Behind the Pictures (Closed for MrAdam)

Lexi Ross shouldered her cheer bag and hesitated before leaving the locker room. Three of the other girls walked past her without a sideways glance. She might as well have been invisible. That kind of behavior might be understandable if it only came from upperclassmen, but all the girls on the squad treated her like she had cooties. This was college. Lexi wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t middle school behavior, that’s for sure.

She hadn’t chosen this university for its cheer-leading prowess. She’d chosen it because it had offered her a full academic scholarship. The fact that it had open tryouts for its sixteen member cheer squad had seemed like the golden opportunity to make new friends. After all, she’d been the co-captain of the six girl squad at her rural high school.

She knew how to cheer. She could tumble, toe touch, and pike with the best of them. What she couldn’t do, apparently, was fit the mold that these other girls thought a cheerleader should be.

“Come on, Megan,” Tessa said. “We have to go check our recruitment status.”

Megan flipped her hair and sighed. “I’m just ready for recruitment to be over. I just want to hurry up and be a Chi. We're both legacies, so this whole rush thing is just for the experience anyway.” She turned her gaze on Lexi and somehow managed to look down her perfectly upturned nose despite the fact that Lexi was three inches taller than she was. “I don’t suppose you’re rushing.”

Lexi shook her head. “No, I…” She stopped talking because the girls were already walking away.

She’d barely been able to scrape together enough money for her cheer supplies and camp fees. There was no way she could afford Greek sorority fees and dues, not to mention the clothes and dresses for all the parties. Besides, she didn’t really see herself as a sorority girl.

She left the locker room alone and wandered over to the campus post office to check her mail. An ad on the bulletin board caught her attention. The headline read, “Seeking local modeling talent.” She’d never seen herself as a model either, but the dollar sign icons around the edges of the green paper were enticing.

Leary of some kind of porn scheme, she inspected the flyer. Supposedly a talent agency would be conducting interviews at a nearby mall in about three weeks. Interested applicants should call to schedule an appointment time and bring a portfolio with a variety of photographs including headshots, body shots, action shots, and detail shots of their hands and feet.

Cheer practices and football games on top of her heavy course load prevented her from getting a part time job. She’d applied several places, but no manager was willing to work around her crazy schedule, and she couldn’t sacrifice too much study time because her scholarship depended on her GPA.

She needed money. Cheer was costing a lot more than she’d expected, and while she wasn’t loving it the way she did in high school, she’d made a commitment for the year and was determined to see it through—whether the other girls on the squad wanted her there or not. Or maybe because they didn’t. She wasn’t a quitter.

While she didn’t consider herself a raving beauty, people had always commented that she was pretty. Several of her parents’ co-workers had even asked if she’d ever considered modeling when they’d seen her senior pictures. She’d assumed they were just being nice, but what if this ad was legit? Maybe she could make a little money this way.

The problem was that she had no portfolio. They were asking for 30 pictures. Her mom had only ordered three different poses from her senior photo shoot in high school because that’s all they could afford. And those pictures were framed and hanging in her parents’ house several hours away. She didn’t have the money to pay a photographer to take pictures, but she wrote the talent agency’s phone number down anyway. Just in case…

Mark slung his grey-green messenger bag over his shoulder as he shut the front door to his brother’s basement. He fetched his bike from the garage and then peddled off briskly towards the stadium where the college team would be doing battle with…. someone or other. Who were they playing tonight? He couldn’t remember. It’s missing details like that, he told himself dryly, that will almost certainly give you away as an outsider. I mean, no-one minded a tourist, but watch how much better you’re treated if you even attempt to speak the language. Wise words from the former Foreign Correspondent in a guest lecture earlier that day, and advice Mark intended to take seriously…. should he ever actually get the chance to go abroad.

So… first note to self… find out who’s playing before you get there, whether they’re any good, and who’s likely to win. Second note to self….. not sure yet. Mark didn’t really know what he was going to do. As a Journalism major, he had to cover all the bases. No, that’s a different sport entirely. Try again. He had to make sure that every meathead got flattened by a different meathead. Or something. Anyway, sports journalism was part of journalism, whatever he thought about it, and not unreasonably there was a class, and as night follows day, so the class came with some assignments.

One good thing was that he had the assignments well in advance, and there was plenty of time. He was counting on a game or two of relative peace before the whole stadium would end up crawling with his classmates. The second good thing was that he had a few options – ‘produce some football journalism’ was a nice broad remit and meant that he didn’t have to write match reports. He’d ruled out trying to interview any of the various vacuous knuckle-draggers or vapid, vain cheerleaders. You can’t do an in-depth feature on those without any depth. Best to leave that to the fanboys.

So then… some pictures. Action shots were…. meh. Artistic action shots were meh-squared. He was thinking of something down and dirty – real – beyond the glamour and the appearances. The… infrastructure. The stadium. The car park. The ticket sellers. The hot dog stands…. or whatever they had here. The spectators. They were more interesting, he thought. The players… well, yeah, he got that. They were playing a sport they were good at, and presumably, enjoyed. The cheerleaders… well, perhaps they could pretend to themselves that there were involved in a sport too, rather than just serving as educated eye candy. Mark liked badminton. He liked running. A bit of swimming, a bit of squash, tennis too, at a stretch. But no-one would watch him, never mind invest any of their hopes and dreams in his success or failure. That would be weird. Wouldn’t it? That’s where the angle might be – that’s where the interest might really be.

He stopped at the intersection to the campus, and took the opportunity to check his pockets again. He had his ‘press pass’ – actually just a version of the standard student ID card, confirming his journalistic credentials, such as they were. In his other pocket, a pack of business cards with his name and cell phone details, the address of his micro-company website, facebook, myspace, twitter, carrier pigeon et cetera et cetera. He used the website to exhibit some of his pictures, and pitch for a bit of casual work taking commemorative pictures of proms, parties, sports events, weddings…. whatever, really. Some testimonials, some samples… all that good stuff. A friend designed the site for him, another looked after his accounts, and a third had advised him on social media… or something. All favours exchanged – services for services, like the old barter economy. Which was handy for those without much cash. But in some ways he preferred it that way. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. You massage mine, I’ll massage yours. Get your dad to sort my tax return for me, and I’ll take all the family pictures you like. Code my website, I’ll get you good graphics for yours. Journalists were supposed to be able to network and wheel and deal, and that was something Mark had always been comfortable with.

Cards present and correct, he cycled slowly through the campus. He stopped some distance away from the stadium, and locked up his bike by one of the halls. Safer there than the stadium itself. He checked the details of the match on his phone before ambling slowly towards the stadium. He stopped to take some pictures on the way of the stadium from a distance, of some people getting there early Of a refreshment kiosk setting up.

All very well, and it would do. It would get him through with a decent grade, and that’s all he really needed. He did have another idea, though…. or rather another set of ideas. Two of his friends were planning pieces on the college side of college football. What was it like being, well, a celebrity of kinds? What were the advantages and disadvantages? How did they juggle everything? What did they want from college? He was thinking of a companion piece – some pictures, perhaps some video – to illustrate all that. To encapsulate the weirdness. Problem was, in his head it was becoming more like art than journalism. Or satire. Or social commentary. Or something.

