Page 5 of Home Field Advantage

And yeah, okay, maybe I encouraged that thinking.

After all, Miguel and I both benefit from this arrangement as we figure our shit out and just try to survive this place. The cheerleaders are like my family, but it’d definitely be testing the limits of that bond if they knew I was queer, and the football team would be much worse. Plus, if there’s one person I can safely assume wouldnotbe cool with it, it’s Cara Whelan.

Daughter of Pastor Whelan.

ThatPastor Whelan, of the fire and brimstone and all the other shit that keeps his church running.

Cara’s been one of my best friends ever since we werelittle kids, back before I realized her parents constantly trying to get me to join her at church against my atheist single mom’s wishes wasn’t cool. Despite their house already being packed with kids, they took me in when my mom was working nights or just needed a little space to get through nursing school. I learned to pump on their swing set, bake cookies in their kitchen, and plant flowers in their garden. I still miss their Friday movie nights, even though it’s all rated G, all the time. But “it’s complicated” is an understatement, and if I ever want to watchThe Prince of Egyptwith them again, I’ll keep both of these tennis shoes firmly in the closet, thank you very much.

There’s no question Cara’s been there for me through a lot, including picking up cheerleading with me when I didn’t want to try out alone as an incoming freshman, even though we both thought it would be a way bigger fight with her parents. She held my hand through every step of my father getting remarried, letting me sleep over when I was feeling the loneliness extra hard and making sure we always had fun distractions like letting her little sister Mary give us makeovers. (Of course, since all the makeup in their house had to be approved, it was mostly just drugstore blush and ChapStick, but we still made it fun.) And she always sneaks me free drinks at work when they get returned by picky customers. But she’s been raised with some shitty ideas and values that don’t go with having a queer best friend, and I don’t know what she’dsay if I told her Veronica wasn’t the first girl I’ve kissed and hopefully won’t be my last.

I hate, hate, hate that.

“Can we hurry?” she asks, throwing open the car door, as if I don’t know she’s running ridiculously behind schedule, as always. “Geoff will kill me if I’m late again.”

I don’t bother answering, just jump in right alongside her. “What was it this time?” I ask once we’re on the road. “Mrs. Kweller pulling you aside again to fangirl over your dad?”

“Just got caught up in a conversation with a couple of other girls about Jack,” she replies, her fingers making a rapid-fire braid out of her fine reddish-brown hair. “What to do about it and everything.”

Oh, I do not like where this is going. “What does that mean? What is theretodo? She’s the quarterback.”

Cara snorts. “Come on. That’s a joke. A really, really cruel joke, if you ask me. I can’t believe we all spent so much time decorating that locker and then found out it was forher.”

My jaw clenches. This is what I mean. She doesn’t even realize how messed up this sounds. But apparently, she’s not alone, and that’s evenmoremessed up.

Some girls just really love to hate themselves. Which only makes it harder for them to understand liking other girls “in that way.”

Also, come the fuck on. We spent half an hour, tops, on that locker. It’s not like we baked snickerdoodles.

“Why would it have been less of a waste of time if it were a guy?”

“Because—Shoot, you’re gonna hit the red if you don’t speed up.”

“I’m not getting another ticket this year because you’re late, C.” I try to say it gently, but between this conversation and the fact that she didn’t even offer to chip in for the ticket I got the last time I rushed her to work, I’m getting pissed. “And I really hope y’all decided Jack should be treated like any other quarterback.”

She huffs out a breath as we pull up to the red light, but thankfully passes up whining about my driving for returning to our earlier conversation. “You know that’s not gonna happen, Ammo. She’snotlike any other quarterback. Especially because no one wants to get into her pants.”

God, it’s like Cara is pushing every rainbow button of mine today. I can’t even respond to that comment, which, by the way, feels like pretty big talk from someone saving herself for marriage. My tongue suddenly feels too big for my mouth.

“People are really pissed about Robbie being replaced by a girl,” she says, tugging on the cross that hangs around her neck. “Which is obviously understandable.”

Is it? Because unless Jack sucks—and there’s no chance in hell she’d be here if she did—it sounds like this is just full-on misogyny.The words are clear in my head, but I can’t get them out of my mouth. I’ve already had more than one tense confrontation with Cara about Robbie since his accident, and I’m not eager to get into another one. It’s obviously sad anytime a seventeen-year-old kid dies, but I can’t join Cara and the rest of Atherton in the “Robbie was an angel” mindset—not knowing what an asshole he could be.

But then, unveiling Robbie’s sins means unveiling a whole lot more than that, so, into the vault it goes.

“I bet she thinks she’s gonna hook up with one of the guys on the team,” Cara continues, pulling down the sun visor to apply lip gloss in the little mirror. “Atleastone. Who do you think will go for her?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “The sad thing is, I bet someone will. I mean, they all hate her because of the Robbie thing, but, like, you know how those guys are.”

I keep my mouth shut and let Cara babble on, because if Jack’s butch vibes aren’t setting off anyone else’s gaydar, I’m damn sure not gonna be the one to mention it. Besides, right now I’m more worried about how neither the team nor the squad seems willing to give her a shot than Cara’s insecurities about a new girl showing up.

A quarterback can’t function without a team that trusts them, and Robbie may have had an only passable throwing arm, but he had the team’s support 110 percent. This rejection isn’t just gonna suck for Jack; it’s gonna be misery for the Alligators, their fans, and the twelve people responsible for psyching them up at every game—twelve people I hope to becaptaining next year. Whoever manages to keep the squad in one cohesive piece is gonna be the most likely to get the top spot.

I need that to be me.

Cheer captain is the only thing even close to impressive I could hope to have on my college applications, and Ineedsomething impressive if I’m going to get out of here and actually be able to live out and proud at someplace like FSU rather than whatever life I’d have at Atherton Community College. And while I absolutely do not care what my dad thinks about anything, cheerleadingisthe only thing he ever wants to talk about during our once-a-month (if that) phone calls. It reminds him of being a stud in high school, or something. The glory days before he knocked my mom up at prom and then abandoned her to join the Air Force before either of them could finish college.

It’s never been a question that I need this title to be mine. But if the squad is united under the banner of ousting Jack, does that mean whoever captains them has to fall in line?

“You’re awfully quiet,” says Cara as I turn onto the street where she pushes lattes at the Bean Counter three afternoons a week. “What do you know? Has Miguel told you something?”

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