Page 46 of Home Field Advantage

Stop making issues where there aren’t any, I order myself,freshening up my lip gloss in my locker mirror then handing the tube to Cara so she can do the same.You’re on the same page. You both want this to stay in the dark. So it will.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a bunch of the football guys turning the corner, laughing at one another’s pajamas and playing keep-away with Lamar’s ridiculous nightcap. Miguel is right in the middle, wearing a pair of basketball shorts I know he doesn’t sleep in, because his room has lousy air-conditioning and his nighttime attire is at most a pair of boxers.

In another minute he’ll see me, and he’ll try to catch my eye, try to see if I’ve given any more thought to what he said, if Jack and I have miraculously changed our minds.

Suddenly, I feel very compelled to be on time to class.

I have no choice but to avoid Miguel for the rest of the day, which is surprisingly easy since we only have one class together—physics, in which we’re not lab partners, since they were assigned—and I know where he spends every other minute of the day. I get my fair share of surprised looks in the library when I spend lunch there, doing my homework and sneaking bites of an energy bar I begged off Coach Armstrong, and I head straight home after practice.

But Friday is Books and Balls Day, which also means Game Day, and it’s impossible to avoid the football players when we spend every free minute with them, posing for yearbook picturesand selfies and breaking into impromptu cheers in the halls. Books and Balls Day is basically a wild freebie, with everyone dressed up to represent the clubs they’re in, from the football team and cheerleading squad to Model UN and the chess club.

“Smile, y’all!” Melanie Stern motions for Miguel and me to squeeze together while she holds up the enormous camera around her neck—I guess she hasn’t heard the news you can take pictures on your phone now?—and we dutifully pose with huge smiles and pretend pom-poms in the air. “Beautiful! We definitely need the ‘before’ pic of our top homecoming king and queen contenders.”

On autopilot, I amp up my smile at that, but I hate how hollow it feels. If Miguel and I were both single while doing this fauxmance thing, it’d be hilarious and wildly fun and we’d do ourselves all the way up. Instead, I know we’ll both just be thinking about the two people who aren’t there but should be.

“And who says they’re the top contenders?” I hadn’t even seen Diana come over, but suddenly there she is, Aidan in tow. “I think it’s time these two got a little competition.”

Oh yes, competition. Something I definitely need more of as I watch my grip on the team slip away in favor of those who want to make Jack’s life a living hell. God, Diana—can you not just let me have one thing?

“Does this mean y’all are officially a couple?” I ask, maybe a little pointedly, maybe with a little extra eyelash flutter in Aidan’s direction to remind him what committing means giving up.

“I don’t—” he starts to say, but he’s immediately spoken over by Diana.

“Just wait until you see our coordinating outfits for the dance,” she says proudly, placing a hand on his chest, meticulous baby-pink nail polish gleaming in the school hallway’s fluorescent lights.

It’s a total nonanswer, but whatever; I’m not getting into it with her. All I know is that if I don’t get to go with my first-choice date, I’m certainly leaving with a tiara. “Good luck with that” is all I offer, and then I drag Melanie’s attention back to me by placing a big wet smack on Miguel’s cheek that I know he’s dying to wipe off.

But all too soon, Melanie’s gone, and everyone else falls away and it’s only me and my future king: pretenders to the throne. “Have you given it any more thought?” he murmurs.

I could act like I don’t know what he’s talking about, but it’d just be insulting. “Nothing’s changed, Migs.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I know. I just thought maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

His usually warm brown eyes have a weary look to them I haven’t seen in a long time. “Maybe you’d realize you want the same thing I do.”

Even though we’re keeping our conversation plenty vague, I still feel the need to drag him to a quiet corner. “Look, all else aside, sure, it’d be fun. But there are a lot of things I want and this isn’t even close to the biggest one.” A little lump forms in my throat as I say it, as if trying to argue with me, and I swallow a fewtimes until it disappears. “And I know you think you want this, but you still have almost your entire senior year left. If thisdoesturn into hell, do you really want months and months of that?”

I don’t know what response I expect from Miguel, but it isn’t a weak little shrug. He really means it when he says he’d throw the team away for Malcolm. He really thinks having a boyfriend would be enough to sustain him here if he no longer had football.

Part of me is jealous. Part of me thinks he’s deluded.

And okay, a tiny little part of me wonders ifI’mthe one who’s deluded, if I’m gonna keep up this charade for the entire rest of high school while the girl I want to be with is right freaking there, walking the halls friendless, no one knowing how cute she looks in glasses or that she can do the toughest rap inHamiltonor that she tells people her favorite movie isThe Boondock Saintsbut it’s actuallyLove, Simon.

But then I think of my future, of everything I want, and here’s the thing: I really like Jack.

But I love me.

-JACK-

This is stupid. This is really, really stupid.I wipe my palms on my sweats and check the time on my phone again. Two minutes.You have two minutes to come up with an entirely different reason why you asked him to meet you in the middle of nowhere.

I don’t even realize I’m pacing until a particularly large twig snaps beneath my feet. The fact that I’m nervous is a sign I shouldn’t be doing this, right? I should not be doing this. I finally have an almost friend on the team and I am going to ruin it, and for what? I don’t even know ifshewants this.

But you can’t know if you don’t ask for real, and you can’t ask for real until you do this.

But you sort of asked. And you sort of know.

---