Our enchanting tale starts in a cool and drizzly October night. It was homecoming week in my senior year. I had a special part in that particular homecoming weekend.

There I was. It was a Friday night. In Texas, it was a holiday. We had new life. Our team had a new coach. That year, we were “the little team that could.” The team went from nothing to something. Eventually, halftime came. At this time, I was down on the field with the others for the introduction of the homecoming court when I heard that familiar boisterous voice:

“Ladies and gentlemen!”

See, our football team might have a newfound voice, but our band always brings the noise.

“The Majorettes…”

They were majestic in their movements. Gorgeous in their grandeur.

“The Starlettes…”

They stood out from the crowd. And for good reason. They were real women. They were full figured. They carried the school colors. They had a certain personality to them and proud of it.

But some, in particular, they were like sirens. Like aggressive nymphs, they would seduce you with their dance moves and beckon you. They would tease to ask come to them. Their bodies slowed down, then sped up to the drum beat’s cadence. Their bodies popped. Their bodies rolled. I stared at them longingly. The drumbeat was like my heart. The horns were like the song that was in it. Lust filled me. All of a sudden it stopped, as they posed and my eyes fixated onto one person in the front.

“…and the Enchanting… Wings Dance Team… Your Mighty Eagle Band!”

I was on the 25-yard line with Kendra Jackson, a cheerleader, who read all my expressions. I had a certain disdain for her. We were representing the National Honor Society. I was king. She was my queen. (I didn’t vote for her… Something about her rubbed me the wrong way)

“Who are you staring at? Don’t think I don’t know about you and Jasmine. And Denise too?”

I cursed, and sighed. High school, where drama gets pounced on.

“Kendra, who told you?” I said as calmly as possible.

“I don’t remember. The real question is why can’t you keep it in your pants?” She said. I sighed again.

“What do you know about the story? Or stories that you heard?”

She looked at me blankly.

“Exactly. You know the synopsis. The summary. I will tell you the story next week in class,” I said.

“Very well.”

“Representing the National Honor Society, Kendra Jackson and Chad Dupree!”

We waved politely as cheers rang out.