Jenna's Cowboy by Sharon Gillenwater

at least knew the names of all the other people in high school. Nate figured Will and Chance had dated almost all of Jenna’s friends at one time or another. They exchanged greetings and visited a bit, catching up on the nutshell version of what each one was currently doing.
    Nate noted that a couple of the single ladies were still adept at flirting, though he was surprised when they gave him as much of their attention as they did Chance and Will. It certainly hadn’t been that way before he left Callahan Crossing. He tried to be friendly—not easy when he was tied in knots— but not give them any reason to think he might be interested in anything more than a casual group conversation.
    When the band began to play, relief that the women’s attention turned to the twirlers’ routine and the cheerleaders’ dance steps swirled with apprehension of what was to come. The first two songs were new ones, but the third was an old standby. Laughing, Jenna and her friends did a few of the more sedate dance moves they’d used to the tune when they were cheerleaders.
    Afterward, everyone joined in rousing renditions of several cheers, the last one ending with a mighty shout to “Cage the Tigers!”
    The school mascot removed the laughing wolf head on her black and gray costume and handed it to a skinny kid who was at least a foot taller than her. Nate wondered if the outfit had been cheaper in a smaller size.
    He glanced at Will. “When did the growling mascot turn into a happy one?”
    “A couple of years ago. The old costume wore out, and since a girl usually wears it, they—whoever that is—decided it would be better to project a cheerful image.”
    “To reflect the expected victories,” added Chance dryly. At Nate’s skeptical expression, he grinned and shrugged. “I’m simply repeating what the cheer advisor told the newspaper. She said it was called the Big Bad Wolf in the catalog. She seemed to think that would mollify some of the irritated cowboys and former members of the Wolf Pack.”
    “Did it help?”
    “Naw. But we’ve gotten used to it. Allie has been such a good mascot that nobody complains anymore. Wait until you see her doing flips and cartwheels in that getup.”
    Allie, the vivacious gymnast-mascot-homecoming-committee-chairman, pulled a white card from a furry pocket. Picking up an electronic megaphone, she announced the award-winning floats from the parade. The freshman class took first prize, the seniors second, and the Spanish Club third.
    She passed the megaphone to the head coach and tugged the wolf’s head back on, her friend snapping it into place. When she and the cheerleaders moved well away from the woodpile, Nate breathed a little easier. He had a few minutes’ reprieve.
    The coach introduced each of the football players. Nate was surprised that no one was wearing his old number this time around. The team captains thanked everyone for coming to the pep rally and promised to give them a good game on Friday night.
    Then the senior football players filed over to the back of a truck and picked up the unlighted torches. They formed a circle around an open barrel nearby that held a small fire. At the captain’s nod, they dipped the torches into the flame, lifting them up in the air when they ignited.
    Nate tried to turn away, but the flickering flames mesmerized him. His mouth went dry. His heart pounded, and his palms grew damp and cold. A shiver swept through him, then another.
    With a yell, the football players jogged to their appointed places surrounding the chicken coop’s pyre. The team captain gave the count. “One, two, three!” Five torches flew through the air in a low toss, landing at integral points at the base of the pile.
    Whoosh!
    The dried wood, much of it soaked with diesel, ignited with a roar.
    The crowd shouted their approval, and the Wolves’ fight song blared in the background. Sparks and embers flew into the air. Smoke billowed upward toward the stars. Crackling.