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It’s hard not to feel like he’s fighting a losing battle, some days.
He could reiterate his concerns over and over— and he did! To the vice principal, to his friends and to the student body at large. Mostly, he was met with blank, slightly bemused stares. As though people were thinking, ‘who is this kid, and why is he yelling so much?’ It’s not like it’s his fault no one at this school is as impassioned as he is or shares the same sense of spirit. Frankly, he feels he should get a little more credit.
“I just don’t really think anyone’s taking this seriously,” he bemoans, poking at a questionable glob of mashed… something on his cafeteria tray.
Scary, who is the least forgiving of these particular tirades, rolls her head on her neck so viciously Normal’s afraid it’ll fall off, “I mean, can you blame them, Norm? Most people aren’t used to having to make conversation with…” her words fall away, and she gestures lazily to where he sits.
“With what?” Normal prompts.
“This,” she tries, clearly frustrated, “this whole…”
“You mean Teeny?” Normal asks, reaching for the engorged mascot head currently sitting on his shoulders. His voice is so loud, so incredulous, that it echoes around the small, hollow space within the head. “Scary, this is the whole point. I wouldn’t have to resort to extremes if everyone else could chip in a little bit more!”
“No offence, man,” Scary sighs, returning her attention to where she is repainting her nails a very similar shade of black to the one she is currently wearing, “but I don’t think funding a mascot protection program is all that high on Tony Pepperoni’s list of priorities.”
“And that’s the problem,” Normal practically bursts, standing with such a clatter that Link, at his side, startles slightly. “No one at this school seems to give a darn that Chaparral is, frankly, kicking our butts! They’re beating us in all the league sport, they’re still above us in terms of GPA averages. If we let them take our mascot, we might as well give up!”
Scary gives him a dead-eyed look that strongly suggests she very much wouldn’t mind giving up.
“Buddy, it’s really cool that you care a lot,” Link begins, and Normal sighs as he takes a seat, “but maybe you should stop worrying about Chaparral so much. Y’know, comparing yourself to other people— or, or schools, I guess— is never a good way to think about things. Just, maybe, focus on being the best you can be, instead of better than them.”
“But we are better than them!” Normal exclaims, and this time it’s loud enough that it draws gazes from across the cafeteria. Link tries to hide his face from the oncoming stares. “Look,” Normal says, returning his voice to a more reasonable volume, “I appreciate you guys trying to understand, but I think this is like… a mascot thing, y’know? Like, I am Teeny the Teen, he’s a part of me, so it’s natural that I’ll feel more protective of him than the average student, right?”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” Scary mutters, keeping her gaze fixed on her nails.
“Do what you gotta do, Normal,” Taylor says, across from him. His mouth is nearly completely full and so it takes Normal a minute to comprehend what he actually said. He swallows, then, “a man should never apologise for having a passion. Like, when my mom said I couldn’t keep charging my body pillows to her credit card, it’s like— you can’t hide this light under a bushel, you know? I have a flame inside me, and that flame is gonna burn no matter what,” Taylor gestures to Normal with his fork, “I see that flame in you, man. But, instead of anime girls it’s for… Teeny, or whatever.”
Normal furrows his brow, “yeah, yeah. That was… very insightful, Taylor, thank you.”
Taylor bows his head, wisely, before focusing intently on shovelling more food into his mouth and flicking through the pages of the open manga next to him.
Link sighs, “anyways, Normal. It’d be great if you could… not… do anything too crazy at the game today. It’s my first game on Varsity, and I know it’s Chaparral but, Scary and I could really use the focus.”
Scary rolls her eyes, “speak for yourself, Link. It’s whatever. The Chaparral soccer team is bullshit anyway; half their team are like, fifteen years old.”
“That’s only one year younger than you,” Link replies, perplexed.
“Yeah but I have this insane emotional maturity, Link, duh,” Scary scoffs. Before adding, “I’m like, a million years older than them, mentally.”
“Oh,” Link says, still sounding confused, “right, yeah.”
Normal huffs a laugh, “you don’t need to worry about me, man. I’ll be where I always am, cheering you on,” he punches Link lightly on the shoulder. Link flinches. Lunch as usual.
The problem with going up against Chaparral in any respects, aside from the obvious of it being Chaparral, is undoubtedly him.
It takes next to no time for Normal to spot him across the field, half in his usual Chaparral tiger garb, but with the head of the mascot resting on the opposing bleachers. He’s polishing his glasses, looking innocently about as though he’s the kind of guy to ever just polish his glasses without ulterior motives. Normal clenches his fist.