He’d been warned off that before. The Prof was famous for his “Nowheresville Herald and Tribune” speech. Anytime anyone thought they were going to break the next Watergate, or take the next Tiananmen Square Tank shot, or got too artsy or highbrow, he told them the same thing. You want a living from this, you need the skills to report on traffic accidents and court cases for the Nowheresville Herald and Tribune. Because the chances where, that’s where most of them would end up. If you can’t hack being just a hack, hack off.

But it would be more interesting doing what he wanted. He could spin it, he hoped. If the other two agreed. Problems was, he needed contacts. He’d tried emailing and leaving messages, but…. nothing. Next step might be to see about borrowing kit and getting his friends to stand in. Maybe, but not the same. He should probably file this idea under “nice idea, impractical”, suck it up, and just get on with getting this out the way. Phone this one in, just this once. Good enough would be good enough.

Time for some nice pictures of a near-empty stadium.

Lexi sat on the bleachers alone. In high school, all the cheerleaders had gone to the games together. College was so different. The squad, even though it only had sixteen members, was broken into a few cliques, mostly defined by sorority memberships.

She missed the days of getting to the field early with her friends, stretching and watching the crowd filter in. So far, college was turning out to be kind of lonely. But she didn’t know what to do about that. She had been popular back in her hometown, she’d never wanted for friends. But then, her friends had been the same people since elementary school. In a new environment where she knew no one, making friends was turning out to be harder than she'd expected.

She was friendly and outgoing, and several other students in her classes had been chatty, but they never asked her to hang out. Somehow, the fact that she was a cheerleader seemed to put a stigma on her. People seemed to assume that she had a full social life by association with the squad and collegiate athletics in general. If they only knew.

Sitting here was getting depressing, so she made her way down to the sidelines where the cheerleaders stayed throughout the games. She tossed her bag down and did a few side bends, the wind suit she wore over her red and white uniform rustling with every movement. The whole stretching routine took a while, and when she bounced up from her hamstring stretches, she saw the other cheerleaders walking down the edge of the field to the cheer area. They had already shed their warm up suits, so she did the same, shoving it in her bag.

“You know,” Tessa said. “There’s a locker room for warm ups and changing.”

“I know. I just prefer the fresh air.”

“Whatever. Your ribbon’s untied.” Tessa flounced away and started bouncing, warming up to do some jumps.”

Lexi retied the red bow that covered the ponytail holder secured in her blonde hair and tried not to let Tessa’s hateful attitude get to her. In a little while, the game would start and she could get lost in the atmosphere of excitement—the roaring crowd, the clapping, the cheering, the lights, the whistles, the sizzling adrenaline rush of it all. Plus, she loved the workout—the moving, jumping, dancing. It made her feel alive. And working in rhythm with a team of other cheerleaders was great. Whether they got along with each other off the cheer area or not, when they were performing, they were in perfect unison.

The cheer captain called out, “Ready! Let’s go!” and Lexi jumped into formation.

Mark had no plan as such. He just wandered round and took pictures of what he saw. Perhaps inspiration would strike – maybe now, maybe later when looking over the pictures he had. Perhaps a theme would emerge, or an idea for him to follow up during the next game.

Unusual angles. That was one idea – albeit not a very original one. From the very bottom of the bleachers, looking up at the top of the stand. From the top of the stands out into the parking lot, or out towards the city. From inside the ground to out, shots from above of people arriving and filing in. He decided to get some pictures from the pitch too – the view from the centre spot, the view of the posts from the extra point kicking spot thing, or whatever it was called. Best leave that until after the game, though – the pitch looked a bit too pristine at the moment.

Time for a hot dog while it was still quiet. He wasn’t hungry, but he wanted to talk to the guy selling them, and not making at least a token purchase would be rude. A few shots from his point of view – the ground with the mustard and red sauce in the foreground, and perhaps some half time pictures of him in action. The guy probably thought he was mad, but agreed readily enough provided that he could have some copies. If he wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing, why should this guy? Contact details exchanged, Mark took a few quick pictures and made a note to return later.

He finished his hot dog and casually ambled back down towards the pitch, looking around him for opportunities. On the far side of the stadium, towards the opposite corner, he could make out a cheerleader warming up by herself in her wind suit in front of rows of still-empty benches. He moved closer, as near to opposite as possible, and took a wide angle shot that showed the space around her, the empty seating, the fact that she was alone. She was side on to him, standing on one leg, holding her other foot up behind her by the toe, heel close to her backside in a thigh stretch. He could make out her blonde hair even at this distance. Perhaps she was a substitute or something, or maybe coming back for an injury. Either way, it wasn’t a bad image. By now spectators were starting to stream in, so he moved on to look for more crowd shots.

The game itself, he had to admit, wasn’t bad. This was the first game he’d seen apart from a game early in his first semester, when he only tagged along to be social. Since then, he’d only been back once, last semester. His girlfriend at the time, Crazy Collette, was an exchange student from France who had never seen ‘American’ football before, and so he’d offered to take her. After the first quarter he’d asked her what she thought.
“It’s not as interesting as fucking” she’d replied, firmly. And that had been that – straight back to his place. Mark smiled to himself at the memory. It had been a strange relationship, and she was a strange girl. Passionate, possessive and perpetually horny, he could never work out what was going on in her head. The fact that her English wasn’t perfect didn’t help. Were they in a serious relationship, or were they, as she sometimes said ‘fuck buddies’? Were they exclusive? He still wasn’t sure entirely how they’d got together – she’d just gone for him, really. And that was fine by him – there was no way he was going to turn down a ‘hot French chick’ as she described herself. And, god, was she hot. Hot, wild, passionate and unpredictable in bed (and anywhere else), was wonderful, but it made her very high maintenance. A price he was happy to pay for the semester she was over for, but when her time at the college came to an end, there was one part of him that was looking forward to a quieter life. Not that he regretted it, but exchange or not, it was never a relationship with a future.

This time he stayed for the whole game, and he found himself being drawn in to the drama and tension of the occasion. It was a good game throughout and he defied any sports fan not to get caught up in a tight, tense, close contest – even if it was a sport they didn’t usually care for. The atmosphere of the occasion helped, and he found himself ‘adopted’ by a group of diehard fans whose picture he had taken, who told him far more than he could possibly take in about the game, the rules, the team, the tactics. He had to grudgingly admit to himself that he had enjoyed this far more than he expected, and the fact that the home team had won by a point did make a difference.

He said goodbye to his new friends, exchanging contact details for copies of his pictures, as usual, and went looking for more pictures as the ground started to empty.

Lexi was all pumped up. The clock rolled to zero without the other team being able to complete their play and score. The Cats won their first home game of the season. The football players were whooping and piling on top of one another, and the cheerleaders had spun off in sequence to do cartwheels and handstands down a strip of the sidelines. God, she loved tumbling.

But now it was over. She stood with the other cheerleaders, who were all talking amongst themselves, and picked up her bag. There was an after-game party down by the lake. She’d heard about it and kind of wanted to go, but not by herself.

A couple of the upperclassmen cheerleaders dated guys on the team and they were congratulating their sweaty, dirty boyfriends with kisses and hugs. It seemed they were all going to the party, and several of them drifted away, calling “See you there” over their shoulders. Before long, it was just Lexi, Tessa, and Megan left standing there.

“So, are you two going to the party?” Lexi asked.

“Of course,” Tessa said, rolling her eyes. “The cheerleaders always go to the parties after the games. It’s expected.”

