The author also says, “If you ever get the opportunity to don a secret identity, make the most of it!”
The Costume
by guest author Blanche Kapustin
When Ginny
reviewed her accomplishments over the past three
years—which she did more often than most college students
brushed their teeth—she felt her legacy to Thompson
University was the cheer squad. Under her tenure, it had
soared from four female cheerleader hobbyists to a fully
committed team of seven men and seven women who practiced
almost daily. And one irritatingly inept mascot.
No matter how spectacularly her cheer squad performed, the
photographers, fans, and alumni focused on Opie the
Octopus. The eight-legged, beat up, lavender and pistachio
contraption just had to make an appearance and the crowd
roared. Her cheerleaders could beg for forty-five minutes
and not hear a peep. Worse, when Opie ran off with the
cheer squad’s poms or bungled their dance routines by
walking through them in his own private game of
dodge-the-cheerleaders, the crowd cheered for him! And they
booed Ginny’s squad for not playing along.
With the thought, “When you can’t beat them, join
them,” Ginny invited
Opie to learn the cheerleading squad’s routines, dance with
their songs, and participate in their stunts. But Justin,
the slacker inside the costume, never returned her calls
and shrugged her off in person.
Getting rid of Justin and introducing a proper mascot would
be the finishing touch on her legacy. Ginny had dressed in
full cheer uniform and stuck her most convincing spirit
smile on her face to talk it over with the athletics
department. She explained why the school mascot should fall
under her jurisdiction as cheer squad captain. She even
posed as various disgruntled alumni to write letters to the
school newspaper denouncing Opie as a disgrace to Thompson
University and hinting a new costume would be bought if
Opie became a solid member of the school spirit team. But
the newspaper editors never printed her letters, and the
athletics department said Justin was in charge of who wore
the mascot costume until he graduated or no longer wanted
to play the Opie role.
One year remained until they both graduated. Ginny was not
that patient.
***
Thousands of students attended Thompson
University: nerds, party animals, future politicians,
future farmers, geeks, Greeks, jocks, elitists, and all the
other usual college stereotypes. Each had their costumes:
the jocks wore letter jackets, the future politicians
sported ties and lapel pins, and the elitists dressed in
the latest styles from Milan. Justin saw them every
day—eating in the cafeteria, sitting in lecture halls,
walking around campus—and he realized their clothes defined
them, told them to behave like the people in their
respective cliques should. Only he was immune. Only he had
the secret identity that allowed him to sit on the gym
floor at basketball games, snatch free popcorn from the
concession stands, and “accidentally” slap campus security
guards. He was Opie the Octopus.
The faded pastel octopus looked ridiculous heaped in a
corner of his room and even sillier actually on him. The
costume had two long legs, one purple and one green, and
two sleeves, also one purple and one green, and the other
four octopus appendages were padded wiring attached inside
the torso so the fake arms moved when the person inside the
costume maneuvered his real ones. The whole thing was
topped by a purple felt head wide enough to fit two human
heads inside. Two large green eyes hid the slits where he
actually looked out of the mask, just a few inches above a
hinged jaw painted with a bright red smile and sporting a
faded pink felt tongue.
Each time he put on the costume, Justin promised himself
he’d wash it after the game. Once a semester or so, he did.
The easiest way was to jump in the shower—in full
costume—and lather up with a strong shampoo. Justin figured
the dandruff kind might even kill bugs hiding in the
costume’s folds. Drying the suit was more difficult. He’d
tried drying it inch by inch with his hair dryer, but the
room quickly smelled like wet burnt dog hair, and he was
worried he’d scorch the costume. The whole ensemble was too
big to fit in a laundry room dryer. And he couldn’t hang it
out his window—that was no way to keep a secret identity.
So, he tossed the dripping costume over the backs of two
chairs, wrung it out as much as possible with some bath
towels, and let it air dry for a few days. If he sprayed
lots of deodorant around the costume, it almost didn’t
stink up the room.
He was careful to keep his door locked and not invite
anyone over while the costume was exposed. He protected the
Opie costume like some students harbored illegal pets. As a
freshman, he had jokingly worn the costume as a favor to a
friend and swore it was the most disgusting thing he’d ever
done and would never do again—but it wasn’t. He loved the
adrenaline rush, the freedom to do anything and not get
chastised.
He’d made a list of the most awesome things he, Justin,
would never do but Opie the Octopus could do: ask out hot
chicks, smuggle beer into basketball games, and more. As
Opie, he was invulnerable. Maybe this year he’d go to all
the sports events, really live it up. He intended senior
year to be his finest of the four school years—and Opie’s
finest in a century.
