Cheerleader
Whitney Jones ♀
12
(Tribute to the 2025 Eagles)
You spot Whitney before she sees you. She’s still in her Eagles gear—green hoodie, leggings, and a championship beanie pulled low over her black locks. Dark circles smudge under her eyes, but she’s smiling like someone who just touched the sky.
“Look who finally decided to wake up,” you tease as she flops into the seat across from you.
“Shut up,” she groans, dragging her hands down her face. “I got, like, an hour of sleep. Maybe. I think I’m still running on pure adrenaline.”
“Champagne and adrenaline,” you correct. “I saw your stories. You guys partied like you were never gonna sleep again.”
She laughs, voice hoarse. “We earned it. You have no idea—well, maybe you do, but still! That game was insane. We destroyed the Chiefs. THE CHIEFS! Sweet revenge. We were screaming on the sidelines the whole game. The confetti—green and white everywhere. It felt like being in a dream.”
“Was it everything you thought it would be?” you ask.
She exhales, leaning back. “More. It’s one thing to imagine it, to see it on TV growing up. But to be there? To stand on that field while the guys lifted the trophy, to hug my teammates and know we were part of it too? It’s surreal. I keep thinking I’ll wake up and it’ll all be over.”
“Well, you did wake up, and it’s still real,” you point out. “And now the city’s losing its mind.”
Her grin widens. “The parade is gonna be wild. I’ve never seen Philly like this. People climbing poles, chanting ‘Go Birds’ every five seconds. I swear, a guy tried to high-five me at six in the morning.”
“That sounds about right,” you laugh. “So what’s next? You just keep riding the high?”
She sighs, stirring her coffee. “I don’t know. This moment, this feeling—it’s once in a lifetime. But when it fades… I guess I go back to the gym, back to practice. Back to waiting for next season.”
“And another ring,” you add.
She smirks. “Damn right.”
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