Chapter 23

Tiff watched Candice as the day wore on. Not because she wanted to be creepy or frighten the poor girl, but because Tiff was genuinely interested in what made Candice tick. As loath as Tiff was to admit it, she didn’t have any close friends. She had acquaintances, people she knew by sight and could reliably attach a name to, but nobody she shared her life deeply with. The closest thing she had to that was her family, her sisters. What she was experiencing with Candice these last few weeks wasn’t anything close to the bond she shared with Victoria or Amy…and, honestly, Tiff wasn’t sure that was something she even wanted.

But she found, after being exposed to the bright and bubbly girl, that she wouldn’t mind if it went a little deeper.

Candice seemed adept at navigating social situations in a way Tiff didn’t think was possible. Not that Candice was some sort of maestro in the public scene or a god of rizz, but for Tiff, it was definitely off the table. Talking to people was hard.

Especially when each interaction needed to be tailored to the specific group or clique she was interacting with. Such as….

How she was politely neutral when addressing a teacher.

How she slipped on a veneer of cheerful friendliness but was actually super catty when trading barbs with a perceived rival.

How she blatantly ignored a few idiots who were clearly staring at something other than her face when trying to strike up a conversation.

How, in turn, she poured on the charm when she attempted to flirt with the football players…or one of them, in particular.

The boy was a tall, handsome fellow, Tiff could admit, even if he fell short of the bar set by a certain doctor. His face was too smooth and he lacked the ruggedness that came with the roughness and density of life. Also, Tiff wasn’t a fashion expert by any means, but what was he doing with his hair? He was obviously going for the “bleached tips” look, but it just made him look like he’d gone swimming in a pool with too much chlorine. Or, better yet, with the brown roots of his natural hair, it was like the top of his head was a used Q-tip cotton swab, but upside down.

In Tiff’s considerable opinion, Candice could do better. But who was Tiff to judge? At least his jacket looked cool.

Tiff couldn’t follow Candice everywhere, however. They didn’t share every class, and there were some places Tiff simply didn’t want to go, even if it was socially acceptable. For instance, if she didn’t need to pee, she had no desire to hang out in the restroom. So she turned her mind to other things.

Such as football.

She was really doing this, wasn’t she? Going to a game? Tiff gave Candice her word, so she couldn’t back out now…but what was she supposed to do? Tiff couldn’t even lie; how was she supposed to muster up the energy to care about a sport featuring sweaty dudes slamming into each other? Then again, to a specific subset of people, that was highly appealing.

Thinking of football made Tiff wonder: did athletes get Quests? She assumed so, since they deliberately covered the fact that even Citizens received Quests in IPSS today. But how specialized were they? So far, all of Tiff’s Quests had been highly specific, such as “watch that guy get mugged” or variations thereof. Did a quarterback get a Quest to make a touchdown? Did they fail if they lost the game? Did they gain Fame for scoring points and Infamy if they fumbled? Fandoms could be very opinionated in their chosen field, and Tiff could see a world in which a player who was vilified for making a terrible play could actually grow darker on the Greyscale.

But that was probably just her imagination speaking. Losing a game had nothing to do with morality.

…unless betting was involved. Maybe there was something to this….

​

“You look like you’re plotting something.”

Tiff looked up to see Amy sitting down across from her at lunch. None of her friends were with her, but Candice wasn’t anywhere to be seen either.

“Hm?” Tiff asked. She wasn’t plotting…unless figuring out which bite of her bagel sandwich to save for last so she could savor the taste was plotting. Then she was definitely plotting.

“You’ve got this look on your face that says, ‘yes, yes…good, goooood,’ while petting one of those super fluffy, perpetually grumpy cats. Only, instead of a cat, it’s half a bagel.”

“I’ll have you know there’s also ham and cheese on this bagel,” Tiff declared. “And I don’t have to be plotting anything. I’m just sitting here eating lunch. What are you doing?”

“Plotting,” Amy said with a mischievous grin. “One of us has to.”

“But seriously, Amy, what are you up to? You never join me at lunch.”

“Eh,” Amy shrugged. “I wanted to see what it was like at the evil table.”

“Excuse me?” Tiff spluttered. “There is nothing evil about my table.”

“The fact that this is your table in a crowded cafeteria is kinda evil, Tiff,” Amy smirked. “You’ve even gained a minion recently.”

“I do not have minions,” Tiff denied, nomming grumpily on her bagel. “Candice is a cheerleader.”

“Hey, I’m not saying those are mutually exclusive,” Amy said. “And speaking of which…are you really going to the football game?”

“Yes,” Tiff nodded. “I told Candice I would.”

“Yeesh,” Amy shook her head. “That’s brave of you.”

Tiff glanced up and gave Amy a hairy eyeball.

“Just sayin’. For your first ever game? That’s a doozy. You’re more of a… stay-at-home kind of gal.”

“What’s different about tonight?”

“Tiff, I know you can be a bit oblivious,” Amy said gently, “And that’s because you don’t care about things that don’t interest you. But are you serious right now?”

“You know about my Quirk, Amy,” Tiff sighed. “What’s different about tonight?”