***
Ginny’s one and only goal for senior year was to convert
Opie, one way or the other.
Ginny went to
Justin’s dorm room the day before classes began. “We need
to talk about working together, cheerleaders and mascot.
Look, I’m just thinking about posterity.”
“Posteriors?”
She ignored his smirk. “Posterity. What’s going to happen
next year, when you’ve graduated? You do plan to graduate,
don’t you?”
Justin shrugged and leaned his thin body against the
doorframe like he didn’t have the strength to stand and
hold his body up himself.
Ginny tried
again. “You need to find a—what do you call a baby octopus?
Someone you can train so he or she can take over next
year.”
“Sounds like too much work. I’ll just let the athletics
department take care of it when they get around to it.”
“Oh, well, yeah,” Ginny tried not to screech. She ground
her molars and faked a less concerned, conversational tone.
“It’s a ton of work. I know because I organize
cheerleading
tryouts each year, and it’s tough. So, the cheerleaders
want to help. We’ll find your substitute.”
“Why?”
“We want to make sure the school gets the best spirit squad
it can possibly have.” She smiled.
Justin arched an eyebrow. “Ever thought that maybe you have
too much school spirit?”
Ginny dropped the smile. “You missed four home football
games this season. You only hit seven men’s basketball
games last year, none of the women’s games. And I don’t
want to hear the crowd asking, ‘Where’s the mascot?’ at
every game. You need
a
substitute. And we
need you to
agree to it.”
Justin stared
across the hall. “Sometimes I don’t feel like going to the
games, okay? I’m not all rah-rah-rah. You know?”
“You and the rest of the school. Look, let’s make a deal,”
Ginny tried a fourth time. “Cheerleaders hold a tryout. You
get to decide the categories—dance, endurance, stunts,
whatever. But the cheerleaders act as judges. So, the
person we pick gets to be your substitute when you can’t go
to a game. And in exchange, the cheerleaders will put Opie
the Octopus at the top of a stunt, just for you.”
Justin grinned. “Nahhh.”
“Think about
it.” Ginny smiled sweetly. “It would be pretty cool, right?
Top of the pyramid, standing on the shoulders of two of us
cheerleaders?”
“That, that would make an awesome photo.” He waved an arm
into his dorm room. Above the dirty floor and cluttered
desk were framed photos of various athletes and public
figures. “There’s a photo contest on the Internet I’d like
to enter. Opie up that high—that could be a
winner.”
“So you’ll do
it? Give permission for the tryouts for a substitute Opie
and join the cheerleaders for one big stunt?”
“Okay, it’s fine if you want to do the tryouts. Just don’t
expect me to help out.”
“I didn’t. And the stunt? Come on, wouldn’t that be the
coolest thing any mascot has ever done?”
Justin tilted his shaggy head, thinking about it, or
perhaps picturing himself as Opie on top of the stunt.
“Nahhh. Too dangerous. I’d fall and break my neck. Then I
couldn’t be Opie anymore.”
Ginny brightened. “Justin, that’s why we practice. We’re
very safety minded—we rehearse each stunt, safety mats on
the ground, spotters to catch you before you hit the mats.
We’re professionals.” She watched Justin twist his lips and
shake his head slightly. “Hey, nobody on my team ever gets
hurt.”
“Yeah, but I’m not really on your team, am
I?”
Ginny’s smile
stiffened. “The school needs an understudy mascot. And I
want you to feel like you’re part of the team. We’ll hoist
you on a pyramid. It’s no big deal—but it’ll look really
cool. Just come to a few practices and you’ll see it’s
perfectly safe. You’re in good hands.”
Justin laughed slightly. “That’s funny, because an octopus
has eight hands.”
Ginny struggled to keep the polite smile on her
face.
***
Justin showed up to the next three practices. Ginny
suggested he try the stunt without the costume. The first
time the cheerleaders built the pyramid for Justin to
mount, he couldn’t stop laughing and wound up breaking the
pyramid apart before he’d climbed past the base level’s
shoulders. After a few more failed attempts, Justin
promised to be back the next day.
“I have never met someone with so little sense of balance,”
whined one cheerleader, rubbing her shoulder, which still
carried the imprint of Justin’s sneaker.
“Balance? What about coordination? He may have eight hands,
but he’s all thumbs,” another girl griped.
“And how come a guy your size weighs three times as much?”
one of the guys asked Ginny.
“We just have to heft him up there one time, at one game,”
Ginny assured the squad, “and then we’re done with him.”
“No, we still have to put up with him for the rest of his
senior year,” replied the girl with the bruised shoulder.
