She sighs. “Okay, fair enough. I get how tonight has been a lesson that you never know anyone as well as you think you do. But listen to me, okay? I would never, ever out somebody, not even the devil Robbie himself.”

I swallow hard. It’s the absolute lowest bar of humanity, but the truth is, I’m not sure how many people at Atherton would clear it, and I’m just so relieved Jack is one of them.

“I know we can’t tell them this specifically,” she continues, and her hand finds mine again. “And yeah, I know it’s a dream at this point that they’ll stop sanctifying him for any reason. It’s just … not fair, you know? I almost think I could take it all if he were a really great guy, but this … Or maybe I just want to think that. Maybe I’d crack under the pressure no matter what.”

“Hey,” I tell her, lifting up her chin. “You’re not cracking. You are kicking ass. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to the team and that’s true regardless of who Robbie was. They may act like they don’t know who’s to credit for their first winning season, but believe me, they know. And someday they’ll be grateful for it. Even if they’re, like, forty by the time that happens. But they aren’t the point—you are. And you’re a star.”

Her gaze drops, and my heart does a double back handspring at the sight of this powerful athlete going shy on me. “A star, huh?”

“Let’s be real—I wouldn’t bother sneaking around with anyone who wasn’t.”

She snorts, but it doesn’t make her look any less kissable.

And kiss her is exactly what I do.

Of course, the day after I find out about Cara’s secret is a day I have to be trapped in a room with her and the rest of the squad for hours. It’s Spirit Week, which means for the next seven days, our entire lives are dedicated to amping the school up for homecoming this weekend. Thankfully, because athletics rule Atherton, even despite our pre-Jack losing record, that means homework this week is a joke. Unfortunately, Spirit Week prep is not.

Tomorrow is Gator Day—which means tail-shaped cookies in the cafeteria, “snapping” your friends and lovahs (i.e., clipping festive clothespins to their shirts, which results in a schoolwide popularity contest), and a group of twelve cheerleaders sprawled on the floor of Diana Rivera’s palatial living room the day before, threading garlands of fake alligator teeth and making glittery “Atherton Rules!” signs on oak tag designed to look like gator skin.

“What are these creepy things?” Zoe asks, holding up one of the plastic fang-like teeth. “Who just has fake alligator teeth lying around?”