It drives me nuts that of all the sports to give myself to, I chose one that barely exists for girls at the collegiate level. And, sure, I could dream of being the next Toni Harris, but even in the impossible version of the universe where I got a scholarship to play football, what are the chances someone’s gonna let me on to a college team as a QB?

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 play and openly 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 high school 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 rolling into bed with us, and meanwhile the guys literally do just show up in whatever they sleep in. (Or whatever they would sleep 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 wearing a 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?