Cheerleaders Don't Cry

28

Albert Cooper

Gossip has a nasty way of burrowing into your head, elevating its volume until its the only thing you can think about, the only thing you can hear. One whisper in the corner of a classroom morphs into a thousand voices echoing versions of the same story.

Marcy had asked me to spread a rumor - turns out I didn't have to. By 3 pm of the day she was expelled, there were already multiple different stories circulating, colliding with each other to form brighter, uglier details. Everybody knew the principal reason. All you had to do was see the tarp draped over the statue in front of the school. But where was the fun in that? It was much more exciting to add your own interpretations anyway.

"Sure she vandalized the statue, but did you hear that she slept with a teacher?"

"She was going to leave before graduation anyway, since she's pregnant."

"Yeah, we were changing before cheer practice and she was totally starting to show."

"That's not what I heard - I thought she was caught smoking pot in the bathrooms?"

"Seriously though, how stupid do you have to be to vandalize the same thing twice?"

Gossip never stays focused on a single subject for too long, and the rumors died down within the week. The smears they left behind weren't the kindest. The athletic display case had been broken into, Marcy's face on the cheer team photo marked with a thick red X. Somebody had scribbled "thanks for fucking my boyfriend" on her locker in giant letters. The janitor that I'd spoken to said that the lockers were getting repainted over the summer and that they'd fix it then.

Another week passed. The scrawlings were still on her locker and her team photo.

I skipped my second hour one day to pay a visit to one of the janitor's closets. They kept the keys to all of the display cases hanging on hooks on the wall, unprotected. Clorox wipes and vigorous scrubbing removed the marker from the glass over the team photo. It turns out that five months of janitorial community service were somewhat beneficial after all.

The only paint that I could find in the closet was one can of half-empty bright yellow spray paint. It would poorly contrast against the burnt orange color of the lockers, but it'd cover up the note. The lockers were getting repainted anyway.

The can of spray paint was old and therefore defective. It would spray for a second and a half before it had to be shook and hit against something for it to spray again. It was the middle of the hour and the hallway was completely empty. I wasn't afraid of getting caught - if a teacher questioned me, I'd just say that I was covering up 'foul language'. I was halfway through painting her locker when somebody said my name.

"Cooper?"

I turned around. She'd snuck up on me somehow, her pink sneakers soundless against the linoleum tiles. She looked at me, the can of spray paint in my hand, the half-painted locker. Half of the note bled through the paint - "ucking my boyfriend".

"Hey Amber," I said, shaking the spray paint and kneeling to hit it against the floor. At first I'd hit it against the locker, but the sound had been too loud and a little too similar to the sound of a gunshot, which I wasn't entirely comfortable with.

Amber crossed her arms and took a step closer, peering over my shoulder as I stood up and attempted to paint over the note. "That's nice of you to do that."

The spray paint sputtered, shooting out two splotches of bright yellow before quitting - "ing my boyfriend". If only this girl hadn't written in such large letters. The note covered practically the entire surface of the locker door.