Tessa acted like an authority on everything, but she and Megan were freshmen just like Lexi. Acting like an expert and being an expert were two entirely different things. Lexi took a deep breath. As much as she didn’t want to go to the party with Tessa, she wanted to go alone even less. And the idea of hanging out by herself tonight was beyond horrible. She was way too excited and energized. She needed to be social—to talk to people, to interact, to dance. She wanted to have fun, even if she had to put up with Tessa to do it.

“Of course it’s expected,” Lexi said. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” She hoped she’d succeeded at keeping the sarcasm out of her voice. “Could I ride out there with you guys?”

Tessa sneered and opened her mouth to say something—probably an excuse for why they had no room for Lexi—but Megan cut her off. “Sure. We’re taking my car and there’s plenty of room.”

Thank goodness for quiet Megan. Maybe there was room for a friendship there after all, provided Lexi could ever get past Tessa to get to know her. “Thanks,” Lexi said with a smile.

Megan and Tessa gathered up their bags. “I left a few things in the locker room,” Megan said. “I’m going to run get them and I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

“I’m going with you,” Tessa stayed on Megan’s heels, apparently unwilling to hang out with Lexi for even the short walk out of the stadium.

“Okay, see you in a minute then,” Lexi said. She turned and noticed a tall, lanky guy in a leather jacket standing near the end of the field. He had a camera slung over his shoulder and seemed to be looking right at her.

Mark wandered around taking pictures. He toyed briefly with the idea of shooting the whole cycle of spectator arrival and departure, and then play it back at high speeds. It sounded a bit arty, but it could perhaps top and tail a longer sports report. Voiceover about the background to the game, stats, and team news over a stand filling up at super speed, some match footage, a super speed refreshment queue at half time, some more footage, and then some analysis and perhaps some vox pops with fans during speeded up exit footage. Maybe. It wouldn’t work as a conventional sports report, but perhaps as something aimed at a more general audience, or a focus on a particular game.

The cheerleaders were packing up, and most were already gone. Only three remained, and they seemed deep in conversation. He took a quick picture just before two of them turned away to leave in the direction of the tunnel. The other one turned the other way, towards him, and he took another photo. There was something about her expression in that moment – something a little sad, mournful almost – Mark wasn’t quite sure what it was, or whether he had captured it or not.

As he moved the camera away, he saw that she had noticed him take her picture. He hadn’t had time to ask first, and in any case the kind of cheesecake pose he was likely to get if he asked wasn’t much good to him. The world did not need another picture of a pretty blonde cheerleader smiling a radiant, clichéd smile. He could easily turn away and go, but he felt he should talk to her, to ask retrospective permission. A bit of flattery would probably do the trick.

Mark smiled his most charming smile as he approached, absently running his fingers through his untidy mane of dark hair. He was clean shaven, with blue eyes, and an open, expressive handsome face. He was above average height and of slender build.

“Hi!” he said, offering her his hand, “I’m Mark. I’m a journalism major working on a sports project. I hope you didn’t mind me taking your picture just now – it’s just that there was something about that moment – something about you – that I don’t think I could get again. After the game – after the excitement is done, that kind of thing. Let me show you the picture – I’ll delete it if you don’t like it, I promise. I’m trying to get some pictures that aren’t typical and aren’t boring. You know? To get pictures of something other than the game.” He spoke quickly, as he often did when warming to his topic, but also to try to convince her to agree before she had time to think of an objection.

He started fiddling with his camera, turning it to show her the digital image of the picture he’d just taken.
“That’s good”, he continued, seeing it for the first time, “That’s a good picture. You look thoughtful in that shot… soulful.” He looked up from the camera, seeking her gazes, and smiled again.
“It looks like you’re thinking of the paper you’ve still got to write when you’re done, or something like that. I’ve got one too when I’m done here! I’m not saying you look sad, or that you are sad, but just in that moment… a hint of melancholy, you know? There’s a depth to you, an expressiveness, a quality. I’d really like to use it – if you don’t mind, that is.”

This guy—Mark, he’d said his name was—just kept talking. He seemed a little nervous, but friendly nonetheless. And the picture was good. In fact… It looked like something that might go in a portfolio.

“I don’t mind,” she said, smiling up at him. “I’m Lexi, by the way. You can use the picture. I’d like a copy though—if that’s possible.”

She studied him. A journalism student with a photo project and experience with a camera. Jackpot. “I’m guessing you take a lot of pictures, working for the school paper and everything.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and cranked up the charm. This guy was pretty cute. Surely she could sweet talk him into taking the pictures she needed to make a portfolio. She used her flirty, giggly cheerleader voice and lightly touched his arm. It felt a little fake, but oddly, it almost always worked with guys of any age. She’d been hesitant to use the method at first, but after seeing how well it worked for the other girls on the high school squad, she’d finally relented. And sure enough, a cheerleader could practically get away with murder if she just batted her eyelashes and flirted a little. The whole phenomenon was kind of crazy, but she wasn’t above using it when necessary.

“I need some photos taken of me for a modeling portfolio and you might be just the man I’ve been looking for. Do you think you might be able to help me out?”

"Pleased to meet you, Lexi. And thank you, that's very kind of you. You look great in this shot. Here's my card with my website details - drop me a message and I'll get a copy over to you." He fished out a business card from his jacket pocket marked 'Mark Harris Photography' and passed it to her with a smile. He was pleased - flattered, in a way - that she wanted a copy. He didn't imagine that girls that attractive were ever short of nice pictures of themselves. These days where pretty much everyone had a camera phone, it was always nice to be asked for copies of his pictures.

“I need some photos taken of me for a modeling portfolio and you might be just the man I’ve been looking for. Do you think you might be able to help me out?”

He should have guessed. Taking an interest in him and his pictures, physical contact, a light brush of his arm, head canted to one side, fluttering eyelashes, winning smile. I need... can you help me out? In his experience, that meant... 'I'm hot, and God do I know it. Can I wrap you around my little finger? I'm a cheerleader, you're a regular guy, which means you have to do whatever I want, and be grateful for my attention.' He should have guessed at 'I'm Lexi."

However..... he'd done very little fashion photography before and it would be good experience, and he might get some good pictures from it. It might even be fun. He allowed images of Lexi modelling swimwear or lingerie flit temptingly across his mind's eye. 'Nearly done... just a few more pictures. How about a few more of you lying on your back?' he heard himself saying. However much fun that unlikely eventuality might be, there was no way he was going to be manipulated into doing it for nothing.

"Sure, okay" he answered. He gave her a professional, appraising look up and down. "Yeah, I can imagine you modelling" he said, thoughtfully. "I could help you with a portfolio. Anything in particular that you need, or just the standard portfolio? It shouldn't take me long to price something up for you."

You're a professional, he told himself. You're not a student with a camera, you're a professional. Sort of. Nearly. One day.

Price something up?!? Crap. This wasn’t going the way she’d meant for it to at all.

“Sure. That would be great,” she said with a bright smile. “But, you know, Mark, there’s really no need to be all formal about it.” Time to turn up the charm. She held his gaze while she combed her fingers through her shiny blonde ponytail. Then she giggled and touched his arm again.

“Maybe we could work out a trade or something. Between friends.”

Why wasn’t this working? Maybe he was gay or something. Regardless, he was taking up more of her time than she’d expected. Megan and Tessa would be waiting on her in the parking lot. If they waited. She wouldn’t put it past them to just leave her.

