Disclaimer: I own nothing LoZ related.
A/N: AAAAH I FORGOT TO GIVE CREDIT!!! I give FULL credit to Principessa Dell'Opera, because she gave me the original idea to do this!! (BTW- Zelda's POV)
I've always been scared of heights.
Not that I let anyone know.
That would totally kill my cheer career.
And, yeah, I'm okay at school, but I'm mainly
depending on cheer and track to get me
to college.
Anyways, I'm just a normal girl with money,
looks, and talent, so bug the hell off, okay?
FRIDAY, JANUARY 9TH, 2009
Five, six, seven, eight! WOO! I think, keeping my arms in a tight V above my head. I try not too hard what to think if I fall. Our four yell leaders are at the base, each holding a foot in the way they were taught at camp. Those four are holding up Malon and some brunette I don't really know or care for. Both of them have one of my feet, and I'm at the top of our little mini-pyramid. The others are skipping around, cheering and clapping in sync.
Who's that? I think. How unusual, for someone to be sitting in the crowd during cheer practice. Is that even allowed? He's strange looking. I don't know what to describe it, or say what exactly makes him look strange, but there's just something... odd. Suddenly, there's this loud beeping. I cry out, lose my balance, and topple off backwards.
My eyes snap open.
"Stupid alarm," I grumble, meandering across my room to my desk. I placed my alarm over across the room because if it were within distance of my arm, I would just turn it off and wouldn't actually get out of bed.
Is it really already six? It feels like my head just hit the pillow. Blergh. I hate these mornings. And to top it off my head feels like it's about to explode.
I walk across my baby-pink carpeting and into my tiled bathroom. I wash my face and apply my makeup. Because it is game day, I put on my cheer uniform. The skirt is pleated and flatteringly fits my shape. I'm wearing white under armor and a matching top. The top is tight, and has silver stripes running across it and the word "lions" emblazoned on the chest. Some of the freshman and sophomores complain about looking like sluts because they're so tight. I told them if they weren't fat, it wouldn't look bad on them and they wouldn't have this problem. They shut up after that.
By the time I finish curling my hair and applying my makeup, it's nearly seven. I walk downstairs, keeping my chin high. I make it to the living room, where Maya (our maid) has breakfast on the bar. I sit alone on the barstool and eat my bagel in silence. Oh well. I'd rather eat alone. The only other people home are Aryll and Maya. Maya's probably off doing laundry or something. Aryll's probably still sleeping. She doesn't wake up until like seven thirty. She does not give a care about her appearance. This drives me crazy. And it doesn't matter she's only ten, either. I was doing my makeup before I was her age.
Mom's... gleh. Who likes moms, anyway? And Dad is always at work. Dad's a cop, and Mom's a brain surgeon. She likes to yell at me because I didn't inherit her genes. I respond to that with "I'm glad I didn't inherit your genes. You're ugly."
And it's true, too! She's fat! And she's got the tiniest eyes I have ever seen! Not that I can see them that well, anyway. Her face is too puffy. I think they're brown. Not quite sure on that one.
I leave my cream-cheesey mess from my bagel on the counter. Maya'll clean it up later. I quickly brush my teeth and then head out to my car with my schoolbag, cheer bag, and purse thrown over my shoulders. I don't know what kind of car it is. It's sleek, new, expensive, and drives fast. That's all I care about.
"Barbie doll," I hear somebody mutter as I walk by.
"Slut," somebody murmurs as I pass them in the hall.
Jealous, much? I think, pushing open homeroom's doors. I'm here right on time, like usual. I've barely taken my seat when the bell rings. No sooner than that has he come cruising into class.
"Sorry I'm late," he says, his white teeth flashing and his greasy blonde hair pushed back. He's got it cut into this old, old style that nobody wears anymore. Like, it's longer in the front and short in the back. He's wearing and old white shirt and jeans, both worn away in places and with grease spots on them. He's got a black leather jacket on and a chain hanging from his belt loops. I practically hear half of the girls swoon. I roll my eyes. Who could fall for a greaseball like him? Truthfully, I despise those kinds of people. I mean, for Goddesses' sake, how hard is it to wash your clothes every once in a while? Yuck. And lucky me, guess who sits right behind me?
"Have a seat, Mr. Finlay," says the teacher tiredly. He checks the clock. "I guess I can't count you absent yet, the tardy bell has yet to ring." No sooner had the words been out did the bell rang. "You're a lucky boy. Go sit down."
