It truly is extremely fucking unfair, and nobody at school knows about it—how Robbie blackmailed Miguel right up until the crash by demanding everything from homework assignments to voting his way on team matters to cash Miguel didn’t have in order to keep him in the closet. I certainly can’t blame Miguel for being royally pissed that even having a great new quarterback won’t make the Sainthood of Robbie Oakes disappear, because the only thing more useless to the team than a dead quarterback is a female one. But still, my heart sinks.

Without Miguel’s support, there’s no one on my side, which means this can’t be my side. And yeah, Jack hasn’t exactly given the sweetest first impression, but she still deserves a chance, and the team deserves the chance she’d be giving them.

That she’s hot is definitely not a factor here.

Especially with that attitude.

Even with those arms.

“What’s that face?” Miguel asks suspiciously.

“What face? There is no face.” I take a long, noisy sip of my drink and arrange my features into the picture of innocence.

“There is absolutely a face. It was a little bit of a dreamy face, if I’m being honest. The kind of face that makes me wonder if someone was maybe thinking about the new QB for a second there.”

“You’re the one who just told me she’s a good quarterback,” I remind him, but I can tell that I’m blushing and he obviously can too.

“Oh my God. Loud McCloud has a crush on the new girl.”

“Loud McCloud does not crush on Atherton girls, thank you very much.”

Miguel waggles his thick eyebrows. “Hey, you didn’t think you’d hook up at cheer camp, either, and look what happened.”

If I could literally rip a smile off someone else’s face, I would. Instead, I go back to slurping at my coffee extra-hard and let my death glare do the talking.

“So that’s … three girls in a row now?” he continues as if I’m not trying to destroy his insides with the power of my retinas. “Interesting. Verrrry interesting.”

“I haven’t had enough of this coffee to deal with your biphobia, Santiago.”

He holds up his hands. “Hey, you’re the one who said you weren’t sure how you identify.”

“Yeah, and I’m still not. It’s not my fault Elliot Page won’t return my calls. Not that my sexuality matters in this case because—say it with me—I do not crush on Atherton girls.”

“‘I do not crush on Atherton girls,’” Miguel echoes like the smart-ass he is. “Normally I would point out that you’re totally self … what’s ‘cock-blocking’ when you don’t have a cock?”

I hate that I actually have an answer to this, thanks to Veronica. “Clam-jamming.”