He is not going to lose to Hermie Unworthy. Again.
Talking about being taken seriously; it seems like Hermie the Unworthy, Chaparral High’s mascot and Normal’s sworn enemy, is the only other person in the world who understands the levity of school spirit. Of mascotry. Mascotdom? Normal shakes himself out of it, he’s not going to let Hermie get into his head this early in the game.
Link takes a place next to him, tying his soccer cleats. “Oh man, you found Hermie already?” He comments, sounding slightly dismayed. “Normal, please don’t do anything, okay? I just… I need you to be regular old, perky, peppy, chipper, cheery Teeny the Teen out there. Please?”
“Yeah, I’ll be normal,” Normal practically growls, “I’ll be so normal. Normal’s my middle name.”
He feels Link’s concerned eyes on him as he places a tentative hand on Normal’s shoulder, “Normal’s your first name, bud. And I don’t think that was as reassuring as you think it was.”
Normal barely hears him, however, brushing off the contact as he says, “hang on a second. I have to do something.”
Link probably protests, but Normal is already half-way across the pitch before he realises that. He passes where Chaparral are warming up on the field, sending an unnoticed dirty look their way as he marches on. He only notices, then, that Hermie has retreated to under the bleachers. How in-character, Normal thinks, vindictively, already plotting something malevolent.
Normal isn’t sure when Hermie takes notice of him. Knowing Hermie, he probably saw him approaching a long while ago, and still feigns surprise. His mascot head is still off, against one of the beams of the bleachers. Normal wonders, if he made a grab for it, could he outrun Hermie? Could he steal it right out from under him, now? He’s still rolling the thought over in his mind when Hermie speaks, “ah, hello, Normal,” his voice, still just slightly nasally, is as practised and precise as the last time Normal heard it. “What are you doing here, in my neck of the woods?”
Normal huffs, “it’s a home game. Technically, you’re in my neck, Hermie.”
Hermie just smiles, pleased. As though Normal has played right into his hands without realising. Normal’s face burns. “And what a… distinct neck it is,” Hermie runs a hand over the supporting beams of the bleachers, taking a step forward, towards Normal. Normal doesn’t miss the way the light, filtering through the seats, catches and shifts over Hermie’s mascot mussed hair. “These bleachers are practically derelict.”
“Then what are you doing under them, Hermie, huh?” Normal demands, “plotting? Scheming?”
“Oh sweet, simple Normal,” Hermie almost laughs, his voice coming out smug and warm and syrupy and Normal can’t quite contain the flare of irritation in his chest. “Maybe I just wanted your attention. You’re so predictable, you know. I slink away, all suspicious, and you come running.”
“Yeah, right,” Normal scoffs. He notes how Hermie continues to move forward, starting to encroach on Normal’s space. Normal refuses to back down, “as if you’re ever that innocent.”
Hermie’s smile widens at that, all Cheshire-cat in its satisfaction. The arch of his brow conveys to Normal the suggestiveness of what he just said, and he feels the heat swarm his cheeks. He thanks god that his Teeny head is currently hiding his face.
“I just wanted to talk,” Hermie shrugs, retreating back by a step, and Normal has to restrain himself from moving forward— to re-close the distance. “Whenever I try and ‘just talk’ during games, it always devolves into the typical… school spirit ranting, which I can appreciate,” Hermie turns away, smile not dropping, “but I have a proposition of sorts. A wager. And I’d like to be able to get my words out before you begin your tirade.”
Normal opens his mouth to dispute that, but Hermie holds up a hand and strangely, Normal feels himself quieten on command. “I want to wager— on the outcome of the match.”
A surprised laugh tears through Normal before he can stop it, “what? Why?”
Hermie shrugs, looking brightly amused, “I don’t know. Fun? To add another layer of personal investment to the outcome; I know it’s not necessary, we’re both plenty invested as is, but also the prospect of having one over on you is, admittedly, very appealing.”
That wipes the smile from Normal’s face.
“What would we even wager?” He asks through gritted teeth, “‘cause, you might be a rich dude, but I have like… sixty-five cents on me right now.”
Hermie’s smile cracks slightly then, and something a little more authentic shines through. Charmed, even. “Not money. Favours. Actions. The loser has to do what the winner says.”
And it would be a lie to say Normal didn’t find that just a little appealing. Having Hermie at his mercy in some capacity— this was almost too powerful. He could ask for the Chaparral mascot; or more, he could get Hermie to grant him entry to the Chaparral campus where he could finally pull off that prank he’s been planning for years. And the danger, the threat of the result in which Normal must grant Hermie one request, it adds a sort of thrill. Dancing on a knife edge.
