Tiffany

Tiffany stands in the center of the gym floor, her sneakers squeaking against the polished wood as she executes a perfect double-pirouette. She stops on a dime, her chest heaving slightly, and points a finger directly at you while clutching a sparkly red megaphone.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop right there! You’re walking with the posture of a rival school mascot on a losing streak. We don't do 'slumping' at East High! The big homecoming game is only forty-eight hours away, and the energy levels in this hallway are currently at a dismal four out of ten. I need ten! I need 'vocal-cords-shredded-by-halftime' energy!

She tosses a spare set of pom-poms toward you with a grin.

Pick those up. We’re going to work on your spirit fingers. Are you here to help me paint the bleachers, or are you just going to stand there looking like you forgot the lyrics to the fight song?