“Think about it. So we find him a substitute Opie. So what?
Justin is such a slacker he won’t remember to call the
substitute and tell him which games to attend or give him
the costume or whatever.”
“This is going to work,” Ginny told her squad, trying not
to grind her teeth. “Have I ever let you down?”
***
Seventy-three students showed up for the tryouts. The
cheerleaders took care of everything—advertising, reserving
the gymnasium, coaching the applicants through what would
and would not be considered acceptable mascot behavior.
Justin sat on a metal folding chair to one side of the
judges’ table and watched the proceedings with a little
surprise at the range of talent.
“Man, I’m glad
I didn’t have to try out,” he remarked to the male
cheerleader next to him. “I never would have had a chance.”
“We know,” the cheerleader said.
Justin didn’t catch the slight. He watched applicant
forty-two trot into the gymnasium. Dressed in the costume,
they all looked alike, but Justin enjoyed guessing which
candidate would be his
substitute. When Ginny turned on the dance music, Opie
trotted across the gym, dancing with all eight legs. He
turned an eight-legged cartwheel, and then popped upright
and waved all eight arms to the imaginary crowd. A few of
the cheerleaders gasped and clapped.
“This is what we’re looking for,” Ginny murmured loudly.
Her peers jotted their scores on their tally sheets and
smiled at each other as contestant forty-two returned to
the locker room to hand off the costume.
“Who was that?” one of the cheerleaders asked, bending over
the judging table so he could see Ginny.
“I think I know, but everyone’s anonymous in costume—at
least till tryouts are over.” Ginny smugly penciled a
smiley face onto applicant forty-two’s score card.
Quickly the others guessed, “Is that your sorority sister?
Is that Susan? Why didn’t she try out to be a cheerleader?”
Pretending to resist the questions, Ginny sighed, “Well, I
don’t know who that was, of course, so I don’t know if
number forty-two was Susan or not. She did cheer in middle
school but was strictly into dance and gymnastics—no
cheer—throughout high school.”
“But why would she want to be the mascot?” pressed the guy
next to Justin.
“We don’t have a dance team. And have you seen the
gymnastics group? Amateur. Very amateur.” Ginny tilted her
chair back and gazed toward Justin. “I think you can leave
now if you want.”
Justin snorted. “Your sorority sister? I thought this was a
real tryout, what a joke. When you said it was all about
school spirit, I believed you.”
Ginny stood and
yelled back, “It is totally about school spirit. Susan has
it—you don’t. In fact, I bet all 73 of these people have
more school spirit in their little pinkies than you’ve had
in your entire four years here. You are a joke. A real
joke. You don’t do anything. Opie the stoner mascot. I’m
glad you don’t go to the games, because now we’re going to
have a real mascot, a professional, a part of the team!”
The gym door squeaked open as contestant number forty-three
made his entrance—waving Opie’s six upper arms
excitedly—but the cheerleaders’ eyes were all on Ginny and
Justin.
“Whatever.” Justin’s chair fell over as he twisted away
from the table and strode toward the
exit.
Ginny watched
with smug satisfaction then raced after him. “Wait! Justin,
wait!”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. Look, I didn’t mean it that way.”
Justin rolled his eyes. “Ginny, I think you’ve got too much
‘school spirit.’”
“Yeah, uh, maybe. Look, no hard feelings. You said we could
have a tryout, and now you’ve got a substitute Opie. Susan,
or whoever gets the highest score, will sub for you anytime
you don’t want to go to a game. It’s win-win, right?”
“Whatever.”
“Please, don’t be like that. We still owe you. You’ll be at
the basketball game this Friday, right?”
“Why?”
“Opie’s going to be the top of the pyramid for the first
timeout. You said it would be a prize photo.”
“Yeah.” Justin softened. “It’d be one awesome photo.”
“Game starts at 7 P.M. You going to make it?”
Justin grinned. “Cool.”
***
“What if Opie the Oblivious doesn’t show
up?” one cheerleader asked.
“He will.” Ginny glanced at the clock—ten minutes till game
time. “And if he doesn’t, replace the stunt with dance
routine number four. Everyone got that?”
One of her teammates pointed. “He’s here!”
Justin ambled through the gymnasium door, a dirty laundry
bag strung over his shoulder. When he saw the cheerleaders,
he nodded and walked toward them. “Hey.”
“Justin, it’s ten minutes till the game starts. Don’t you
think you need to get ready?”
“Wow, already? Oh, okay. When are you building the
pyramid-wall-thing?”
Ginny balled her fists under her poms, restraining herself.
