Also, who goes to the dentist after homeroom? Medical appointments are designed for allowing teenagers to skip school.

But then maybe it was good she wasn’t there, because clearly I was on a destructive path and who knew who else would end up on their ass before I was through?

My plan for second-to-last period, Gym, was to fake a cramp in the first five minutes and then spend the rest of the period on the sidelines.

Which was a great plan.

And apparently Gilly’s plan as well, as I walked up into the bleachers to find her already sitting there, arms wrapped around her stomach in the universal sign for “I don’t feel well.” She was sitting slightly askew, so she was leaning more on her left cheek.

Because, clearly, she’d taken a pretty solid hit to her right cheek. Care of me.

Maybe I was the villain in this crush situation. Don’t villains happen when people fall for people who don’t actually like them?

Is that what was happening? Crush? Me?

“Hey!” I looked around. “Uh. Hi.”

Great opener, Anne.

“Hey.” Gilly shifted so she was sitting straight. But it was clearly not comfortable.

“Is it okay if I sit there?” I pointed at the row behind her.

Gilly looked around the entirely empty bleachers. “Sure. Free bleachers.”

I took a seat behind and to the right of Gilly, because sitting right behind someone in a huge set of seats is clearly very weird. But I could still look at her back, which I obviously did in a cool no-one-else-would-notice kind of way.

Gilly has a long, straight back. She sat still and straight for most of the class, I assume watching the other students running circles. Her hair stuck to her shirt, which had a little rip in the neck. Also she has a long neck. It’s, like, a graceful neck, actually.

Okay, stop.

I tried to think of the perfect and appropriate thing to say to Gilly. The thing that would encapsulate all my concerns and arguments and thoughts and theories. A thing I could say that would stop the Ferris wheel of a day I was having.

“Sorry I made you fall on your butt,” I finally managed.

“Twice,” Gilly said, not turning around.

“Yeah. Twice,” I noted. “So. Sorry twice, I, like, Wile E. Coyote’d you.”

I thought I heard a tiny snort from Gilly, but it could have been the crack of someone kicking the soccer ball on the field. A cool breeze blew up the stands, sending the smell of what I guessed was Gilly’s shampoo up into my face.

“Hey,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about that thing in the soccer field. And—”

The stands bounced as Tanner strode over, a long loping stride designed for maximum bleacher jostle. His soccer jersey clung to his chest. He must have run over.