Page 14 of Home Field Advantage

“Good to know.” She unbuckles her seat belt, and I don’t know why, but it feels like the end of the world’s worst date. “Thanks for the ride and everything.”

Again, all the things I shouldn’t say rise to the tip of my tongue, and I bite it. But biting my tongue doesn’t stop me from taking her phone from the center console and putting inmy number before handing it over. “In case you find yourself needing a personal pep rally,” I say in as platonic a voice as I can muster.

“And here I thought you were planning to use my window for all your communication needs,” she says with a slight smile as she slips the phone into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie.

“Well, I don’t haveyournumber,” I point out, “so I still might.”

Her smile widens a little, and she bites her lip as if to tamp it down. “Duly noted.”

Okay, we’re flirting. I am a horrible person. But at least I’m not yanking her across the seat by the drawstring of her sweatshirt like I desperately want to, so I guess this counts as self-control.

And then, while my stomach is already fluttering like leaves in the late-summer breeze, she says, “G’night, Cheer Girl,” and lets herself out of my car.

If I don’t crash on my way home, it’ll be a fucking miracle.

-JACK-

Getting back to sleep is not happening.

I can blame being dragged out of my house in the middle of the night, or Maggie’s overbaked biscuit sitting in mystomach like lead, but it’s four thirty in the morning and every time I close my eyes, all I see is the cheerleader putting her number in my phone.

Why would you, an obviously queer girl, put your number in the phone of another obviously queer girl, if you already have a boyfriend?

Or is Amber McCloud actuallysoheterosexual that we were having entirely different conversations tonight? Am I conjuring rainbow dreams out of nothing?

I don’t know.

Maybe.

Probably.

I wish I could just knock on my mom’s bedroom door to plague her with my girl troubles, but while I never really had to come out—everything from my clothing to my hobbies kinda did that for me—my sexuality still isn’t something we acknowledge beyond the bare minimum. Open queerness isn’t something she grew up around in Niceville, and she’s not exactly the kind of mom who gives the Talk, either.

No, what I really need is for Sage and Morgan to wake up, because I cannot figure this shit out alone.

Say Cheer Girl was flirting—and shedidsay she was flirting. Would it matter? I’m not hooking up with a girl who has a boyfriend, especially if that boyfriend is my teammate, and my only decent one at that. Besides, Amber’s the closest thing I’ve got to a friend here, and I don’t wanna fuck that up either.

But.

I could really use a personal pep rally.

Especially if that’s a euphemism.

Fuck it. I slip my hand under the covers and find the relief I desperately need as quietly as humanly possible. Personal pep rally indeed.

I’ve got plenty of time to hate myself for this in the morning.

Turns out, I hate whoever came up with the idea of doing Midnight Breakfast the night before our first game waaaay more than I hate myself for a little ill-advised self-love. Every single one of us—cheerleader and football player—spends the entire day yawning, and the neon Gatorade we’re all pounding isn’t nearly as energizing as I need it to be.

The only physical activity I’m up for today is hiding from Cheer Girl, which is made easier by the fact that she’s doing the same thing.

Sage and Morgan agree that she was flirting but are torn on whether that means I should run in the other direction. (Sage is forever on team “Go get some!” while Morgan says “I do not understand allosexuals at all” at least once a week.) All I know is that I have to get all thoughts about Amber and last night out of my head because there isnocoming back from fucking up tonight. Not for me.

When the bell finally signals the end of third period, I bolt out of my seat and head to the coach’s office, where hewalks me through the same video he already has at least twice, pointing out weak spots in the Lawndale lineup and quizzing me on different plays. If anything goes wrong tonight, it isn’t gonna be because of me, and he knows it, because I ace that shit.

The game is at seven, which only gives me a few hours before the pep rally. The whole idea of prancing around in front of everyone at this unsupportive school makes me wanna hurl, but Coach made it clear that pep rallies are not optional to anyone who wants to play that day. Part of me may wanna hide out in some corner anyway, but mostly, I can’t believe that tonight I actually

Get

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