Page 30 of Home Field Advantage

This is for Amber, I force myself to remember.Amber, the only person who talked to you like a person that first day, and the only person who went out of her way to welcome you to events. Amber, the only person who came to check on you after the fight. Amber, who’s right next to you subtly hopping from foot to foot because despite being gorgeous and popular and basically a high school cliché, she’s nervous. Because she thinks you look fucking cute in glasses even Morgan and Sage don’t get to see, and she wants to be more than two people who make out and she hopes you do too.

And that’s all I need.

“Might be the only thing better,” I say smoothly, “but I should warn you that Cheer Girl seems to think she’s got this all wrapped up.”

“Did ‘Cheer Girl’ tell you about the time she dented a fuckingtable—”

“Hush, Santiago,” Amber demands with a huff. “Justbecause you’re embarrassed that I gotdoubleyour score last time we came—”

“We came to cheer me up because I’d gotten my wisdom teeth out! I was high on painkillers!”

Amber rolls her eyes at me. “He always has excuses. What’s it gonna be this time, Migs? Achy fingers from practice?”

“Empty stomach, maybe.” He nods at the snack counter. “Nachos, yes?”

“Yes,”we chorus emphatically, and I realize I like a cheerleader who isn’t afraid of a little neon cheese sauce. I slip Miguel some cash and he and Malcolm head off to stock up on salty provisions while Amber and I trade in our footwear for super-chic bowling shoes.

“I have to admit, I thought you might put up a fight about the bowling shoes,” Amber says as she pulls a pair of tiny socks out of her purse and slides off her sandals. She’s so freaking delicate and feminine, right down to her perfectly pink-polished toes, and I feel like such a cliché for finding that so hot.

And then she brings me bowling, at this absurdly ridiculous place that has lamps designed to look like fishnet-stocking-covered legs at every alley, and somehow that’s even hotter.

“Bowling shoes are rad,” I say, showing off my feet, because I pull the shoes off quite nicely. “I’ve never worn ones with glittery laces before, but I think I’m rocking ’em like a champ.”

“That you are.” Her grin lights up her face, and she is just so fucking cute, I have to look away.

I know this isn’t going anywhere good. I’d have to becompletely deluded to think this is ever going past the occasional secret hangout somewhere absolutely no one she cares about other than Miguel will ever see us. I know that even though I’m here with them now, I’m going to be alone again on the field come next Friday.

I know, I know, I know.

But she has that fucking smile.

And she brought me to a bowling alley with vintage posters ofRocky Horroron the walls.

And I’ve actually found some queer kids to hang out with again.

And I don’t know what I’m gonna do when this blows up spectacularly and I lose everything.

“Ooh, nachos!” She grabs my wrist to pull me to the table, springing me back out of my misery, at least for one night.

“So, when is all that domination gonna start?” I can’t help teasing Amber as she knocks down exactly one pin. For the third time in a row.

She flips her long brown hair. “I’m just getting warmed up,” she sniffs. “It takes me a little while to hit my stride, butthen.”

“Then comes total domination,” Miguel says dryly, his lips curving into a smile around his straw before he takes a noisy sip of Coke and ice. “Just wait—by the tenth frame, she’ll be knocking downtwo.”

“Screw you, Splitter.” She makes like she’s going to throw a chip at him, but chomps on it instead. Malcolm and I snort with laughter at the nickname, because yeah, Miguel does have a weird tendency to get a 7–10 split every single turn, and no, he’s not one of those masters who can turn that into a spare.

“You’re up, champ,” Malcolm says with a toothy grin. He’s taking a lot of pleasure in the fact that I’m kicking everyone else’s asses, and normally, I would be too, but historically my athletic successes have not exactly been welcome in this town.

Then again, Amber and Miguel are too busy being competitive twerps with each other to notice, which is probably for the best.

Ineversee them interact like this in school—playful and snarky and so clearly more like brother and sister than anything romantic. It’s weird to imagine I ever worried about them dating. Plus, Miguel and Malcolm are aspirationally a-fucking-dorable.

Of course, now that Malcolm’s drawn attention, both Amber’s and Miguel’s eyes fly up to the scoreboard. “Jesus, Walsh,” Miguel groans. “Is there any sport you don’t dominate?”

I brace myself for the wave of resentment, the kind I’ve become very attune to in the last few weeks, but don’t catch any. However he feels about me as a teammate, here we’re having fun. And it’s going to stay fun. I can breathe. “Badminton,” I assure him as I go up and hunt for the sparkly blue-green ball that’s become my fast favorite. “I am terrible at badminton.”

“Makes sense you wouldn’t be into the shuttlecock,” Malcolm says seriously, and I laugh so hard, I almost drop the ball on my toe.

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