Dabney and I both glared at her because that was totally code for make out behind the field house. But she jumped up and said, “Sure! I’d love to!”

Dabney and I rolled our eyes at each other as they disappeared. Chloe had suggested that maybe we were jealous she had a boyfriend. Maybe we were. But, as Merit faked a pass, tucked the ball under his arm, and ran down toward the end zone, I knew that I wasn’t jealous that Greg was her boyfriend one little bit. Because I only had eyes for one boy. And he thought I was his sister. So, cool. Right on track.

Everyone was on their feet cheering, “Mer-it! Mer-it! Mer-it!” He was about to score when a huge linebacker came out of nowhere and pummeled him to the ground.

It was always rough to watch boys get tackled like that, but when it was Merit, it was like I actually felt the shock in my whole body.

“Um, he’s not getting up,” Ben said.

Before I could even register that Merit was lying flat on his back, I felt myself running down the concrete steps and onto the field, which was strictly forbidden. What was I doing? I looked like a total idiot! I wasn’t his girlfriend. I wasn’t his sister. I was capable of having all these very rational thoughts while in a full-out sprint across the field, where the hundreds of people in the stadium could see me. Those thoughts just weren’t strong enough to supersede the thought that I HAD TO GET TO HIM. Right now. Stupid Sophie beat me to it. But I knelt on the other side of him. Coaches and players were swarming. Merit looked around and said, “Iris.” I couldn’t help but look up at Sophie, who scowled at me. Things had been, um, tense between us since Belle Epoque. I’d mostly tried to avoid her.

Sophie said, “I’m right here, baby,” as if he’d said her name, which he very clearly hadn’t.

“Guys,” he said in his sure, steady Merit voice. “I am totally fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me. If you could give me, like, two inches of space, I’d love to get up now.”

Grace, from behind me, cried, “Merit!” and the seas parted. Mom trumps all.

He sat up and smiled. “I’m fine, Mom. I promise.”

She was crying. “You promised me that if you were quarterback you wouldn’t get hurt! You said you wouldn’t get tackled! So what would you call that if not a tackle?”

Coach Bradford put an arm around her and said, “I think he’s just fine, Mrs. McDonald, but the team doctor will get him all checked out in the field house. I promise you.”

“Well, I am going with him,” Grace said.

“Me too!” Sophie chimed in, getting up to walk beside the coach and Grace.