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Tyrone Wicawiil 1.

“Did you stretch?” I nod my head at my brother with an indulgent smile.

“I did, Lyn.”

“Good. Good. Did you go potty?”

“Yes!” I answer with a chuckle.

“Where’s your water?”

I pat my little pouch where the water bladder sits in my mascot costume. “I got it right here, buddy.”

“Good. Good.” His dark eyes, so much like my own, drop down the length of my body, covered in light brown fake fur. Today is the first game of the season and I am amped to get it started. Love football season, beginning to end, even though I can’t play anymore. Being the school mascot is all the fun without the constant pressure of being a player for a Big10 team. Don’t get me wrong, if I thought I could physically handle playing, I’d be on that field in a different kind of uniform in a heartbeat, but I’ve accepted my fate…and looking at my brother, watching his eyes still light up after so many years, I can’t even be mad about it. We’re alive. We’re healthy. And we’ve got the support of theuniversity behind us…except for Coach Heacock. And frankly, that man can go fuck himself.

Speaking of which, the little cockroach strides past us, looking down his nose at us both. With a smirk, I tip an imaginary hat at him as he passes.

“COACH!” Lyndell calls out after the head coach. My body stiffens as Coach slowly turns around.

“Yes, Lyndell?” He’s usually polite to my brother. I think that’s one line he knows he can’t cross. Lyndell Wicawiil is the heart of the university’s football program. My brother is beloved by all, from faculty, to players, to coaches, to the janitorial staff. It’s difficult to be in Lyn’s presence for more than a few minutes and not fall victim to his sweet innocence and enthusiasm.

“Don’t forget to poop before the game, Coach.” I drop my head, my body shaking with silent laughter.

“Thank you, Lyndell.”

“Don’t wanna run off field with the turtle head poking out again!”

“Jesus!” I can’t keep silent any longer, uproarious laughter escaping as I lean against the wall of the hallway.

“Tyrone,” Coach’s tone is chilling, but it doesn’t bother me anymore…or at least not as much as it used to. “Don’t you have some dancing and such to do? I guess if you can’t play football like a real man on the turf, you might as well prance around like a fucking fairy on it.”

I continue to laugh, his barbs not landing as sharply as they used to. “Yeah? And how do you get to that turf, Coach? Better make sure that golf cart is all charged up. Wouldn’t want you to have to walk the 50 feet on your own.”

Coach huffs, his face a mottled red as he turns away and stomps off.

Lyn watches him go with a sad shake of his head. “He poops a lot.” I rear back at the unnecessary observation by my brother. He meets my eyes with a shrug, “He should be less full of crap.”

I’m still laughing after I walk him to the laundry room in the athletic complex. He’s the towel boy for the team and takes his job very seriously. While he and the rest of the staff get everything ready, it’s my time to shine. I don the head of the costume inside the tunnel to the field.

I wait for the signal, then run out, motioning for the crowd to get up and make some noise. Exaggerated movements, high energy, a few acrobatics. It’s hot as fuck in this costume despite the air flow inside, but I love what I do. I’m team-adjacent without the pressure and invasive nature of Heacock’s coaching style, a term I use loosely, and a built-in excuse to let loose and have some fun. It’s literally my job!

The crowd is ecstatic. Almost 110,000 people, bringing the stadium to life, like a living, breathing entity. I still get goosebumps. The Alumni Association acts like a booster of sorts and is one of the best in the nation. The “student” section is leading a white-out to start the season off right. Near the 40-yard line, I’m standing before a huge section, usually occupied by alumni season ticket holders. I lean forward with my hand to the approximate location of my ear, telling them I can’t hear them. When the ground practically trembles beneath my feet, I grin, though no one can see me, and do a backflip. I land on my feet, the sounds of the crowd deafening.

You’d think I wouldn’t be able to hear individual conversations with the swell of the crowd and my costume. Unfortunately, a few games a year the words of the crowd filter through.Especially the people who occupy the sidelines, they don’t think I can hear anything through the head piece.

“One of the best quarterbacks in years and he gets hurt and now jumps around in a stupid costume.”

“It’s not like he did it on purpose. It was an accident,” their neighbor says, leaning in close.

“Bullshit. The money the university wasted on him…it’s criminal. He should have to pay it back.” I block out the rest of their conversation, moving to the center of the field. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.

“Who is that?” I mutter to myself when the glare from a camera lens draws my eyes. It shouldn’t, at a Big10 school, there are always cameras at games, not to mention, the number of people who record and take pictures hoping to go viral. But the woman, nay, the goddess behind the camera has my full attention. I stop completely, the rest of the stadium falling away as I watch this gorgeous creature move about to get the best shots. She has a press badge, but it’s one issued by the school, so she must work on the school paper. She stands up, putting her entire body on display. I eat her up, beautiful toffee-colored flawless skin, long braids frame a full face with a mouth made for sin, thick body with big tits, and a heart-stopping smile. She’s tall, probably less than half a foot shorter than me and I’m 6’1”.

“Wicawiil! Stop drooling and start dancing!” The Mic-Man, Addelsbach, a true senior, rushes past me, waving his hands to get my attention. He can’t see my glare behind the head piece, but I’m sure he knows it’s there since he’s smirking at me. Reluctantly, I force myself to follow him. We round the stadium once more, then the opening ceremonies start. By the time the game is in full-swing, I’ve lost track of her.

We lose, which sucks. But it was only by a field goal against last season’s champions. Oddly enough, I’m more upset about the fact I don’t see my mystery girl. I’ve been all over the stadium and athletic complex and can’t find her.

“TY!” Lyn yells for me and I spin around in time to accept a bear hug from him. It doesn’t matter that he’s 7 years older than me, he is my world. No matter what happens at school, or work, or in my personal life, Lyndell is the best part of it all and always brings a smile to my face. “I’m hungry. Ice cream?”

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