There's nothing like the bus ride home after a loss.
The rowdy, rambunctious attitude that the boys carried in with them this afternoon is gone. In it's a place is quiet sobriety that one usually finds in a crowd of mourners or people still petitioning for a Game of Thrones remake. Basically, something is dead.
I opted to change out of my panther suit and shower before leaving. Meaning I'm the last one on the bus and I don't get to pick my seat. When I step on Darnell is sitting next to someone else, looking down at his phone.
I'm not hurt by that obviously. I didn't ask him to save me a seat and he wasn't obligated to. I'm irritated though that I ran from the bathroom and he didn't bother saving me a seat. It's an adrenaline crash realizing that I cared a little more than he did.
Instead, I get into a seat with one of the substitute players. I know his name is Micah but his most recognizable feature are the thick basketball regulation glasses that he wears 24/7. I know his vision is limited but he wears them all the time. I would wager that he wears the same glasses in the shower but I have no way to prove it.
When I plop onto the seat next to him he doesn't even register me.
He's focused on the graphic novel that he's reading on his tablet and so I don't have to bother with greetings. I place my tote bag onto the floor next to his and I notice they're similar. Both Adidas.
The bus is quiet save for the coaching staff who are either strategizing for next week's game or cutting their losses and giving up on our team entirely. I can't tell.
According to this season's statistics thus far the Irvine Panthers have lost one game and tied another. If we lose another game we'll be dropped from the championship altogether. A stark shift from my hopeful predictions at the beginning of this semester. All because my actions put one of our best players on the bench. But from what I've learned in the past few weeks about Xavier, I hope he never plays again.
In Irvine High's history, we've only ever won one state championship. Class of 86'. Immortalized in black and white photographs all over the trophy case. Which, and you won't be surprised to hear this, is very lacking in the basketball department. The way things were going I guess we wouldn't win another in my time as a student here. That was more than a little depressing for me to internalize.
When I look again to see what Micah had been so laser-focused on I do a double-take and as I realize why.
"You're reading One Piece?" I say with a gasp.
"Uhh, are you a fan?" He asks turning away from his tablet for the first time in the thirty minutes we've been on the road.
"Only the biggest," I reply.
In the anime community, One Piece is a cultural phenomenon. Forget Attack on Titan, that's child's play.
One Piece has been running since 1999, way before I was born and they're still chugging out episodes every week.
No one can pinpoint why it's so good. The animation style, the characters, and their development, the boss level upgrades it keeps receiving. I don't know. It's an entire topic of debate on my Tumblr fandom thread. One no one is close to winning.
Meeting someone else who knows about it is a pretty big deal.
But Micah's reading the manga and manga and light novel readers are notorious for spoilers. Any and all interactions from this point onwards must be hedged carefully.
"Wait, how far along are you?" He asks.
"Episode 902." I say on a whim. If he thinks I'm ahead of him, he'll have nothing to spoil.
Another thing about One Piece? It's nearly clocked one thousand episodes. It takes extreme motivation for anyone to read or watch. I still haven't gotten Anika on board with it and it's not for a lack of trying.
"Damn, I'm in the four hundreds." He says. "I started reading it like three weeks ago and now I can't stop."
"Nice. The four hundreds are where it gets good. I'm starting to doubt your chances in the midterms though."
He laughs, "Nah. Although I did pull an all-nighter last night to get through some of it."
No wonder his passes were way off when he was subbed into the third quarter of the game. A severe lack of sleep. But pointing that out wouldn't make for polite conversation.
I can't believe there was another weeb on the team and I didn't know it. My radar must be all out of whack.
We launch into one of the most fruitless discussions I've ever been a part of. Debating story arcs, romance ships, and problematic characters. It's the nerdiest thing I've done with someone who isn't Anika or my brother in a while. I love it.
But the whole time we talk I can't help but wonder if Darnell looked over at us, even once.