But getting these pictures trumped the party, so if she missed her ride it wouldn’t be the end of the world. This Mark guy was presenting a challenge, and she never backed away from a challenge. If classic cheerleader charm wasn’t cracking him, she’d go for broke and be herself.

“Do you have plans for tonight?” she suddenly asked. “Because if not, you should come with me to the post game party.” She winked and added in a sarcastic voice, “How can you pass this up? Hanging out with me?” She struck an overly model-like pose and did a 180 so he could get the whole picture. “And free beer.” Throwing her hands up in the air, she stopped him before he could say anything. “Okay, I know the beer’s the real draw here, but don’t shatter my ego. Let me think you’re affected by my charm. So… Are you in?”

Mark's sceptical expression melted in an instant, and a broad grin spread across his expressive features. His eyes sparkled as he looked at her with a new respect and a new appreciation. She wasn't the airhead she'd pretended to be - the over-the-top vogue-pose she'd struck and the ironic little twirl was evidence enough of that. Did she realise that in spite of his refusal to droolingly follow her every whim, he would still be 'checking her out' as she turned around?

He briefly considered making some comment to that effect, but it sounded too sleazy. Instead he just smiled, and took her hand and kissed it.
"Lexi, my dear, I don't see how anyone could be unaffected. You are gorgeous. Hawt with a capital H, A, W, and T. Problem is..." he continued, releasing her hand, dropping his voice to a whisper.
"I have bills to pay, and my charm is much less effective than yours."

He thought for a moment. Perhaps they could help each other out. She certainly wasn't stupid, and might be able to help him with his assignment.

"Having said that..." he said, still thinking, "if paying the going rate is really a problem for you, we might be able to sort something out. I do need a favour - I want to recruit some footballers and some cheerleaders for a journalism project. It's a bit different, and it should be good fun to do. It's about the contrast between being a college student and being an athlete. Put in a good word for me and introduce me to a few other people tonight, and let's see what happens. I suppose I could use some fashion shots for my portfolio too, and if you're happy with that, we might be able to put off payment until the modelling earns you enough to comfortably cover the initial portfolio costs. Payment by results, kind of thing."

He seemed to soften, his expression melting into a genuine smile after her invitation. Hunh. Either the beer or the invite must have way more appeal than her cheerleader flirting routine. Some people were immune. It wasn’t a big deal. She was still getting through to him and, hopefully, going to get what she wanted out of this conversation after all. But paranoia settled in the back of her mind.

It must show—the fact that she didn’t fit in with this college squad. People could look at her and tell she didn’t belong with that crowd, that she wasn’t a ‘real’ cheerleader, that she wasn’t accepted by the others. The realization stung. Cheer had been a huge part of her life for almost ten years. Even before that she’d lived and breathed gymnastics. Who was she if she wasn’t a cheerleader? That train of thought was far too depressing to indulge right now.

Mark kissed her hand, told her she was gorgeous, and said, “Problem is, I have bills to pay.”

Damn it. So did she. She nodded and smiled, determined not to show her disappointment. Modeling was a long shot anyway. She’d been grasping at straws with the ad. Tonight, she’d go to the party and have fun. Then, tomorrow, she’d face the cold hard reality of her financial and cheerleading and academic situation and make some hard decisions.

Who was she kidding? She already knew what she had to do. Quitting cheer was the only option. She just hadn’t realized how much extra money it would take to be a college cheerleader. Money she didn’t have, and her parents didn’t have it either. She’d known she couldn’t cheer forever, but she’d hoped for four more years. It wasn’t going to happen though. If she quit, she could get a part time job waiting tables in the evenings and still have time to study and keep her GPA high enough to maintain her scholarship. It was that or risk losing her scholarship, which meant throwing her whole college education away.

Her smile faltered and she felt tears threaten as all these unwanted thoughts flooded her mind. She focused on her bag, rummaging for her cell phone, and swallowed the lump in her throat. She was not going to fall apart in front of this guy. How pathetic would that be?

Three texts from Megan, all wanting to know if she was still coming.

She flipped her ponytail back and looked at Mark again, ready to tell him that it was okay if he couldn’t take the pictures and that he was still welcome to come to the party but she needed to get going.

"Having said that..." he said, his brow furrowed, "If paying the going rate is really a problem for you, we might be able to sort something out.”

This guy was full of surprises. He wanted her to introduce him to some people who could help him with a project and then she could pay him later. It sounded too good to be true. And the portfolio pictures she needed for the initial agency appointment were just for interview purposes. There was no guarantee that she’d ever earn a penny from modeling, especially enough to cover a photo shoot. She opened her mouth to tell him that payment by results was only a good deal if there were results, but hesitated. Why give him another reason to turn her down? This was the chance she’d wanted to get the portfolio. If he was willing to wait to get paid, then she could wait to figure out where she’d get the money.

“It’s a deal,” she said. “I was going to ride with a couple of other girls to the party. Do you want to carpool with them? Or do you want to drive yourself? Or… I can drive us in my car if you prefer.”

She almost hadn’t made the last offer. Her car was old, and not in a trendy, classic antique way either. It was gas-guzzling clunker old. She made a conscious effort to be seen in it as little as possible around campus because it screamed backwoods-hick-country girl instead of cheerleader. But she couldn’t let Mark get away. And if he didn’t want to ride with Tessa and Megan, then she needed alternatives. Letting him see her car was way better than him deciding not to come to the party because he didn’t like the transportation options.

Mark shrugged. "I'd offer to drive, but I've only got my push bike with me, and it's been a few years since I carried anyone on the handlebars. It's up to you really - I'm happy to carpool, or we can take your car if you prefer."

He detached the lens from the camera, slipping both back into their respective cases and into the messenger bag, falling into step beside Lexi as they headed out of the stadium.

"Before we go, though" he said, lowering his voice and slowing the pace a little, "This modelling portfolio.... should I mention that if anyone asks, or not? Do the others know you're looking to break into that field..... I don't want to say the wrong thing. Speaking of which - and please don't think I'm hitting on you, because I'm not - I need to ask if you've got a boyfriend. Or, more to the point, a boyfriend who's a linebacker with a jealous streak who's going to beat me to a pulp for taking pictures of you. 'Cos if you have, I'd like danger money, please."

Mark grinned, canting his head to the right a little, as was his habit.

"I mean, if he's fine with it - or if she's fine with it, of course - " he said, hastily, "...whatever - then that's no problem, but I'd like to be sure. I've had problems with this before. I was taking some publicity shots for a play last year, and the boyfriend of one of the actors didn't like it at all. Thing is, she was very... photogenic..... very photogenic indeed. And she was playing one of the lead roles, and so the director and the theatre people wanted some good pictures of her for PR purposes. I think her boyfriend was just looking for an excuse to start an argument, but I don't much like being the pretext, you know? I'm an artist - and us artists have very delicate temperaments." He grinned again. "Especially when it comes to threats of physical violence. No doubt I could have got some good shots had he stuck the camera where he threatened to, but there are some sacrifices I'm not prepared to make, even for my art."

“We can ride with Megan then,” Lexi said. She was so relieved. She really didn’t have the gas money to drive, even though the lake wasn’t very far. She quickly sent a text letting the other cheerleader know she was on her way to the parking lot with a friend. “And even if you want to leave before she does, there will be tons of people heading back to campus.”

