Page 19 of Home Field Advantage

“We have to let them have this,” he says quietly, holding my hands as if to keep them warm. But I feel the truth of his grip in his shaking fingers. “No matter how much it hurts.”

We’re both quiet for a moment, and finally I letourtruth into the air. “He was a homophobic asshole.”

Miguel nods stiffly. “He was.”

“And he can’t blackmail you anymore.”

“No, he can’t.”

“And he can’t hurt you anymore.”

Miguel lets go of my hands and slides his arms around me instead, and I hug him fiercely to calm his entire body’s shuddering. “No, he can’t. That fucker is dead.” He smiles into my hair. “And he was replaced by a girl.”

“Mig…”

“A girl who’s ten times the quarterback he ever was.”

“A girl whose window I’d like to climb through again,” I murmur, keeping my voice too low for him to hear but wishing it would somehow penetrate anyway, just to clear the air.

It doesn’t.

“Mami taught me better than to wish someone was burning in hell.”

“Dania would’ve sent him to hell herself if she knew what he put you through.”

He laughs. “Nah, she’d just lecture him on basic human decency forhours, like she did when she caught Roberto stealing that Snickers when we were kids.”

“That wasn’t hell?”

“Fair point.” He sighs and releases me, still holding me at arm’s length. “Are you gonna go back inside, or head home?”

Neither. But he can’t know where I’m going, so I lie and say, “Home, I guess.”

“You okay to drive?”

“On zero alcohol, because you whisked me out of the room before I could even crack this open?” I hold up the can of Natty Light. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.” I rise on my toes and kiss his cheek. “Te quiero.”

“Te quiero,” he murmurs, and then he gives me another quick squeeze before releasing me for the rest of the night.

-JACK-

It’s pathetic, lying around in your pajamas on a Friday night, eating sliced turkey out of the package and watching old episodes ofSchitt’s Creekwhile the rest of your team is at a party celebrating a fucking winthey could not have gotten without you.I put on a happy face and told my parents I was exhausted and needed to chill at home with an ice bath and they should go to Pensacola and celebrate without me. With how little they’ll be seeing each other now, I want them to have a real date night, especially since my brothers opted to stay at my grandma’s rather than show up for me. But now I’m having regrets about not just letting them toast me with fried mullet and hush puppies or whatever so that I could getsomeacknowledgment that I did a great thing tonight.

I’d hoped the win would do it, but with every minute the team celebrates without me, another ounce of joy from thevictory gets sapped away. Especially knowing a certain cheerleader is at that very victory party.

Part of me is mad at her for going. And it’s abigpart, even though I know that turning her back on the team isn’t going to help her be my advocate. It doesn’t help things that she’s deeper in the closet than her last-season wardrobe, but then, I’m not exactly wearing a rainbow-striped uniform myself, so.

On the screen, David and Alexis are sniping at each other and I’m staring at my phone, willing it to light up with anything to prove that Cheer Girl hasn’t already forgotten about me. Which is pathetic. But I guess that whole “watched pot never boils” thing applies to staring at your phone, too. I shove it down between the couch cushions while fixing my eyes on the screen as if watching people who’ve always sucked at relationships will somehow provide all the answers I need about mine.

Orrrr maybe they should be reminding me that I should be paying attention to my own friends, rather than fixating on the Cheerleader. I slip my phone back out and open the group text with Morgan and Sage that we’ve had running since the dawn of time. At leasttheywere interested in my opening game; the texts from tonight are rows of question marks followed by rows of celebratory emojis.

I am having the world’s saddest solo victory party, I type, but I don’t send it. I don’t want to sound pathetic to the last remaining people on Earth who actually think I’m cool. Plus,I’d already lied and said I was hanging out with my parents tonight; it seemed the easiest way to dodge both Morgan’s inevitable “You have to celebrate yourself!!!!” and Sage’s predictable “Go get some and tell us evvvvvverything.”

I delete my text and stare at the screen. I’ve already asked how the movie they went to tonight was and seen a hundred pictures of Sage’s newest cake creation and Morgan’s latest cosplay. Sage has already told us about her crush on a guy she met at her dad’s hardware store. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I don’t know what else to say to them. Especially since I don’t want to say a word about Amber in case the chemistry crackling in the Lawndale High bathroom tonight was entirely in my head.

Then my screen lights up with another message, and my brain goes blank. It’s a selfie of Amber standing under my window, holding up a can of Natty Light, and the text underneath says,To today’s champion.

I don’t know what makes my skin heat faster, that she looks fucking adorable in the picture, with a braided pigtail swung over her shoulder, or that there’s actually someone at Atherton who’s acknowledging the awesome thing I did tonight, but I do know this: I have a fucking terrible crush on a cheerleader. Who’s waiting just a few feet away for me to let her in my window.

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