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Being a cheerleader, you have to have pep. Mine is always fake. The only time I ever have the enthusiasm to cheer on a team and pump up a crowd, was when I wore the uniform. Once the uniform was on, a plastic smile was pasted on my face. I no longer had problems, or the enthusiasm level was so high it would over-ride every other emotion.

But, tonight was going to be harder to fake. Homecoming was normally easy; the only game ruling in second behind our rivalry games, but this year . . . my complicated feelings about Alex would surely bring me down no matter how hard I’d try. Especially since rumor had it he has a date. They’d surely come to this game.

Tonight, screw pasted plastic smiles, I need a cement smile. Something tougher than the tears I’d hold.

I anticipated the moment of sight as I prepared for the game with my team. Sure enough, as we turned to the crowd to do their favorite cheer, there he was with his date.

I didn’t know her, but she was beyond gorgeous; way prettier than me. Lightening blue eyes, soft controllable hair, and the body I longed to have myself. I strived to look like girls like her, but never got there. Figures he got the girl I wanted to be, and he was the guy I wanted to still have, the guy who made me want to be the better half of myself 24/7. They were the sight of perfection on a stage, and I was the fan girl longing for the guy, but routing for the girl because of her idealness to him. I was the little person before royalty.

I found Alex watching me, staring at me, like he’d never dumped me. The same desire in his eyes that said he wanted nothing more than for me to be up there with him. The magnate between us tugged at our chests. Mine became weak and gave out, leaving nothing but a hollow shell, a robot of pep.

I went on and did my job to the team like nothing was wrong. They kept telling me that a guy was staring at me, teasing. Most of them didn’t know I dated Alex, but those who did never cared to remember the face. I’d look back, playing along not wanting to explain.

Some of the freshmen were alittle freaked out by the stares I got. More and more the team started to get creeped out. I wanted to say something to him, but it would only make things harder to cope with.

During half time, I avoided him. I wasn’t about to see his PDA.

The rest of the game, I avoided his presents like it was more than a job but a passion. The team no longer complained. I had no clue if he was even looking anymore. I wasn’t about to check either.

*       *      *

Later that night, I went home crying. I wanted to talk to a friend, but none were around to hear me. My desire for Alex was misunderstood as drama or obsession. Therefore, I hide my aching pain.

I always thought I was drama without trying, and I could see how it could get annoying after a while, but none of my friends ever lost the boy who took the last thing you had left to offer.

I got sick for crying. The thoughts churned my stomach; the crying weakened my strength to hold it down.

It was beyond painful to know the person who cared about you being sick, could care less if you were or not. I was getting sick, and the one person I wanted to care, didn’t.

I thought the pain was endless. There was no light at the end of the tunnel.

I told my family I had a hot dog there and it made my stomach give to point where it hurt enough to cry. They bought it. Like I said. No one cared. Good to know. I will say I hate when my parents get involved; too much mushy, lovey-dovey crap that made me gag.

I laid in bed, unable to do my writing because of the emotions clouding my wondering mind. I had no idea I could feel so bad I would lose my writing drive.

I watched TV, knowing it was only numbing the blow.

I thought the night couldn’t get much worse, but I’m always wrong. And the proof in the reason my phone vibrated. It was a message from Alex’s homecoming date, Megan.