Page 34 of Home Field Advantage

“You sure?” She furrows her brow. “I thought after last year you didn’t wanna go within twenty feet of Gator-green glitter.”

Ugh, it’s true. I was washing it out of my hair and clothes for weeks. But sitting this close to Cara and not being able to ask about her and Robbie is slowly killing me. “I guess I have even more negative feelings about fake alligator teeth,” I offer, wishing for the millionth time that I wasn’t the world’s worst liar.

Today was supposed to be a Step Up and Lead Day, one in a long line of planned ones where I came up with brilliant ideas and proved that I deserved the captain spot. But between Cara and the drama with Jack and, well, all the making out with Jack, I’ve barely given Spirit Week any attention. Any thoughts I may have had about streaming sequined ribbons from our uniforms or showing up with a perfectly manicuredC-U-L-8-Ron one hand andG-A-T-O-Ron the other has flown out the window, along with my sanity.

“You sure you’re okay?” Cara’s eyebrows have even more incredible gymnastic capabilities than she does, and she’s our best flyer. “You’ve been a little off all day.”

And then, because I am incredibly stupid and I cannot help myself, I say, “I’m fine—just thinking about who I wanna snap tomorrow.”

Maybe I only notice because I’m looking for it, but Cara’s shoulders sink, like she was reminded she has no one to snap. Suddenly, I feel like crap. It’s not her fault Robbie was a dick, especially if she didn’t know he was blackmailing Miguel.

Which we’ve already established she didn’t.

Right?

The possibility is there, I know, even if I don’t want to think about it. It’s not like she’s particularly rainbow friendly. And maybe that’s why she always seems to be looking for the cracks in our foundation. Maybe she thinks I have no idea, that I’m an innocent bystander in Miguel’s grand queer plan. But then why wouldn’tshetell me?

God, I wish I’d never found out about them. I feel like I’m going nuts.

“Not just giving them all to Miguel?” she asks, and I know she intends for it to sound innocent, but it absolutely does not.

“Obviously I’ve got to spread some love around the squad, too,” I reply lightly, though I’m thinking about what it would be like to clip one to Jack’s shirt, to claim her in front of everyone, to get a kiss and my own snap—maybe all three of her snaps—in return. “What about you? Who’s going to be the lucky beneficiary of Cara Whelan’s gator bites?”

Okay, maybe my question doesn’t sound quite as innocent as I want it to either.

Her face pinches tight. “You know my parents’ rules—squad only. If you’re lucky, you might get one.”

“I would be honored.” It’s definitely time to change the subject, but before I can ask if she’s picked out a nail color for our Saturday afternoon pre-homecoming dance mani-pedis or whether her adventurous coworker at the Bean Counter has actually come up with an idea for a seasonal flavor that isn’t disgusting yet (I donotrecommend trying his attempt at Turkey Roast), Diana picks up the conversation.

“You’re an upperclassman now, Whelan. Live a little!” She shakes a couple of capped containers of green glitter like maracas. “Surely there’s gotta be someone you’d like to snap like a twig.”

“Someone you like to cheer a little extra hard for?” Zoe adds with a glint in her eye.

“Someone you’d like to sink your teeth into?” Sara shakes one of the gator-tooth garlands to illustrate her pun.

Cara pastes a smile on her face, but my eyes drop to her hands because I know her moves, and she’s digging her nails into her skin to keep from crying, just like she used to when her parents yelled if we were being too loud during a sleepover. Suddenly, I don’t care why she kept Robbie a secret or howmuch I hate him; I just want to sweep my friend into a hug. So I cut in and do my best to save her.

“Hey, you heard her—those snaps are mine. Stop trying to draw her attention away from me.” I wrap an arm around Cara, the closest I can come to offering her the shoulder I want to, and place a loud smack on her cheek. “Snap that, ladies.”

The girls laugh and tease us, but all I care about is that Cara’s easing up on her wrists, the crescent moons left by her nails slowly regaining their color and losing their shape.

Whatever happened between her and Robbie, it was something real. Her loss was real. And there’s nothing I can do to make it better.

Nothing except make it clear I’m in her corner no matter what, and that Robbie will never be replaced. Which means joining her anti-Jack crusade.

So, what’s it gonna be: Her heart, or mine?

-JACK-

There is a hell, and it is Gator Day.

I knew it would be a drain, but it’s made so much worse by how everyone has clearly taken it upon themselves to turn this into a “Make Jack Feel Extra Shitty Day.”

Example number one? The football players are covered in those stupid clothespins everyone’s been snapping onto each other all day.

Guess whose shirt has nothing, not even from the girl she made out with Saturday night?

Example number two? In what has got to be the cheesiest move known to man, the varsity athletes are wearing not our uniforms today, but Lacoste shirts—you know, the overpriced polos with the little green gators on them. It’s so fucking stupid and elitist, not to mention classist—I can’t be the only one who can’t drop that kind of cash on a single article of clothing—but what’s really special is being literally the only athlete in the school who isn’t doing it.

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