“Okay, all y’all need to pause,” says another voice, and I turn to see yet a fourth cheerleader, and why are these girls all so pretty? This one’s white with sun-streaked brown waves and eyes the color of the ocean, and I swear they make cheerleaders look like this just to fuck with me. I’m about to pull my eyes away when I realize she looks … familiar. “This is Jack—Jaclyn—Walsh.” She offers me a small smile. “You’re in my English class. I’m Amber, and this is Crystal”—the captain—“Diana”—dead ringer for Ariana Grande—“and Zoe”—extra from Floribama Shore. “We’re all cheerleaders, obviously”—she gestures down at her uniform—“so you’ll be seeing lots of us. Welcome to Atherton!”

Human beings can’t seriously be this peppy, can they? But at least Amber is trying to be nice, which is more than I can say for the three looking at me like they have no idea what to do with a new human in their midst. “I’d introduce myself, but it seems like y’all have already gotten that memo.”

“You’re the new quarterback?” Diana asks, arching a razor-sharp eyebrow.

Despite the derision in her voice, it still gives me a thrill to hear those words. “I’m the new quarterback,” I confirm. “I don’t suck. Promise.”

Amber laughs. No one else does.

“Of the boys’ team?” Zoe’s eyes widen.

“Of the only team, as far as I know.”

The girls all exchange glances I don’t know how to read. “Okay,” Crystal says slowly, and the others look deferentially to her as if it’ll tell them how to feel about this. “That should be interesting. We have to get to class, but enjoy the cookies, I guess.”

The other girls mumble something along those lines and retreat, except for Amber, who lingers as I turn back to my locker and see the cookies in question. I’d expected a box full of homemade or something, since that’s what the guys at my old school always got, but instead, it’s a bag of Famous Amos straight out of the vending machine. Oh well—beggars can’t be choosers, and these happen to be my favorite.

“They’re nice girls and great cheerleaders,” Amber says as I tear open the bag. Chocolate chip. Yum. I hold it out to her, but she shakes her head. I stick one between my teeth and stuff the rest of the bag into my backpack. “They—we—just expected someone a little different.”

“A guy.”

“Well, yeah.”

At least she’s honest. “Sorry to disappoint.”