Page 45 of Home Field Advantage

I do play other sports. In the spring, I’ll walk on to the softball team—my true best option for a scholarship—and this past summer, when I wasn’t playing football, I was lifeguarding and giving swimming lessons. I love basketball, too, especially playing with my brothers in the cul-de-sac near our house.

But there’s nothing like football to me. Nothing like the rush of throwing a perfect spiral and watching it land in a pair of capable hands (or semi-capable, in the case of Dan Sanchez), of thundering past a guy who’s twice my size, and of that solid, earth-shattering collision when you don’t quite make it. Of playing under the lights on a sticky Florida night.

It’s worth it. It will always be worth it.

But getting to playandopenly date a hot cheerleader? I mean, that’s the dream.

The very, very, very faraway dream.

And the irony is that all three of us—Amber, Miguel, and I—are out to our families. We’re all out to one another. Staying inside the closet for two teams full of assholes feels so fucking pointless.

At least it does to me, but I don’t exactly have anything to lose. Clearly, Miguel and Amber feel like they do, so I’ll keep respecting the rules of the closet. It’s not like going to a highschool dance has been a dream of mine for ages; it never even occurred to me to want to until last night.

And I’m sure that want will go away just as quickly.

Any minute now.

Annnnny minute now.

Chapter Nine

-AMBER-

I love Pajama Day. Every girl spends hours picking out the perfect pajamas and neutral makeup to make it look like we just rolled out of bed, and to make all the guys think about rollingintobed with us, and meanwhile the guys literally do just show up in whatever they sleep in. (Or whatever theywouldsleep in if they wore clothes to bed—cough, cough, Matt.)

Of course, Jack manages to be an exception to the rule yet again. While the rest of us are in cute and strategically buttoned matching sets from Victoria’s Secret, she’s wearinga gray ribbed tank top and the same navy drawstring pants she wore to Midnight Breakfast. We’ve got carefully styled disheveled-looking waves, and she’s got that same tight topknot that shows off the world’s most lickable jawline.

How does she look so. Much. Sexier. Than everyone else?

“Is shetryingto look like a boy or what?” Cara asks with a snort, sidling up next to me and catching me staring. “God, it’s so sad.”

“So sad,” I agree, though I’m not talking about Jack when I say it. “I still can’t believe your parents let you wear that nightgown to school.”

“I mean, Iwaswearing leggings underneath when you picked me up this morning,” she reminds me, curtsying. “That helped.”

“So sneaky.” I tug on one of the thin pink ribbons around the neckline. Cara’s parents really do dream of keeping their oldest daughter seven years old forever. But they also have five other kids and a congregation to keep their eyes on, and the more successful her father gets, the more Cara seems to get away with. When I think about how she’s managed to get everywhere from Midnight Breakfast to Zach Sawyer’s party so far this semester with no problem, it gets easier and easier to picture how she engineered secretly dating Robbie.

“We don’t all have moms who literally hand over their own lingerie and tell us to go to town,” Cara says with a snort.

“That happenedonce.” But it was admittedly hilarious, a desperate move freshman year when I slept in baggy T-shirtsevery night and all my babysitting money was going into the household gas fund, leaving me nothing for new clothes. My mom managed to dig up some old satin nightie that was wildly inappropriate but sort of passed for acceptable over a T-shirt, and from then on, a pair of cute pajamas became one of my annual Christmas presents so I’d never miss out.

I glance up at Jack again, and this time I catch her eye and she gives me a little smile. It’s so hard to keep my face straight (no pun intended), I think I might explode, but Cara’s eyes are firmly on me, so I have no choice. At least I know Jack understands, even when she visibly sighs and walks toward her next class.

There’s an opening to talk to Jack about coming out now, about coming clean to everyone and just being a couple, the way Crystal and Calvin Jordan got to be, and Taylor and Matt get to be, and Diana… well, the way Dianawantsher and Aidan Manos to be. With the obstacle of Miguel’s closet residence out of the way, that just leaves Jack’s and mine, and she wouldn’t exactly drop any jaws if she announced she wasn’t itching to get into the guys’ locker room.

Whether shewantsto be out here is another story, but truthfully, we both know she’s got nothing to lose. It may sound cruel, but you don’t have to worry about your friends looking or acting differently around you when you don’t have any friends. You certainly don’t have to worry anyone’s gonna think you’re checking them out in the locker room when you have the space all to yourself for every single practice and game. As for herposition on the team, if this were any threat to her there, she never would’ve made it this far.

It’s tempting, the idea of bringing the date I actually want to homecoming, to get to sit with her at lunch and openly flirt with her in the halls and cheer my little ass off for her on the field and post selfies of us being queer and adorable. But is that really what it would be like? Would I still get to cheer for her if the girls decided they weren’t comfortable having me in the locker room or stopped inviting me to victory parties and things like Midnight Breakfast, where she was never truly welcome?

It isn’t just the cheering part I’d be giving up if this got me booted off the squad. It’s watching Disney movies at Cara’s house (and pretending it’s a hardship even though I could watchThe Little Mermaida million times and never get tired of it) and Squad Saturdays at Diana’s pool and blissful summers at cheer camp and stupid games of Truth or Dare and Never Have I Ever on bus rides and thatglowthat comes with having a great pep rally and the possibility of ever getting thatCon my sweater, of getting to stand in front of a massive crowd and yell “Ready, steady, go!” and seeing everyone fall in line.

My best chance at being a leader at cheer camp next summer.

Which means my best chance of doing this at the collegiate level.

And most importantly: my best chance at freedom.

Everything I’ve been dreaming of, just… gone.

---