“I can’t believe you’re the one who gets to do this.”

​

The cattiness in her tone is like nails on a chalkboard. I can’t believe how annoying Cassandra is. There are no repercussions for her behavior. Every time she flips her head like a Muppet, she gets the boys to do whatever she says. It’s despicable, really. Manipulation at the highest level. But she’s jealous that I get to do something she can only dream of.

 

“Well, Cassandra, that’s where hard work gets you,” Mrs. Butterhips says from behind Cassandra.

 

They’re standing there watching me. They have no idea that I can hear them, but there really isn’t any soundproofing in a high school gym. Oh, and the whole class is there. But not just the whole class, the entire school is here. So many people showed up, and they’re all holding their phones in the air, ready to catch me falling. I can just picture it now.

​

There they are – the President of the most prestigious school in the country and our governor – welcoming me from behind their podium with enough microphones it’d pick up a fly’s fart. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the President says from beneath his white beard. It’s so long. I can’t even picture whether or not he has a mouth under there. I mean, like, of course, he has a mouth under there, but that thing must be like disgusting. Not to mention how old he is — ancient. This dude should play Gandalf in the next Lord of the Rings films.

​

“Please help me welcome the student who saved all our lives,” he continues.

I wonder how his breath is. Does he even have a staff?

“Ms. Guinevere Isolde Foulkes!”

I hate my name. 

           

I fake a smile and walk out toward the podium. A few steps in and PLOP! I fall face-first on the gym floor, breaking my nose on the court. I feel a breeze against my feet, and I look to see my shoes gone. I push against the wood panels to get up, and they push down like a seesaw. The opposite side pushes up, smacks the governor in the face. He flies backward, landing on the university president and knocking down the stage and podium. I look to the crowd, and all I see are phones recording. 

​

“Ms. Foulkes?” The Governor presses. 

​

I hear my name as I snap back to where I am.

What the Sigma?! 

​

I take a breath, smile, and walk out cautiously. No falling this time. I shake the hand of the governor, the President of the University, and I wave to the audience. They’re cheering. I walk to the podium, and I look at the full bleachers in front of me. There are signs saying, “We love you, GIF!” I like that nickname better, honestly. It's my initials, sure, but no one can agree on how to pronounce them. I don't care either way. 

 

Then, wait — what? Is that a blow-up of my face from last year’s yearbook photo?! Oh great. I can see that in the crowd. I can’t see who’s holding it, but it’s hard not to see my face plastered on cardboard. I’m so embarrassed. But I can’t show it. I must be composed. They’re expecting a hero. They’re expecting someone who knows what they’re doing.

​

They have no idea what really happened that night. But everyone who has ever heard that story they’re all here. News cameras line the outside of the bleachers. The whole world is here just to hear me talk. And I guess that’s why you’re here, too. You probably want to read the story, huh? Guess that’s why you picked up the book. Well, reader, take a deep breath because this story is going to be insane. Might want to pray to whatever deity you worship. You’re going to need it.