Chapter Five: Kayla

"And remember, homecoming is only two weeks away! Make sure to get in your votes for homecoming royalty!"

Our student body president, James Huckston, finished his announcements and then motioned for me to help him remove the platform and the microphone from the football field. I jumped up from my seat on the first row of bleachers and grabbed the other side of the platform.

"Thanks, Kayla," James said as we hefted the wooden structure off to the storage shed. "I figured I'd let you have a taste of this because you'll probably be student body president next year."

I smiled. "That'd be cool," I replied, attempting nonchalance. In reality, I had been planning to run for student body president since I was a freshman.

"Hey, have you solidified the schedule for the pep rally?"

"Pretty much. I confirmed everything with all the speakers and groups, and I just need to get the music approved for the dance team."

James nodded in approval. "Awesome. I don't know what this school would do without you."

We stored the platform in the shed and I returned to my seat on the bleachers and waited for the football game to begin. The players were all on the field doing warm-ups, and I had no trouble spotting Wyatt. He waved at me and I couldn't help but smile as I waved back.

I saw Miranda break from the other cheerleaders and head my way.

"Hey Kayla!" She exclaimed as she ran up to me in her skimpy uniform. "Will you vote for me for homecoming princess? I've been asking as many people as I can."

"Of course," I responded, still watching Wyatt out of the corner of my eye.

"Thanks! And spread the word, I know you have a lot of influence."

I frowned as she made her way back to her position and started cheering. We had been best friends since middle school, but lately I'd noticed a shift in our relationship. She seemed more concerned with popularity and boys than anything else, which was understandable, I had plenty of those feelings and distractions as well, but more often she was making me feel like a stepping stone rather than a partner in crime.

A whistle blew, signaling the start of the game. We were playing some small school who had an underdeveloped football program, so it really wasn't much of a contest, but I still loved the atmosphere and the energy of it all. I also didn't mind watching Wyatt out there, who was pretty talented as a tight end. The night air was cool and crisp and hinted at the beginning of fall, which was a season that always excited me.

A sudden commotion drew my attention to the far end of the bleachers, and I felt a sinking feeling when I saw what it was. Frog was filling his janitorial duties and was sweeping up trash in the bleachers, but people were purposely throwing popcorn and other debris at him.

"You missed a wrapper, Frog!" One girl taunted.

"Make sure you get that hot dog," another boy yelled.

Frog didn't react. He just kept his head down and systematically swept up the trash as everyone laughed at his expense. I felt a twinge of guilt. Nobody should be treated like that, I thought, especially after he saved us all from disaster in chemistry lab yesterday. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to interfere. Maybe deep down Miranda and I were more alike than I thought.

*****

"This is their language?" Frog asked, peering closer at the squiggly script. "It looks like noodles. Just the shape of it is making me hungry."

I held back a laugh and continued reading. "Yes. They have their own writing system, which dates back to as early at 405 AD."

We were sitting in world cultures class, reading through articles about Armenia on my laptop, and it had been surprisingly enjoyable. Not only did I love learning new things about the small country, but Frog kept making funny comments. I never would have guessed that he could be so entertaining.

"What else does it say?" Frog said, angling himself so he could get a better look at the screen.

"Let's see," I said, scrolling down. "Their traditional bread is called lavash," I said, pointing to a picture of a large piece of flat bread.

"Hm. It looks like a tortilla, except that it's big enough for me to sleep in."

I snickered and went to the next bullet point. "They are known for their music - an instrument called the duduk is native to the country, and the pomegranate is their national symbol of fertility."

Frog raised an eyebrow. "They have a fertility symbol? Well, I guess that's one way to encourage population growth."

At this, I burst out laughing, drawing the attention of half of the class, but I couldn't help it. Across the room, Miranda gave me a nasty glare, but I ignored her. Incredibly, Mr. Jacobs didn't scold me, he just glanced over at us and smirked.

I pulled myself together and looked back at Frog. "You're funny," I told him. He ducked his head in embarrassment and I dipped my head to meet his eyes. "Really, you are. You should do stand up comedy or something."

He gave me a tentative smile, and I was surprised at how straight his teeth were.

"Maybe I should," he mused. "Although usually I don't have to do much for people to laugh at me." He had said it lightly, but I detected a sadness in his tone.

I thought about what had happened at the football game the night before and chose my words carefully. "Does it bother you? All the stuff people do to you?"

He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Nah. I consider it community service. If I'm always getting picked on, that means everyone else is spared."

I smiled. "That's a very diplomatic answer. That will come in handy if you ever decide to go into politics."

He looked at me with an expression that was unreadable. I couldn't help but notice that his hazel eyes, even though they were too big for his face, were really quite beautiful.

"Well, how are we going to present this?" Frog asked, gesturing to the laptop. I could tell he wanted to change the subject.

"Mr. Jacobs wants us to be creative," I responded, looking to the front of the classroom where our teacher was drawing intricate patterns on the chalkboard. "I think it'd be cool to do a video, but I don't know how to do any editing."

Frog shifted in his seat. "I do."

"Really?"

"Yeah. A couple years ago me and my friend Milo tried making a bunch of stunt videos. The stunts didn't go very well, but I learned a lot of stuff about editing the clips so that we didn't look so stupid."

I chuckled. "I'd love to see those videos."

"Not a chance."

I closed my laptop. "Okay, let's make a video, if that's okay with you?"

"Sure. But we'll probably have to spend some time on it outside of class."

"That's fine."

"Alright. Do you want to come over to my house next Wednesday?"

I hesitated. Going to his house came with a new set of implications. What would people think? Stop it, Kayla, I thought. It's just a project. Plus, Frog was turning out to be a rather pleasant person.

"Sure," I said finally. That'd be great."

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and everyone started to leave.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow," Frog said awkwardly before heading for the door.

"See you." I gathered my things, amazed at how my perspective of Frog had changed so much in just one hour.