconds, s I could smile and he would know how I felt about him.
The smell of fresh rain and grass wafted toward us. My pom poms quivered as the wind blew. We were getting crushed by the other team.
It was the final period of the game. I kept doing kicks and jumps to keep warm in the cold mist that was falling, it wasn’t working. My bare legs were numb, my nose running, my skin cold.
I looked for him. He was right in front of me. It scared me and my heart started pounding. His back was turned, hands on hips, focused on the game. I continued to cheer for our team, but all I could think about was him, and his bright blue eye, the eyes that I wished he would turn around and look at me with.
My cheer box was soaking wet, the white paint was chipping off on the top, dirt and grime from the track sat on the purple paint. We got off our boxes and tried to get the crowd pumped up for the game, even though our team was losing badly. We put up stunts, but nothing seemed to be working. We were going to lose. We got out the spirit sticks we had made: toilet paper tubes filled with candy, wrapped in tissue paper. The crowd went crazy! I smiled and cheered until my cheeks and throat hurt.
I tried to look happy, but my heart sank when I thought that he probably wasn’t thinking of me. It hurt, and I tired to shake the pain off, but it stuck and stayed there, and wasn’t planning on going away. I had to choke back my hot tears that I felt forming in my eyes. I couldn’t cry. I was a cheerleader, I was supposed to be bubbly and happy, and act like my life was going great. But my life wasn’t perfect, it was far from it. And just the thought of him not noticing me was practically bringing me to a break down in front of our crowd!
Cold air filled my lungs as I took deep breaths, I watched the game, 20 seconds left. We were not going to win this one.
Smells of popcorn and nachos filled my nose, my stomach growled, I was starving.
Ten seconds left. He fidgeted with his helmet. Seven seconds. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Five. Kicked the ground with his cleat. Two. Nudged the player next to him in the shoulder. One. Clapped his hands for his teammates. Zero. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
It was over. My heart hurt, replaying the last ten seconds over and over again in my head. I stood there, staring at the purple scoreboard, and wondered what would happen next, but nothing really did. He never turned around. Never looked at me with those blue eyes. Never gave me a chance.