*****
I'm spending my Friday evening on the couch. But not in an ironic, the start of Katy Perry's TGIF music video kind of way. In an, I'll probably die alone with my cats kind of way.
There's a cricket match on the TV right now that's playing muted. Watching the basketball games on ESPN would be far too traumatic for me. I'm in my ratty gray tights and Darnell's hoodie with a bottle of apple cider in hand. Doing a very good impression of what I think it's like to be middle-aged.
If I was a meme I'd read: My disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined.
Not dramatic at all.
And Yes, I wear his hoodie around the house. I'll get around to returning it someday. Just not today or next week.
There's some activity on the screen and I guess someone scores because the crowd starts to cheer. I don't understand how they can score with a game that doesn't have any nets but I throw in a celebratory groan anyway.
From his spot, seated at the kitchen table Timothy looks up at me and shakes his head sadly.
I'm officially, unofficially babysitting. My parents didn't exactly ask me to before they drove down to Nashville to see my paternal grandmother. It's just another health scare but they want to be cautious. Things are still very awkward between us and anything they do need from me they ask through Timothy. He's bent over his Nintendo switch when we both know he should be doing homework. But I'm not in the mood or position to judge anyone at the moment.
"Hey, Hazel?" He calls.
"Yeah."
"Can I use your phone? I need to take a picture of my high score."
I nod, "It's in my sports bag, on my bed."
He leaves the room and I continue to glare at the TV. The team from South Africa didn't come to play around. Or at least I think they didn't. I'm no longer sure who's in the lead.
When he returns he's holding my tote bag in one hand and something else in the other.
"This isn't your phone, Hazel." He says.
For the first time this evening, something has piqued my interest. I turn and face him, "What do you mean?"
Then I see it.
My phone has a sparkly blue phone cover and a crack running across the screen protector like lightning. I know blue glitter is off-brand for me but there was a buy one get one free at Target. What was I supposed to do? Say no to a good deal?
I grab the tote bag and riffle through it. My panther mascot isn't there, my trainers are gone and my emergency period kit is nowhere to be found. All I come up with are two balled-up pairs of dirty socks and a sweaty basketball uniform.
"Shit," I breathe, forgetting my very impressionable ten-year-old brother is within earshot. But now is not the time for sensitivity. "I got the wrong bag."
Timothy scoffs, and leaves the phone on the ground next to me, heading back to the table but not before saying, "This is the plot of at least two terrible movies."
I kneel beside the phone and pick it up. It's new with a shiny screen and a solid black cover.
It's Micah's.
Great. Brilliant. Fantastic.
I try to open it but it's secured with a password and FaceID. My day keeps getting better. I can't call Micah to ask for my phone unless I get into his first. I could wait until Monday or for him to find a way to call me through my phone. But I'm impatient.
Breaking into someone's phone was not how I planned to spend my weekend. But it's a step above the nothing I was going to do anyway.
I head to my room and grab my laptop off my desk and walk back into the living room. Then I plant myself onto the floor. I haven't come this far in life to be stopped by a six-character passcode.
I plug the phone into my laptop and wait until a screen pop-up appears stating that the device cannot be read and the USB has malfunctioned. I open my password generator and cracker and roll my knuckles.
My hacking skills are flimsy at best but with enough work, I'm sure I can get into a phone.
One thing about password generation, it takes forever and a day. With this many possible combinations it can take a while to come up with the figures. It runs up until it's nearly eight O'clock. The cricket match ends and they start going on about the statistics.
I've only ever done this once when Andrea had switched out her passcode way too many times and her phone locked her out. Short of wiping the memory, there was only one other thing I could do. I spent an entire night trying to break through the lock screen. In the end, after searching forums and pouring over old chat rooms, I discovered password generators and I haven't looked back since.
The screen flashes and lists a few possible passwords. Number and character mixes. I try out a few combinations. The most promising is in the format of a birthday and I test it out next. I take a sip of my drinks as my fingers slide over the keys and miraculously, the phone opens. Although I'm responsible for all this, I'm still surprised that it works. If I had known Micah used his birthday as a password I wouldn't have gone to two hours' worth of trouble. A typical Gemini.
