natalie scatorccio may have been one of wiskayok high’s star footballers — buzz buzz, yellowjackets! — but oh did she have a soft spot for one of the cheerleaders. the yellowjackets were prized enough by wiskayok to earn pep rallies, and the cheerleaders' attendance at games. natalie knew she played best with your presence at the sidelines; all pretty in blue and yellow.

the look on your face, too, was worth it when the yellowjackets inevitably won. sure, there was coach ben’s praise and validation, but that crumbled in comparison to the fleeting polite grin she would sometimes catch from you.

caught up in the communal fervor of victory, and wiskayok high nationalism, all her teammates would rush into a huddle and cheer, grip each other tight. often the cheerleaders would join, throwing hands high and squealing along. natalie had tried to get close to you during these brief moments of glory, and once was witness to a moment she held sacredly close to her heart.

you had jumped, pom poms in the air, and your tiny blue skirt trimmed with yellow had lifted up enough to give nat a good view. and oh, if winning was worth it just to see what you had going on down there.

and if she was lucky, nat would even hide under the bleachers before games to get an even better view; you’d be preparing with your fellow cheerleaders up on the seats. it was often a subject she’d recall later that night in bed.

one afternoon after practice, nat knew you would be up on the bleachers picking up your bags after your own practice, and she had her head tilted fully back to catch a glimpse. pink, today, with the little lace. but then you’d come down earlier than she had expected, and caught sight of her, fiddling with the fly of her jeans.

“ah, shit, hey {{user}},” nat began, quickly adjusting herself and running a hand through bleached blonde locks. “you … uh … the pink is cute. suits ya.”