“It’s homecoming, Tiff,” Amy shook her head. “There’s posters and banners and everything. They’ve been talking about it on the morning announcements since school started. It’s going to be packed.”

“Ah,” Tiff felt herself wilt. “I thought they were advertising the dance.”

“Well, there’s that too,” Amy shrugged. “But I’m really certain I’d never see you go to that either. Well, good chat, sis. I’m off to tell the gang you aren’t taking over the school today!”

Amy bounced up and waved behind her as she scooted across the room.

“Amy!” Tiff called after her. “You can’t be-…whatever.”

Tiff gave it 50-50 that Amy was telling the truth…and who-knew-what odds that her friends thought she was joking.

Not that Tiff was planning anything of the sort!

“Ugh,” another voice interrupted Tiff’s peaceful lunch. This time, she knew exactly who it was, because she watched the girl travel toward her from across the cafeteria.

“Tough class?” Tiff asked. Candice merely grunted like a caveman and slammed her fork into some meatloaf.

“What was your last class, anyway?” Tiff asked. Pre-lunch was electives, and she just had Spanish. Not that she was actually learning anything, since their original teacher just went on maternity leave and the new sub was only concerned that the class, as a whole, could say, “Yo quiero Taco Bell.”

“Trigonometry and Calc,” Candice groaned. Tiff paused, the last little chunk of bagel sandwich frozen inches from her mouth. Candice looked up and snorted. “What? Don’t tell me; are you one of those people who doesn’t think cheerleaders can be smart? Like we’re a bunch of airheads that can’t do anything but giggle vapidly?”

Tiff closed her mouth slowly and shook her head.

“No…but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised. I’m barely passing Algebra 2. Isn’t Calculus supposed to be for seniors?”

“Yup,” Candice sighed heavily. “I’m in AP. I’ve been in honors since middle school…my parents made me do it. They said I couldn’t join the cheer team unless I had something to ‘fall back on,’ because they didn’t think I could get a full-ride athletic scholarship, and they want me to go to UCLA. Jokes on them: I’m actually good at math and I’m gonna test into Berkeley for STEM just to spite them.”

“Well…wow,” Tiff said. She was impressed. “Now I know who to beg for help come finals week.”

“Ughhhhh,” Candice groaned. “It’s September, Tiff. Don’t talk about finals now. Or better yet? How about never?”

Now that Tiff could agree to.

​

“I have never seen somebody so psyched up for a football game for all the wrong reasons,” Victoria mused.

She and Amy were both sitting on Tiff’s bed, watching the girl pace back and forth like she was planning to go to war.

“Do I bring binoculars?” Tiff muttered to herself. “Maybe I need to bring binoculars.”

“I don’t think she’s listening,” Amy grinned.

The rest of the day passed in a blur and it was finally time to focus on something drastically important: the upcoming football game. If she didn’t prepare accordingly, there would be dire consequences.

“I don’t need pom-poms,” Tiff muttered. “The cheerleaders use those.”

“Who would have guessed Tiff would have ever taken this so seriously?” Victoria mused. “She even has a cardboard sign.”

Amy flipped over the piece of posterboard resting carefully against the side of Tiff’s desk…and slapped her hand over her face.

While some people might have made a graphic featuring the school’s mascot or have a cheesy one-liner like “D-Fence,” Tiff was not most people. She’d found a picture of the cheerleading team in last year’s yearbook and scanned Candice’s face. She’d then blown it up in all its 3-megapixel glory and printed it at 36×24. She’d actually enlisted her dad’s help to print it in 4 quadrants because they didn’t have a printer that could handle poster size. She was actually quite proud of how it turned out.

Finally, it was time to leave.

Victoria talked Tiff out of bringing a duffel bag full of junk and narrowed it down to the hoodie she currently had slung over her shoulder, the poster, and a bottle of water. Her argument was strong: campus security generally didn’t allow backpacks inside the stadium, let alone overnight bags. Tiff and Victoria didn’t eat dinner, opting to buy food at the game, and said goodbye to Rick and Amy as the two squabbled over a box of frozen chicken.

Setma High might not have been the largest public high school in the area by square footage, but it was the alma mater of a relatively high-profile local Meta, so it received a decent number of grants and yearly donations. As one might expect, much of that money went into the sports programs, and the full-sized stadium was even more obvious.

While it wasn’t anything remotely close to a professional team, it wasn’t a large patch of grass with three-tiered metal seating and white lines painted shakily by some poor dude with a spray can. In fact, it could legitimately be called a “stadium,” since it was fully enclosed, built of brick and mortar, and could seat around 10 thousand. The first time Tiff saw it when she was a freshman, she thought it was ludicrously excessive. Then she learned that places like Texas had school stadiums that could seat 20 thousand, and she stopped caring. Besides…wasn’t everything bigger in Texas?

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Victoria parked them in the structure and Tiff clutched her poster carefully to her chest. She had to admit, she was excited. The guys working security at the entrance gave her a weird look as they inspected her items, but said nothing as they let the sisters in. Tiff flashed her student ID and Victoria got them a pair of nosebleed tickets, but she had a shrewd hunch Tiff didn’t care about actually seeing the game.