"This modeling portfolio.... should I mention that if anyone asks, or not? Do the others know you're looking to break into that field..... I don't want to say the wrong thing. Speaking of which - and please don't think I'm hitting on you, because I'm not - I need to ask if you've got a boyfriend. Or, more to the point, a boyfriend who's a linebacker with a jealous streak who's going to beat me to a pulp for taking pictures of you. 'Cos if you have, I'd like danger money, please."

“Ummm…no, actually. Let’s not mention it.” The less the other girls knew about this the better. She didn’t want to show up at the mall and see all the other cheerleaders waiting for appointments too. Plus, she didn’t want to give them any ammunition to use to shun her. They found plenty of that on their own without her offering it up for them.

“And I get that you’re not hitting on me.” She fought the urge to roll her eyes. He’d made it pretty clear that even though he thought she was pretty, he wasn’t interested.

“And there’s no need for danger money.” Mark really was cute, with that crooked grin and those blue eyes… It was a shame he was so adamant about not being interested. But, she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. She was looking for a photographer. Hadn’t she just been trying to figure out how she would have enough time to study as it was? Adding a relationship to the mix would only make things harder.

"I mean, if he's fine with it - or if she's fine with it, of course - " he said, hastily, "...whatever - then that's no problem, but I'd like to be sure.

What the hell? Her eyes widened. She? He thought she was a lesbian? Not that there was anything wrong with that, but why would he think that? She self consciously ran her fingers through her ponytail while he went on about something, she wasn’t even sure what. She’d flirted with him and he’d been immune. Had he dismissed the flirting as fake because he thought she was into girls?

“There are some sacrifices I'm not prepared to make, even for my art."

She stopped a few rows from Megan’s car and blinked at him. “I’m single. There’s no boyfriend waiting to beat you up. And if I had a significant other, it would be a guy—I’m just saying.” She started weaving between cars, assuming he was following.

Well done, genius, he told himself. You've offended her now. Trying to be all cosmopolitan and bohemian. Idiot. He thought about making some joke about having seen some films about cheerleaders, which had plenty of.... but decided swiftly against it. He'd only make himself look boorish, and he might offend her further. You have to know someone well before making a joke like that.

He trailed behind her, trying to find the right tone. Not quite apologetic, but a bit more conciliatory than merely explanatory.
"Lexi" he said, to her back, "Just so we're clear. I didn't mean anything by that, and I didn't mean to offend you. Most of the time it's okay to assume a girl would have or not have a boyfriend, and vice versa - that's probably what most people do. But among some of my friends, in some of the circles I move in.... they don't assume, and that's considered more polite. My last girlfriend was bi, and I guess.... it's a habit of speech that I've picked up. I'm not implying anything. "

If you're in a hole.... or think you might be in a hole.... stop digging, he told himself. There was something about the way she said she was single... he wasn't quite sure what it was, but she wasn't keen to be joking about hypothetical boyfriends either. Had she just had a bad breakup? Perhaps she was at the wrong corner of a triangle. None of his business.

"So... " he smiled, changing the subject, "I'll keep quiet about the modelling. How do we know each other, and why am I here? Just a friend of a friend introducing me to some people for my assignment, or should we say something else?"

Now she felt foolish. Apparently her rural country roots were showing. She wasn’t in backwoods farming country anymore. This was college. On the outskirts of a big city. People were more open minded here than where she’d grown up. It was a nice change, but she just wasn’t used to it. She made a mental note not to assume anything about anyone’s sexuality. God, this was confusing. How was she ever going to fit in here?

Behind her, he was still talking. Just ahead, Megan and Tessa waited in the car, looking none too pleased about having been delayed.

“How do we know each other, and why am I here? Just a friend of a friend introducing me to some people for my assignment, or should we say something else?"

Before opening the door to the backseat, she turned to Mark and said in a low voice, “I don’t want to lie to anybody or invent any fictional friends. We know each other because we just met on the sidelines and started talking. I thought I could help you out with your assignment and the party’s a good place to meet people. I should warn you, these two girls are bitches.”

With that, she opened the door and faked a cheerful tone. “I’m so sorry you two had to wait. But we’re here now!”

They got into the car and Megan pulled out the second their doors closed. They were still trying to buckle their seat belts as she whipped through the parking lot, cutting off another car and leaving an angry honking driver in her wake.

“Megan, Tessa, this is Mark. Mark, Megan and Tessa.”

The two girls muttered a less than enthusiastic greeting and Tessa turned around and glared at Lexi. She glanced at Mark, then back to Lexi and rolled her eyes. With a shake of her head, she turned back around, dismissing them both. Obviously in Tessa’s book, Mark didn’t measure up as being worthy to attend the party with cheerleaders. But then again, according to Tessa, neither did Lexi.

Lexi flashed Mark a big fake grin and mouthed, “Told you.”

The twenty minute drive was destined to be silent and awkward.

"Whoa! Steady there!" exclaimed Mark, as the car jerked forward. He sighed an inward sigh of relief as his seatbelt clicked into its holster, just as a car horn sounded. He tried to keep his tone light and friendly, and make a joke of it, and did his best to hide his irritation. The driver who Megan had just cut up fixed his glare and distinctly unfriendly gesture on him. Oh, I see, he thought. I'm the only guy in the car, therefore it's my fault even though I'm in the back seat.

Introductions made, Mark said hello, and thanked Megan for the lift. He was starting on some platitudes about the game, just to make conversation, when Tessa turned round and glared at Lexi. She glanced in his direction and then rolled her eyes at Lexi, dismissing them both with a toss of her head.
"... I guess you get enough football talk, huh?" he cut himself short, feeling his face redden slightly. He nodded almost imperceptibly to Lexi in response to her mouthed comment.

Hang on one minute, Mark thought. Cotton picking or otherwise. You do not get to make me feel like that. None of you. This ain't high school, girlie, he thought. You can think what you like, but frankly, the only differences between you and me is that I've got the courtesy to keep my disdain for you hidden, and that you did something to deserve mine. Part of him wanted to call her on it. What her problem was, exactly.

But he knew he wouldn't. What was the point? He would almost certainly wreck any chance of getting any of the others to work with him on his project. And in any case, Megan didn't have to give him a ride. A degree of civility was always due from the guest, even in someone else's car. Also, he wasn't sure exactly where Lexi fitted in to all this. Clearly her taste had been judged inadequate, but he didn't want to add to her apparent crimes by being confrontational.

Instead, he just shrugged, stretched, and sunk back in the luxury of the leather car seats with an exaggerated sigh of contentment. He leant back, his fingers knitting together behind his head as he pushed himself into the upholstery.
"Hey Meg!" he called, deliberately over familiar and slightly too loudly "How about some music? I bet you got a kick-ass sound system in this baby!"
He winked at Lexi, a contented grin on his face as he relaxed and sat back, as if oblivious to any slight.

Sometimes the best 'fuck you' was the one that was barely perceptible.

She had to hand it to Mark for not letting Meg and Tessa’s attitudes intimidate him. Megan even turned on the radio. Probably more to drown out any further comments that might come from the back seat than to appease her guest’s request, but it made the time pass faster no matter the reason.

When the car finally came to a sudden, body jerking halt in a gravel lot by the bonfire area, Lexi fought the urge to leap out and kiss the ground. She’d never ridden with Megan before, and she made a mental note to avoid doing so ever again. Megan and Tessa got out of the car without a word and Lexi had to call after them to make sure it was okay with Megan for her to leave her gym bag. She didn’t have pockets on her uniform, and she didn’t want to leave her keys and wallet keychain in the car just in case she caught a ride back to campus with somebody else.

