Missy was always perfectly put together: lip gloss, hair, skirt just short enough. Smiled at everyone, even the geeks and the emo kids. She helped me with an Algebra II problem once.
When the head cheerleader blackballed her, she went out for poms and then suddenly the poms were the cool ones. Missy owned halftime, and halls A through D at least down to the auditorium.
These days she’s working on her machete skills. She’s gotten pretty good at one swing, one kill. And she’s looking even better, the last of the baby fat gone: lean and quick and deadly.