“Ella, maybe you can join Virany in the office and have them page Dayna to join us too, since Claire won’t be cheering tonight,” Crystal says, and we turn and look at Claire, who’s never once been benched. She’s on the verge of tears, and I almost feel bad for her, until my brain replays the way she spat the word lesbo a solid fifty times in a row.

No, the only person I feel guilty about—the only person I care to make things up to right now—is Jack, and as Crystal turns to the rest of us and says, “Okay, let’s give this a shot—we’ll work on the moves later” while holding up the paper I copied at the Copy Shop two towns over this morning, I pray this will go at least the tiniest way toward helping me do that.

-JACK-

At some point, Amber showed up to school—I spot her in the hallway for a split second before last period—but if she sees me, she doesn’t acknowledge it. Which is fine. She’s this close to becoming a distant memory, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

I leave my phone in my locker all morning, full of untyped texts to Sage and Morgan letting them know I’m coming home, photographs unsent of me in my uniform with my middle finger extended toward the mirror that lines the door of the coat closet that’s doubled as my storage space. There is way too much shit living in my brain rent free, and tonight, as soon as the buzzer ends the game, I know I’m going to explode with it. But right now, the combination of fury and relief pent up in my brain flows through my veins like the sharpest adrenaline, and despite everything—everything—the only thing my body wants to do is channel it into football.

It’s how I’m built. They can’t screw that out of me.

Books and Balls Day has everyone wearing their passions on their sleeves. The chess team members are easily picked out by their all-black or all-white attire, capped off with horse heads, cone-shaped hats, or crowns. The Model UN kids have their flag tees, and in some cases even hair spray-dyed to match. The debate team literally had shirts made for this, all of which say “Go Ahead: Judge Me” in block letters. And of course, everyone with uniforms, from the band geeks to the tennis team to the cheer squad, is sporting them.