“Ummm, Mark?” she asked with a smile as she met him in front of the car. “I hate to ask this, but do you have room in your pocket for these?” She held out her cell phone and the keys with several assorted charms and attachments hooked to the ring, including a miniature pom pom and a small square wallet. “Please? I know I’ll loose them if I lay them down somewhere.”

She kept having to ask him for favors, and she hated that. Especially since he wasn't easily inclined to give them. She wasn't a mooch, not normally, but he had to think she was. It was scary to spend too much time imagining how he was sizing her up. She'd much rather think about dancing by the bonfire and having a drink. Her life was so stressful all of a sudden, she wanted to relax and have fun without worrying about money or the other cheerleaders or all the homework she had. Just for tonight.

"I'll owe you," she said, taking his hand and pressing the bulky key chain into his palm. "I already owe you, I know." She started walking backward towards the party, pulling him with her and giving him her best pleading gaze. "But I'll owe you more. Please?"

Mark was very grateful indeed for his seatbelt as Megan stepped far too hard on the brake and he jerked forward. He decided to keep his views on parking to himself, and just muttered something under his breath. It was a very nice - very expensive - car, but he doubted it would be anywhere near so nice after a year of this treatment. Just because you can afford it, doesn't mean you should drive it, he thought to himself. Especially if you clearly can't control it.

He slowly climbed out of the car and closed the door behind him.
"Thanks for the ride, Meg! Catch you both later!" he called after her - again, a little more loudly than was strictly necessary. He was neither surprised nor bothered when neither Megan nor Tessa responded, nor gave any indication of having heard him. Mark smiled a little smile to himself.

Mark was more than happy to look after Lexi's stuff for her, and had been on the verge of offering when he saw her take her stuff from her kitbag. The only reason he hadn't was because they had only just met, and it might seem presumptuous of him to expect her to trust him with her wallet, her keys, and her phone.

He had no problem agreeing to her request, but there was something odd about the manner of it. It was hardly a big favour she was asking of him. One that required little of him, but which would be of great benefit to her, and would allow her to enjoy the party without having to worry about getting locked out. An idea for a picture flitted across his mind, as it often did. Lexi, balancing her valuables in one hand, fruitlessly searching for a pocket in her uniform on the other. An allegory for impracticality, perhaps. But he decided that this was not the time to pursue it.

Sure, it was good manners to phrase it as asking a favour, but it was almost like Lexi was pleading with him. For an instant, pressing her keys into his hand, gazing up at him, and leading him towards the party, she seemed small.... scared... lost..... desperate almost. The impression left as quickly as it came. She was perfectly composed, and didn't look sad, but....

Mark looked puzzled. His brow creased a little, he canted his head and half-smiled.
"Lexi, it's fine," he said, a note of bemusement in his voice. "It's not a problem, honestly. I'd be happy to look after your stuff for you."
He took the keys that she was pressing into his right hand, giving her hand a subtle squeeze with his left as he gathered them into both hands. Subtle enough to be taken as accidental, or taken as a deliberate act of reassurance.

Mark opened his messenger bag.
"I've got some space in here somewhere." He moved a couple of things around, and slipped the keys inside. He held the bag open for her to put her phone inside.
"Don't worry about me losing the bag - this has the tools of my trade in, and I'm going nowhere without it!"

Had the incident, the snub - or whatever it was - in the car shaken her up? He'd always thought that cheerleaders were a fairly tight-knit bunch - the ultimate clique - but apparently not. He wouldn't have been entirely surprised if she had also all-but-ditched him the moment she was in the car with her friends, or at least once it became clear that he was not on the approved list. But no, she wasn't distancing herself from him, and her last request..... her last request almost seemed to assume that he wouldn't help her out, rather than that he would. Was he reading too much into this, or was this a complete reversal of what he'd seen earlier, when she'd obviously thought that flirting would get him to do whatever she asked. And if so, what did that mean? If anything. He regarded her curiously, but not unkindly.

She really didn’t understand this guy. He seemed to have no problem keeping up with her stuff for her, and he even squeezed her hand when he took it. But he wasn’t flirting with her and obviously wasn’t interested in her beyond this photos for intros deal. Most guys she knew hated having to hold their girlfriend’s stuff, especially if it looked girly in any way. And hers did—the pompom just wasn’t masculine. They might do it for a girlfriend, but they wouldn't like it. They probably wouldn't do it for a stranger--not unless they were really trying to impress the girl. And Mark didn't seem to be trying to impress her. He seemed like he was just... nice. And secure in who he was. Where did guys like that come from?

“Thanks,” she said with a crooked smile.

He was looking at her strangely, like he was trying to figure her out. Maybe she was just as foreign to him as he was to her. She shifted on her feet awkwardly, not sure what else to say.

“Ummm… I guess we’d better get to the party.” Music and loud laughter filtered through the trees, clearly indicating which way to go to find the crowd. She led the way. “Give me an idea of who you want me to introduce you to. We’d better take care of that first, before some of them get too drunk to remember you tomorrow.”

Mark grinned, and followed Lexi towards the party. A beer would go down very well right now. He didn't drink much - partly because it wasn't cheap, and partly out of habit - usually if there was lots of alcohol around it was because he was working. Also, getting blind drunk had started to lose its appeal once he was legally allowed to. But with a victory to celebrate, he would probably be in a minority.

"Heh, that's a good point. Tell you what, let me tell you what I'm thinking and you can tell me who might be receptive. I'd like to shoot a couple of short films with some cheerleaders. I've got two thoughts - one would be to get three or four of you together in a trendy cafe - Nico's, or somewhere like that. I'd ask you to sit in a booth wearing your uniforms. The shot starts from the other side of the cafe, and we can see that you're having an animated discussion, but we can't hear it. We presume it's boys, or shoes, or handbags or something - because that's all you talk about, right?" He smiled ironically.
"But when the camera tracks in, the conversation you're actually having is about a particular class. It doesn't matter what, but it's a highbrow conversation about on your subject. It will probably need to be scripted if you don't all take the same classes, but the idea is to make it clear that you're college students too. I'd like to include a few shots that reinforce the assumptions at the start - a cheescake shot of long tanned legs under the table, of one of you laughing at something with the classic head toss, that kind of thing. But that's all icing on the cake - and only if people feel comfortable with it. My second idea for cheerleaders is more straightforward. Could you write a cheer for a molecule, a compound or an element or something? There are some display models of compounds in one of the science blocks, and I'm sure I can get permission to film something in front of one of them. "

"For the football players..... you know the huddle they do before each play, where one of them shouts something at the others? I'm thinking something like that, except barking a mathematical formula instead, and then rushing off into an exam hall, all pumped up. Also, filming a fake class where the front two rows are football players in full gear. I'm thinking that in most squads there's a locker room joker - the extrovert who loves being interviewed. That's who I need for this, I think. As for cheerleaders, well, I can think of one I do want, and two I don't!"