Before I can get onto the contact app to call my number I'm bombarded by notifications. So much so that the phone spasms for a few seconds from the overwhelming mass of text messages. From group chats and Instagram DMs to emails and app notifications. Either Micah has a much more active social life than normal or I'm doing something wrong.
The snoop in me can't resist the opportunity to peruse over his social media. I click onto his Snapchat which has the most buzz around it.
Most of the stories are from people I know, people I go to school with, or whose circles overlap with mine. As I scroll I pick up on a trend in the posts. They're all of the same photo albeit with a few modifications.
I splutter out fizzy cider through my nose and mouth when I finally click one of the stories and view it.
It's a photo of me. Except it's not me. It's a photo of Pete the Panther, our team mascot. Bound with duck tape and blindfolded. The photo is taken in bad lighting but I can see enough to know it's at a party.
At first, it's hard to rectify what I'm seeing with what I know to be true. I'm the team mascot and it's definitely not me in this photo. Unless I'm having serious Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde type blackouts, which I know for sure I'm not.
Then it hits me with the force of an eighteen-wheeler. Micah has my tote bag ergo he has my uniform. It's either him or someone else wearing it. And given the fact that he's tied up more tightly than a roast, I'm guessing he isn't there for a good time. I'm made even more uncomfortable by the fact that he's in my uniform. The last thing that suit needed was another person's sweat to add to the lingering odor.
The comments on the photos range from amusing to disrespectful. Stuff like: How they be losing the game and their mascot? and the Corniest team in the league.
The only possible conclusion was that somewhere between getting off the bus at school and walking home to check out the stellar anime recommendations I'd given him, Micah had put on my panther. It was just his luck that the Lizards team was on the prowl and looking to start something. They'd kidnapped him and taken him to a party. Or so I reason.
Last year somebody left the Ravens mascot stripped naked and tied to the school flag pole overnight and made a live stream of it that ran for a few hours before it was taken down. So on a scale of one to ten, that's probably the worst that could happen. I have to admit the Raven's fiasco was pretty funny, and all our team can do now is have a sense of humor about what's going to happen to Micah.
Except this isn't funny.
We already lost an away game to them. Wasn't that enough? Now they've taken it to the next level bringing our mascot into the fight. I'm the mascot. It could have been me in that suit. It's my rep that's on the line right there, my name being besmirched. Anyone who sees it will think so.
Also, Micah's a nice guy. He doesn't deserve the humiliation that's about to befall him.
I close Snapchat and head straight onto Micah's Discord. The basketball team has a group chat there. Usually only used to share plays, practice announcements, and genius NBA moments. As a rule, I never texted on group chats. To me, it was too open. Sending a message to that many people at once. Worse still if no one responded.
But this was an emergency.
I forward the screenshot to the group underscored with four question marks. It's their mascot too, aren't they required to do something about it.
And underneath that I type, shouldn't we do something?
For the next few minutes, I wait for someone to respond. To come up with a plan or something. But nobody does. Either no one cares or no one is online. But fifteen minutes later and still nothing. The worst part is that they don't know it's Micah under the panther. They think it's me and my entire team doesn't want to do anything about it.
They don't even bother to respond to the Discord message. And so in a move, I'd later regret I send them one last message:
Screw you cowards.
No chill whatsoever.
Anika was right, I'm the mascot, a glorified member of the team, occupying a position that should have gone extinct a long time ago. No one cares if I'm alright or not. Maybe they should get a dog instead.
I wipe the drying smear of apple cider off my cheek and stand. I know where the parties are being thrown. Everyone does, the Lizards sent a school-wide e-vite to celebrate our loss. Which seemed a bit premature when they sent it out last night, but I guess things worked out in their favor.
"Timothy, get up," I say resolved to take matters into my own hands. "We're going on a drive."