As soon as Link sits down behind me, I at least try to pay attention. I don't really. What's the point when you can get someone to do the work for you later?
I feel a pen poke the back of my neck. I don't move. If I move, it will just give him the satisfaction that he got under my skin. He weaves his pen through my curls and I can feel him doodling on my skin.
"Quit it!" I hiss, sitting up ramrod straight.
"Gee, Miss Priss," Link says. I ignore this. I'm used to people calling me these things.
"You're just jealous. Can't you afford to wash your hair every once in a grand while?"
Link fake-gasps. "I'm offended."
"Oh," I'm about to tell him off, when the teacher turns around and scolds us. Link chuckles when he begins drawing on the blackboard, but he leaves me alone the rest of class.
Thankfully, he leaves me alone after math. Math is the only class I have with that kid, and I'm seriously considering transferring out of that class. I almost did, but that would jack up my schedule, and, what's the point? I would just have to re-memorize everything, and blegh.
It's not until lunch, when I'm sitting with all my cheer buddies, do I hear the story.
"Did you hear about that Mido kid?" says Fado.
"No," I say, brushing my hair out of my face. "What happened?"
"No one knows," Fado tells all of us. "He just disappeared."
"When was this?" someone asks. I'm not really paying much attention. Deciding which foods are okay to eat and which ones will make you fat is a task that requires much concentration.
"Just last night."
"And how do you know about it so well?" asks Jesse, one of the yell leaders.
"He's my neighbor. Well, was."
"Just because he's no longer there doesn't mean that he's dead," pipes up one of the freshman.
"Would you guys shut up for a moment, my head feels like it's going to explode," I say. My headache from this morning has still not gone away. They're all quiet for a moment.
"Bitch," mutters one of the yell leaders.
"Thank you," I tell him. You're supposed to always be fierce. If I let the little comments get to me, how would anyone respect me? Even if some of them don't like me much, they still all respect me. And that goes for the whole school. It's pretty sweet.
Oh, have I not introduced myself? It's just that, everyone already knows me. When you're a cheerleader, the whole world kinda knows you and is always up in your business.
I'm Zelda Royale. I'm a rich girl, and I get called a preppy whore a lot. I'd rather be a preppy whore than a wannabe, though, so life is good. I'm a junior at Hyrule High and today is game day.
After school I go home and fix my makeup. I have this glitter powder stuff me and my friend and fellow cheerleader Malon put on every day before a game. Malon's over now, as a matter of fact. Malon fixes my eyes first. Before anything else she lies down a coat of lavender eye shadow around my eye, clear up to my eyebrow. Then she puts on a layer of sparkles. I like sparkles. A lot. They draw out the colors from my eye (a bunch of different shades of blue) and make them pop. They grab the crowd's attention and that's what cheerleaders are supposed to do, right? And, it's been known to distract a basketball player or two. Or maybe that's just naturally me.
People think I'm vain. I'm just confident.
Anyway, I fix Malon's eyes and then we go to the very boring and average game. It is not exciting in the slightest, except for maybe the other team. Hyrule High sucks. We used to be good, back in the beginning of the 2000's. They say we went undefeated in all sports. Even the Scholar's Bowl. I'm surprised I even remembered that.
It's at half time the stunt I've been dreading comes around. The band geeks are playing some old rock song, and Fado's doing back hand springs in front of us. I take a breath, give a big, fake smile, and do the stunt I've been dreading.
"FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT!" I shout. And then, I'm at the top of the pyramid. I keep my arms in a tight V above my head. The crowd whoops and hollers. I keep that fake smile and scan the crowd.
And it's so startling it knocks that fake smile clean off my face. The boy from my dreams is sitting right there, staring at me. He's the only one sitting in the crowd. The others are on their feet, clapping and smiling. He doesn't even smile at me. Suddenly, I have a very, very strange sensation in me. I have this horrible headache, and then it feels like there's a tube shoved down my throat and it's sucking out the very soul of me. I squeeze my eyes shut, and the sensation passes. I open my eyes back up and am very, very scared to find that I'm suddenly sitting in the bleachers, staring up at myself on the pyramid. I look at me (I'm getting a headache...) with supreme confusion, and then I suddenly lose my balance and topple off the back of the pyramid.