"I'm hoping all these will be a lot of fun to do. I'm thinking they should be quite funny, as well as making a point. One would be able being both an athlete and a student, and the other is about assumptions. Because you're pretty, therefore you're an airhead. Because you can throw a football, or stomp someone into the ground, you must be an idiot. Now I don't think you lot are anywhere near the most stereotyped or discriminated against minority around here, but it's still interesting. I'd like to submit the clips as part of my project, and post them on youtube as part of my wider portfolio and web presence. And, as always, if anyone wants their own copy, or a couple of snaps taking, that's fine with me."

Mark wasn't sure that he'd have bothered trying to explain his project to Lexi on first meeting her - most likely there would be little point. But he always liked talking about his work, and found himself doing so again.

Lexi scanned the crowd at the party while Mark described his idea—which was actually pretty neat. “You know…” she said when he was finished. “You should make sure the school admin and PR departments see these when you’re done. I remember seeing the ads for the university on tv when I was in high school. I’m sure you’ve seen them too, either on the website or television. They haven’t changed at all in the last several years, and they kind of suck. What you’re working on sounds sort of like what I’ve seen on ads for the bigger schools with top 30 NCAA athletic teams and stuff. Sort of, but not quite—yours has a twist. Maybe the university could be your first big client. I don’t think I’d post them on youtube for everybody to see for free until you’d checked into that. Just an idea.”

She smiled at him and shrugged. “Okay, now for introductions. The practical joker on the football team is Bull.” She pointed to a massive 6’6 lineman over by the bonfire. He was currently bench pressing his cheerleader girlfriend. “He’s okay, but…” She hesitated. For some reason, Bull teased her mercilessly, and Lexi couldn’t tell how that sat with Pam. Pam had never said anything, but that last thing Lexi needed was for another cheerleader to have a jealous vendetta against her. “He’d definitely need a script for anything that involves science or math. He’s not exactly studious. Trevor and Jace are over there too though, and they’re both honor students. Come on, let’s start with them.”

Grabbing his hand, she wove through the people with Mark in tow. Several people called out friendly greetings to her. Even more cast questioning glances from her to the guy she was pulling behind her, but she didn’t stop to talk or explain. Word would get around soon enough.

She’d intentionally started with the football players. Bull’s girlfriend Pam was best friends with Christie, the cheer captain. Lexi wasn’t confident enough in her relationship with the upperclassmen cheerleaders to approach Christie about this outright, but if Bull got excited about it, Pam would too—as long as she didn’t get the impression Lexi was after Bull. Lexi was hoping for a chain reaction of excitement, leading to Christie’s approval of Mark’s project. Then he could get as many cheerleaders as he needed. He wouldn’t have to worry about getting stuck with Megan or Tessa either, because they were freshman, and Christie would expect the upperclassmen to get the honor of being in the pictures.

Bull had set Pam down by the time she and Mark reached them. “Hey guys,” she said cheerily. “I want you to meet--” She stopped mid-sentence and squealed when Bull snatched her up, held her up in the air, and turned her upside down.

“Hey, Half-Pint,” Bull said, shaking her a little. “How ya doing?” He laughed at her as she grabbed at the hem of her uniform top to keep it from slipping. She had on a sports bra, but didn’t want to lose her top. Her skirt was already flipped up, exposing the tight fitting cheer bottoms that covered her panties. She couldn’t hang on to the top and the skirt at the same time.

Several of the other football players were whooping and laughing now, and she forced a grin despite the fact that this was humiliating. It would be worse if they knew how much she hated being man-handled like this. She heard a few whistles and comments like, “Little-Bit’s got some pretty nice legs for them to be so short.”

“Come on, Bull,” she said softly. “Put me down.”

Somebody in the crowd yelled, “Tickle her! Then she’ll let go of the shirt.”

She shook her head at Bull, still trying to act like this was no big deal, but her smile was more of a grimace now. “Put me down, Bull,” she said again, more firmly.

“Ahhh…you’re no fun,” he whined as he spun her upright and plopped her on her feet.

She adjusted her uniform and tried to get her bearings. “I’m fun,” she insisted. “I’m just not a huge fan of surprises like that. Listen, I really do want you to meet somebody.” She turned and sought Mark out, gesturing for him to step up beside her.

Mark frowned thoughtfully.
"You know - that's not a bad idea. I doubt I'd be able to get much money out of them even if they did want to use them, but it would be great for the resume if they did. As they're paying my tuition it wouldn't be so bad for me to offer them something back. That's a really good idea, Lex - I'll see if I can get to talk to someone once I've got something to show them. Thanks!"

Mark smiled, impressed. Smart kid, he thought to himself. And certainly not just a pretty face.
"But let's keep that idea to ourselves for now. I don't want people starting negotiating appearance fees just yet!"

He glanced up at Bull, an absolute mountain of a man, as he was returning his girlfriend to terra firma and marking the occasion with a kiss. Lexi started to make introductions when Bull stepped forward and scooped Lexi up as if she weighed nothing at all. Instinctively, Mark stepped back. The guy seemed friendly enough, but you could never really tell with football types.

All at once he remembered why he didn't like football players, as Bull dangled Lexi upside down. A bit of horseplay and high spirits was one thing, but in Mark's eyes this was quite another. He had no idea how well Bull and Lexi knew each other, but he couldn't imagine any circumstances under which it was okay to grab a girl, hold her upside down, and effectively make her choose which part of her uniform to hold in place. And which parts of her body to expose to the leering, cheering jackals. One of which wanted to take things even further.

In that moment, he hated them. He felt his fists clench impotently. He could tell, even though he had only just met Lexi, that she was not enjoying this treatment. She wasn't laughing. She wasn't yelping the kind of half-protest, half-pleasure yelps of an exhibitionist. What gave this Bull character the right to treat her like that, and what gave the others the right to urge him on? He knew why. The same reason that football players in high school would scare off anyone who wanted to date a cheerleader, or even who showed any interest. Because they regarded the cheerleaders as their own personal property - their own team hareem. They cheered them on during the game, and so must therefore be subservient to them in all things. Because that's what they were entitled to, wasn't it? The great conquering heroes.

Mark felt sickened. For them, High School had never ended. The last thing he felt like doing was doing anything.... anything at all..... that showed this crowd of brutish neanderthals and smug, superior bitches in anything like a good light. He was tempted to drop his current plans and go and help Rick and Jo with their polemical piece about the dubious practices that went on to get these idiots through high school and into college, and then keep them from flunking.

It wasn't just them that sickened him. It was his reaction, too. He should say something. Do something. Stop this. He felt a strong urge to protect Lexi. She wasn't his girlfriend, wasn't his date, wasn't even anything more than a brief acquaintance. This was her world, not his. But he felt a responsibility. He was older. He was an outsider. He could say something. But he didn't. And he was staring too.... at her bare legs, at her shapely ass. He couldn't help it - she was gorgeous and he was only human. There was some animal, primal part of his mind that was enjoying this too. He was no better than them. No, he was. He was better than this. If this didn't stop in the next few seconds, he was going to intervene. He was going to say something. Really.

Fortunately his resolution was never put to the test, as Bull set her down at the second time of asking, and chided her for not being fun. A charge which Lexi felt the need to defend herself against. As if she should have to explain why she didn't want to be exhibited for general entertainment. But she shrugged it off quickly enough, and then was straight back to trying to introduce him.

Mark couldn't mask his disapproval of what had just happened, but introduced himself anyway, and quickly outlined his ideas. If you want to be a journalist, the Prof had said, you won't have the luxury of holding your nose. In any case, with his stupid grin and massive frame was probably a moron rather than a bastard. It was an important distinction. The guy probably knew no better, because he had been told no better and didn't have the wit to work it out for himself. A more assertive girlfriend might have put him straight about doing that to another girl right in front of her, but the other cheerleader didn't seem the type to complain, or didn't seem to mind.

