Especially if that’s a euphemism.

Fuck it. I slip my hand under the covers and find the relief I desperately need as quietly as humanly possible. Personal pep rally indeed.

I’ve got plenty of time to hate myself for this in the morning.

Turns out, I hate whoever came up with the idea of doing Midnight Breakfast the night before our first game waaaay more than I hate myself for a little ill-advised self-love. Every single one of us—cheerleader and football player—spends the entire day yawning, and the neon Gatorade we’re all pounding isn’t nearly as energizing as I need it to be.

The only physical activity I’m up for today is hiding from Cheer Girl, which is made easier by the fact that she’s doing the same thing.

Sage and Morgan agree that she was flirting but are torn on whether that means I should run in the other direction. (Sage is forever on team “Go get some!” while Morgan says “I do not understand allosexuals at all” at least once a week.) All I know is that I have to get all thoughts about Amber and last night out of my head because there is no coming back from fucking up tonight. Not for me.

When the bell finally signals the end of third period, I bolt out of my seat and head to the coach’s office, where he walks me through the same video he already has at least twice, pointing out weak spots in the Lawndale lineup and quizzing me on different plays. If anything goes wrong tonight, it isn’t gonna be because of me, and he knows it, because I ace that shit.

The game is at seven, which only gives me a few hours before the pep rally. The whole idea of prancing around in front of everyone at this unsupportive school makes me wanna hurl, but Coach made it clear that pep rallies are not optional to anyone who wants to play that day. Part of me may wanna hide out in some corner anyway, but mostly, I can’t believe that tonight I actually

Get

To

Play.

Nothing else matters.

I barely get through the rest of my classes, spending the time mentally running through the playbook and drawing the number six over and over like the self-absorbed bastard I am.

Finally, it’s time.

The cheerleaders have been wearing their uniforms all day, so I have the locker room to myself to change and spend an extra minute marveling at the sight of myself in my game-day jersey. Damn, I really do make this look good. I send a selfie to Sage and Morgan, smoothing down my tightly pulled hair one last time, and then … wait.