He meets Hermie’s grin with his own. “Okay, Hermie. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Hermie offers a hand for Normal to shake, and Normal hesitates for just a moment before reaching out to take it. Hermie’s grip is not harsh, but it is firm. Warm and solid. A promise. And Normal feels something flicker within his rib cage when Hermie’s smile flips into something more mischievous, “I honestly thought that would take more convincing.”
“Yeah, well, I have faith in my school,” Normal shrugs.
Hermie takes his hand back, but remains steadfast in Normal’s space. They are around the same height, Hermie maybe has half an inch on him at most, but the distinct pleasure in Hermie’s eyes makes Normal feel as though he’s being looked down on. “You really didn’t consider the repercussions? What if I asked for your precious Teeny?” Hermie taps lightly on the mascot head. Normal feels something of a thrill, that they had both considered the same thing.
“You won’t win,” Normal says, easily, “it’s as simple as that.”
Hermie hums, circling Normal. The tiger mascot costume becomes fitting, because in that moment he reminds Normal starkly of a large cat, stalking its prey. “And if I asked for something bigger?”
Normal laughs, goes to say bigger than Teeny? As though such a thing exists.
“If I asked you to kiss me, Normal, would be able to deliver?”
Strange how, without touching him, Hermie has managed to knock all the air from Normal’s lungs. Hermie hums, questioningly, grin stretching at Normal’s silence. “You didn’t think it that far through, I expect.”
Normal tries to counter, grasping at words and phrases, but he comes up dry. Because in what world, what universe, should he have expected Hermie to say that? The temperature in his costume skyrockets. He can hear, just vaguely, a whistle summoning both teams to the field.
Hermie, smile still fixed in place, pats Normal on the shoulder. “That’s our cue,” he lilts, his voice sing-songy and tinged with amusement. “May the best team win.”
The game passes Normal by in a blur. Where Hermie, across from him, riles up the visiting crowd, starting chants and cartwheeling, Teeny remains nearly static on the side of the field. Multiple times, the coach gets up to check on him, to investigate this exceedingly un-Normal behaviour. But he just stares straight ahead, straight at Hermie.
Because what the hell?
Why would Hermie say that? Is it another mind game, is he trying to get Normal out of the mascot costume so he can steal it? Or does he just, really, actually, genuinely want to kiss Normal?
Normal shakes his head. Genuine and Hermie Unworthy do not belong in the same thought.
He swims through his headspace, and by the time the final whistle blows, he realises he didn’t remember to pay attention to the score. He looks up to the pitch to see his friends, Scary and Link, dressed in the light blue of their uniforms, grinning and hugging one another; Scary’s face is more open than he’s ever seen it, and Link is practically beaming, waving to where his dads sit in the bleachers.
Oh, so they won.
Normal isn’t sure what, exactly, he feels. Where that glowing pride is usually housed in his chest, there is a mixture of elation and dejection. The only thing he’s certain of is that he does not want to delve into the underlying meaning of that right now.
He cheers for each of the players as they come off, trapping Scary and Link in a hug they pretend to pull away from, but return in kind. And the tired satisfaction on their faces is a reminder of why Normal loves being Teeny. He loves to see this look on his friends and classmates’ faces. He loves being a part of it.
When he notices Hermie the Unworthy approaching him, that warmth is replaced with something, flitting, nervous. A buzz that makes him feel slightly nauseous and more than a little excited.
Hermie’s mascot head is tucked under his arm, his hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat, much like Normal’s own is right now. Despite their loss, Hermie’s smile seems unshakeable, as he fixes his gaze on Normal.
“Seems like it’s your win,” he sighs, “never let it be said I’m not a man of my word. What would you have me do, Normal?”
There’s a whisper of salaciousness to Hermie’s tone that Normal’s not sure if he imagines, but it short circuits something in his brain. He finds himself unable to speak in anything but jarred, nonsensical syllables. He’s aware he sounds ridiculous, and he fully expects Hermie to laugh at him. Instead, however, that smile glows with the same authenticity Normal glimpsed earlier. Sweat-slicked, with his glasses fogged up and his braces catching the light, Normal is certain he’s never seen anyone look as radiant as Hermie does right now.
He leans forward and Normal feels electricity where Hermie places a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll take that as a rain check.”
He’s gone before Normal can entirely process what happened, what Hermie even said. He still feels the lingering warmth of Hermie’s hand through the costume. The static in his gut seems to intensify and Normal realises what’s happening with all the grace of two trains colliding.
Oh. Fuck.