“The first timeout. The first time you hear the little
buzzer sound and the announcer says ‘Timeout,’ go stand in
the middle of the court. We’ll drag out the safety mats and
build the pyramid and signal you then.”
“Awesome.”
“Yeah, ‘awesome.’” Ginny seethed. “Now go-get-ready.” She
spun Justin around and shoved him towards the locker room.
“So, dance routine number four?” one of the cheerleaders
asked hopefully.
Ginny threw her poms at her megaphone, toppling it over.
“No, he’s here. We’re doing this.”
***
The buzzer sounded, the announcer called for the timeout,
and the cheerleaders dragged a set of safety mats onto the
basketball court. A few spectators got up to visit the
concession stands but stayed in place when they saw Opie
the Octopus dart across the court toward the cheerleaders.
Ginny guided Opie to his spot as she lit up her face with a
spirit smile. Then she let one of the male cheerleaders
hoist her to position as one of the top girls in the stunt.
She glanced down to see if Opie would chicken out. He
lifted his six arms out of the way so two cheerleaders
could lift him high enough to step on the second level’s
shoulders.
The audience
gaped and pointed as Opie climbed to the top of the
pyramid. “Climb, climb, climb!” they chanted.
As Opie planted two of his eight feet on the final two
cheerleaders’ shoulders, the crowd screamed with delight.
And then with horror—
as
Opie plummeted down the front of the pyramid, past the
startled cheerleaders’ noses, and onto the bouncy mats.
“Dismount!” Ginny ordered over the cacophony. The
cheerleaders leapt safely to the floor in a synchronized
flurry of green and purple.
Several rushed to their mascot, who lay unmoving on the
mats. One real arm and two more costumed arms stirred
slightly. EMTs raced onto the court and broke through the
ring of cheerleaders. “You okay?” “What hurts?” They
searched for the costume’s zippers. “How do you get this
off?”
“I don’t know,” a cheerleader panicked. “The zipper’s on
the back!”
“We can’t roll him over to find it—into the stretcher,
now!”
“Here, the mask comes off like this.” Thin hands plucked
Opie’s mask out of the fray. Ginny followed the arms and
the voice to a short student bending into the mess with a
camera dangling around his neck—Justin!
“Ju—what are you doing here?” Ginny screeched with a sick
turning in her stomach. She looked back to see the EMTs
wheeling away the stretcher. “Who was that?”
“I can’t believe it! It was just like I warned you.” Justin
rushed past the cheerleaders to accompany the EMTs. Ginny
ran to keep up. They followed the EMTs to the health room,
off the main locker room. Opie’s costume lay limp and empty
in a corner. A petite brunette in purple and green shorts
and T-shirt sat crying on an examining table.
Tears swelled in Ginny’s eyes as she gasped, “Oh, Susan,
what were you doing in the costume?”
“Are you okay?” Justin asked, then he addressed the EMTs,
“Is she okay?”
Susan cried and cried as the EMTs bandaged her ankles.
“Little lady here sprained both ankles. That was some
stupid stunt, putting a mascot up at the top of a jumble of
people. Didn’t you practice? Didn’t you figure it’s not
safe in a costume?”
Ginny hugged Susan. “I’m so sorry. We’ll find a way to make
it up to you.”
Susan pushed Ginny off. “I can’t even walk.”
“Just for a month or two,” an EMT said. “After that, you
can walk and do some light exercise. Of course, you won’t
be running around in that mascot costume till January at
the earliest.”
“But that’s all of football and basketball seasons!” Susan
burst into tears.
Ginny turned on Justin. “This is all your fault. Why
weren’t you in the costume?”
“Hey, Ginny, you sound like you almost wanted it to be me
who got hurt,” Justin countered.
“No! Of course
not! Don’t say that! I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. But
you were supposed to be in the costume, not Susan!”
“I was getting my prize photo. See?” Justin held up the
camera. “Opie at the top of the pyramid. That’s all I
wanted.” He switched on the viewfinder and pressed the
buttons with his index finger. “See? Prize photo—no, that
one’s blurry. There. That one.” Justin stared at the photo
on the two-inch screen. Ginny and an EMT stepped closer to
look.
The EMT backed up and took another look at Ginny. “What in
blazes would make you do that?” he gasped, his eyes fixed
on the cheer captain.
Justin enlarged the photo and saw Ginny’s hand pushing Opie
the Octopus’s purple leg off her shoulder. He gaped at the
cheer captain and realized he wasn’t the only student
wearing a mask. His thread-bare octopus costume was nothing
compared to the smiles-and-school-spirit costume Ginny wore
to hide a self-centered, evil interior.
Copyright 2007 by Blanche Kapustin