Page 2 of Home Field Advantage

“What’s his name?”

I let the voices wash over me as I pick at my laces. New guys don’t exactly get me excited any more than old ones, if you know what I mean. Even if I was interested, the quarterback is automatically the captain’s domain; the other girls only have a chance if Crystal decides she doesn’t want him. And Crystal’s been single and horny (she’s a good church girl, but we all know) ever since her boyfriend moved up to Virginia for college, so if the new guy is even a little hot, it’s hands-off for the rest of us.

Besides, this is about more than just a guy—this is a whole shifting dynamic. How’s it gonna work, having someone new? How’s someone gonna join without having sweated it out with Matt Devlin, Dan Sanchez, and the rest of them all summer? And how the hell is this the first I’m hearing about it? What’s the point of having a boyfriend on the football team if he’s not gonna pass along insider info?

Okay, so Miguel Santiago isn’t exactly my real boyfriend, but he’s still in big trouble.

“His name is Jack Walsh. Isn’t that cute?” says Crystal, and the other girls agree that it is. “Anyway, that’s all the infoI have for now; the team’s been really tight-lipped about it. But this is where y’all come in. We’ve gotta do up Jack’s locker just like we did the rest of them. Official Atherton welcome. Even if we don’t have time to make cookies at home. Let’s just split up and do what we can to make sure Jack Walsh isveryhappy here.”

So, this is how I get to prove myself today—not with my splits or lifts or even my lungs, but with my impeccable puffy paint skills. No problem. My puffy paint skills are second to none. Whatever my squad needs.

Gooooo Alligators!

We end up staying in the gym for the entire practice, and by the time I drag my butt to first period, I’m cranky from lack of my usual Monday morning endorphins. Apparently, it shows on my face, because Austin Barrett promptly looks over at me and says, “Hey, Ammo. I’d ask how your summer was, but, uh, looks like your morning’s been a little rough. You okay?”

“You look like crap too, Barrett.”

He laughs. I’d be more pissed, but Austin hasn’t exactly made it a secret he thinks I’m hot, and an extra bit of sleepiness in my eyes or whatever isn’t going to make that go away. Not that I’d mind if it did.

“Ever the sweetheart. You okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.” I like Austin—something I feel lucky to say about a guy I’ve turned down at least twice—but rare is the nonathlete who understands the necessity of my active morning routine. “Just tired.”

“You don’t look it,” he says seriously.

“Too late, bro.”

“Damn it.” He grins. “I tried.”

I return the smile, then go back to pulling my books out of my bag. I like Austin, but helikesme, which is reason number one jillion for Miguel’s and my little fauxmance. Austin is such a sweetheart that sometimes I get tempted to slip in the truthier truth behind it all, but that would be a really, really bad idea. For so many reasons.

“Who’s that?”

I look up at the sound of Austin’s hushed voice and see a girl I don’t recognize stop in the doorway and glance around the room. “No clue,” I whisper, scanning the solidly built newcomer from head to toe. Her dirty-blond hair, still wet from a shower, is pulled back into a tight knot on top of her head, and she’s wearing a sleeveless hooded shirt layered over a tank top that shows off ridiculous arms—the girl’s got guns. There’s no other word for ’em. I’m a base, and I’ve got pretty strong arms myself, but she looks like she could throw me in the air with one hand and send me flying higher than Cara.

I’m pretty used to the heat after living here for sixteen years, but I suddenly feel the need to fan myself.

With the addition of her and the new QB, that makes twonew kids joining our small class in one year, which is definitely not typical. But if the Walshes moved here for Jack to play ball, I guess he could have a hot sister who moved with him.

She walks right past me and Austin and takes an empty seat in the back, paying no mind to how everyone’s watching her go. She pulls out a notebook and immediately starts scribbling while we wait for class to start, her biceps flexing lightly enough that I probably wouldn’t notice if I weren’t staring like a creeper. But I’m just curious what she’s drawing, obviously, because—

“Good morning, class.” I whip around as Mr. Thompson drops his bag on his desk, the bell ringing. “Welcome back to Atherton. I trust y’all had wonderful summers during which you read and lovedThe Good Earth.Now, let’s see who I’m dealing with here. Aronson, Peter?”

“Yo,” Pete calls from behind me.

“Barrett, Austin?”

“Heyo.”

“Bates, Aisha?”

It continues on down through “McCloud, Amber”—aka me—without the new girl speaking up, so my “new QB’s sister” guess is holding up pretty well. It’s confirmed when Mr. Thompson says, “And finally, Walsh, Jaclyn?”

“Jack, please.”

Mr. Thompson says something in response, but I can’t hear it over the sound of gears turning in my head, loud static in my ears.

Jack Walsh. The new quarterback. Is a girl.

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