Mark emphasised how much fun it would be to rush around campus in full football gear, especially charging into an empty exam hall. He didn't bother trying to explain the subtleties or the purpose of any of it - just the change to run around and cause a little bit of mayhem. As a lineman, he wouldn't have to learn any line or anything like that. It would be up to the "quarterback" to remember the formula.

Mark knew how to sell an idea, that was for sure. And Lexi was thankful that he didn’t need her help. She listened until Mark had Bull, Pam, Jace, and Trevor hanging on his every word. Several other players had stepped closer to listen too. He had it under control, so she slipped away in search of a drink.

She didn’t have to look hard. Several kegs were set up on the tailgates of pick up trucks and open coolers were scattered everywhere. She picked through a couple of the latter until she found a bottle of Grape Smirnoff. She used her skirt as a shield for her hand and twisted the top off.

“They wouldn’t tease you so much if you weren’t such a priss,” a voice said from behind her.

Lexi turned to face Christie, the cheer captain. She took a long swig of Smirnoff to avoid answering.

“It all started at the kick off party when you freaked out about the body shots. You can’t be oversensitive about stuff. It makes you a target.”

The kick-off body shots incident was the last thing Lexi wanted to discuss. It was an initiation thing—so they’d said. All the new cheerleaders had to lay down on the table in their swimsuits and let the players line up shot glasses down their stomachs. Then the guys leaned in and picked the glasses up with their mouths and downed the shots.

So Megan and Tessa and Lexi had taken turns getting on the table. Lexi was last—not the prime spot, because several of the guys determined to play were too drunk to get the glasses without spilling. Bryan, one of the senior players she barely knew, had spilled a shot of Cuervo across her stomach. And then he’d tried to lick it up.

Lexi had pushed him away, rolled off the table and grabbed a towel. As far as she was concerned, that was way beyond an initiation requirement. Bryan was miffed, but Bull had glared at him until he calmed down and staggered off. Since then, she’d heard an assortment of names used in conjunction with hers. Prude. Virgin (which wasn’t true). Priss. Goody-two-shoes.

“Look,” Christie continued. “I’m not trying to be mean. I know you’re having a hard time clicking with the other girls, so I’m trying to help you. It’ll be much easier to fit in if you lose the holier-than-thou attitude. It won’t kill you to loosen up and take a joke. The guys don’t mean anything by it, and they aren’t going to stop kidding around. It’s just who they are. So laugh it off next time, okay?” She didn’t wait for Lexi’s reply. Instead, she rummaged in the cooler for a drink and left Lexi standing there alone.

So… The whole football team and her cheer captain thought she was a prude. And Mark thought she was a lesbian. Damn it. What kind of vibes did she give off to people? She never had these problems in high school. And while there had been parties with beer and alcohol, everybody had kept their clothes on. And their tongues to themselves—unless there was a clear invitation otherwise. But then, maybe laying on the table in the first place had been an invitation. Until the kick off party, Lexi had never done body shots. She’d only seen them on tv. She wasn’t too keen on the idea of ever doing them again.

The adrenaline high she’d been floating on from cheering at the game had started to deflate when Bull launched her in the air. With Christie’s words it had completely flattened, and suddenly she wasn’t in the mood to be social. She found a couple more Smirnoffs and wandered over to a tree near the edge of the clearing. She sat beneath it to drink and wait for Mark to finish his discussion. She hadn’t eaten much today, nothing since lunch, and she was small. By the time she drank these, she’d definitely be buzzed enough to rejoin the party. That, or she'd have to get Mark to go back to campus with her so she could crash. Right now, she just wanted to stop thinking about everything.

Mark sipped on a beer that had been passed to him - surely a sign of at least partial acceptance. He was pleasantly surprised by how well this was going. He wasn't one of them - and there was no point pretending, but he could be very persuasive, especially when he worked out what motivates people. Probably, he thought to himself, he underestimated the appeal of simply being on film - being asked to be involved. As a journalism major he had plenty of practice at presenting news reports, both in the studio and in the field. Most of it was just for coursework or practice, but he was well used to it, and perhaps for him the novelty had gone.

But not for them. They all seemed like extroverts - except Pam, of course, who barely spoke. Trevor and Jayce bickered good naturedly about who ought to be the quarterback, what formula they ought to use, and whether it was better to have one that people might recognise, or one that sounded complicated. Being filmed seemed like fun, especially to Bull who wanted to charge round campus, but also to have a film to show his family. Pam seemed keen enough - if Bull was going to be involved, that seemed good enough for her. Jayce had an interesting idea about getting the cheerleaders to talk intellectual in the worst valley-girl accents they could imagine, but Trevor objected that some of them already did. Katie, one of the cheerleaders, playfully objected on behalf of all her team mates, which led to some to a bit of mock-wrestling and playfighting between the two. It was a fairly obvious pretext for some physical contact.
"Get a room!" shouted someone. Mark was in little doubt that they would, given time, and some more alcohol.

Mark sensed that the film conversation had run its course, and quickly swapped contact details with Jayce and Pam, and agreed a possible time for the filming. He was going to ask them all to meet up at a certain time, and then do his best to make it a fun afternoon and get what he needed. What his friend Scott called the 'tipping point' of the evening was fast approaching, if they weren't already past it. Scott didn't drink, and he said that every party or gathering had a moment where all intelligent conversation had ceased, and that was the point he went home. Mark heard the music being turned up louder, and a group of players who had been discussing the game were no longer doing so. Talking time was over - dancing and drinking time had started.

Mark had noticed that Lexi had slipped away. He'd intended to see if he could use her to get Pam talking a bit more, only to find that she had gone. He wasn't quite sure when. But - she'd done what she said she would, and it wasn't unreasonable to leave him to it - especially as she'd heard most of it before. Either that, or she hadn't wanted to hang around Bull. He wanted to make sure that she was okay, not least because he still felt guilty about not saying anything. Also, he needed to thank her again before he left, as well as arrange a time with her if she wanted to be involved in the filming. He'd been talking to the others as if she would, but - no, he was pretty sure she would. It wasn't technically part of the deal, but it would go better if she was there. And now he owed her - they needed to talk about the photoshoot or at least make arrangements if they could get some privacy to do so. And, he remembered with a start, her keys were in his bag.

He excused himself from the group under the pretext of getting another beer, and went to look for Lexi.

Mark was walking toward her, but she didn’t think he’d spotted her sitting under the tree. When he was within earshot, she let out a catcall whistle. When he stopped and looked around, she dissolved in a fit of giggles, giving her location away.

“So,” she said as he moved to stand beside her small pyramid of three empty Smirnoff bottles. “Did you get all the details for your project worked out? It looked like they were pretty eager to sign up to help.”

She grabbed his hand and pulled herself up, but she didn’t let go once she was standing. Instead she laced her fingers with his. “Now that the business part of the evening is over, we can have fun. Come on.” She started backing towards the bonfire, dragging him along with her. “The party’s just getting started and I wanna dance.” Lifting their linked hands up over her head she shimmied her hips and giggled some more. “And you,” she stabbed his chest with the index finger on her free hand, “are the only guy here I’d want for a partner.”