“Are you sure you want to do this?” Andy asked.

Cordelia had just finished her third layer of padding and threw Andy’s spare jersey over her head, trying to fit her arms through the holes. The ends of the sleeves draped past her hands, though she was used to it. It was something of a custom for a cheerleader to wear her boyfriend’s jersey if he played on the football team, but usually it was during in-school hours, not practice. “No, I’m sure I don’t want to do this, Andy. I’m only doing it because I hate you and I don’t want the rest of your friends sharing in the hate that is rightfully mine.”

“Your words cause flowers to melt.”

“Flowers wilt, not melt. Idiot.”

“Is that jersey too big for you?” Andy teased.

“You want to try fitting in it?” Cordelia muttered, digging through Andy’s bag and throwing various articles of clothing on the muddy floor. “Where are your spare shoes?”

“They’re called cleats. And they’re on my feet.”

“And no spare?”

“Babe, these Nikes are all I need to perform wonder on the field.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I take size negative seven and a half. I’ll wear my cheerleading sneakers.” She unzipped the side pocket of her own gym bag. Pulling out a clean pair of sneakers, she plopped down on the bench next to Andy and slid her feet into them.

Andy looked down at his muddy black cleats and then at Cordelia’s spotless white shoes. “Well, maybe the guys won’t notice.”

“I’ll just tell the team I washed them if they ask.”

“Cori, guys don’t wash their sneakers during the football season. It’s tradition.”

“Just like it’s tradition to jump around in the mud before school in your cleats just to get them dirty?”

“Yeah! It starts off the year on the right—”

“Don’t say it.”

“…Foot.”

Cordelia finished tying her sneakers and stood up. “You had to say it, didn’t you?”

“Would you expect anything else out of me?”

“No.” She didn’t even have to think about that.

After strapping on an extra pair of gloves, Cordelia walked over to Andy’s golden locker and lifted his helmet off its majestic pedestal. “What? No holy light? No angelic choir singing?”

“You’re supposed to kiss it.”

Cordelia stared at him. “Kiss the helmet?”

“Kiss the helmet.”

“I’m not kissing the helmet.”

“You have to kiss the helmet.”

Cordelia sighed and moved the helmet closer to her lips, briefly pecking it. “…Does everybody kiss their helmet before practice?”

“No, the tradition is for them all kiss the quarterback’s helmet.”

Cordelia’s lips curled. “Andy… I’m going to pretend I didn’t just kiss a helmet that’s been touched by the lips of every disgusting guy on the football team. And I’m going to pretend it well. Do you see me pretending?”

“You look mad.”

“I’m pretending!”

“Can you go pretend out on the football field?”

“Sure,” Cordelia said, grabbing a roll of duct tape out of Andy’s bag. She peeled off a small, one-inch strip, picked up Andy in her other hand, and then taped him to the ear piece of the helmet before she put it on. Luckily, Andy’s head was quite a deal bigger (before he shrank) than Cordelia, so Andy didn’t feel too smushed between the helmet and Cordelia’s ear, which now loomed before him like a dark tunnel. Still, after she tightened the strap, Andy felt himself pressed right up against the skin of her ear.

“What are you doing!?” he screamed into the waxy tunnel.

“You’re going to pull your weight, however small the number may be. All you have to do is whisper into my ear what I’m supposed to do.”

“But I can hardly see anything! The helmet is too tight.”

Cordelia sighed and began stuffing Andy’s bag and her own gym bag in his giant gold locker. She ignored everything else that was in there. “I’m not getting my cranium bashed around and ending up like the other dimwitted numbnuts on the team.”

“Speaking of numbnuts, you forgot to put on... Well, no, I guess you won’t need it.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

Cordelia kicked the locker shut and started for the locker room door. “This is one of those days I know I’m going to regret.”

“Yeah, you and me both, girl.”