Spirit Day is probably the goofiest day of the entire week, but it’s kind of great to roam the halls without really knowing who anyone is for a day. We all wear sheets with holes cut in them for our eyes, like the most low-rent of kids’ Halloween costumes, and while we’re supposed to take them off for class, not every teacher makes us.

I could probably get away with holding Jack’s hand right in the middle of the hallway and no one would know it was us.

Not that I want to do that, except that I really, really want to do that. I’m not sure what set me off last night, but I do know that when I dropped her off afterward, it felt like something had changed, in a good way. Like I could stop questioning whether we were Something and just think of her as my girlfriend. And yeah, we haven’t had any sort of label conversation yet—what would be the point when there’s nowhere to use it?—but I’m pretty sure she feels the same way.

And okay, maybe I do know why I blew up. Maybe I care what she thinks in a way I haven’t cared about anyone … ever. I want her to know that this athletic drive, this strength—it’s not just something she has because she’s our first female quarterback, badass as that is; it’s something we share.

And maybe I wanted to feel certain, too, that we had something significant in common, that this isn’t some goofy “opposites attract” mess that isn’t going anywhere. I want it to go somewhere.

I just don’t know where.

“Hey!” A tiny little ghost pops up at my locker after first period, and even if it weren’t obvious from her build and voice that it was Cara, the plain white sheet—the kind on every bed in her house—is a dead giveaway. Over time, the rest of us have realized that it makes the day a lot more fun to wear sheets with cartoon characters or pro sports logos, but Cara goes classic. “You mixed it up this year.”

“My mom was so upset about spilling nail polish on her good sheets, I promised her I’d make good use of them,” I explain, holding out the red splatter design for closer investigation. “We did the whole thing Jackson Pollock style with some paint to cover it up and voilà.”

“Very industrious of you. Maybe you should be in charge of the signs for Friday’s pep rally,” she says with a twirl of her sheet.