She blushes a little and, damn, she really is cute. But the whole “nice” thing … I’m not falling for it, and I don’t have time for bullshit. It feels like a game of good cop/bad cop and that’s not the sport I signed on to play. “I didn’t mean—”

“Look, Cheer Girl—”

“It’s Amber,” she snaps, aqua eyes flashing as the nice girl mask finally drops. Well, that didn’t take much.

“What the fuck is the difference?” I’m being an asshole, but in my defense, everyone else was being an asshole first. “Listen, I get that I’m not what y’all had in mind, but I can play ball just fine without a dick to swing in the locker room. And I don’t need any cheery shit to do it either, okay? So you can go follow your friends. I’ll find my own way around.”

I turn back to my locker, expecting to hear her stomping away, but no such luck.

“Not having a dick doesn’t mean you need to be one, FYI.” She waves imaginary pom-poms. “Rah-rah and a sunny fucking day to you, too.” Now she storms off, her little skirt swishing behind her, and for a quick stupid moment, I consider calling her back and apologizing. But I’m not ceding any ground here, certainly not to a cheerleader, even if she has more of an edge than I first thought.

I may not love Atherton, but I do love football, and if all I get is two years to play it, I’m gonna do it while keeping my mouth shut.

By lunchtime, it’s clear that word of my identity has spread, and I can’t go anywhere without seeing gawkers and hearing whispers. Hiding in a bathroom stall to eat isn’t my style, and Lord knows I need to carbo-load before practice, but I don’t know where the hell to sit in this place. Certainly not at one of the two tables of football players and cheerleaders holding court in the middle.

I’m not the sentimental type, but the whoosh of missing my friends from Butler comes fast and fierce. Sage and Morgan, the best of the best, have been texting me all morning, wishing me a great day and sending pictures of everything from their morning Starbucks orders to classmates’ new haircuts. I hate that I had to leave them behind, hate that I did it for a team and school that doesn’t even want me.

I know they’re hurt that I left, even though they get it. They both have passions of their own—Sage will be on one of those absolutely ridiculous baking shows one day, and Morgan’s love for LARPing and cosplay is outshone only by how fucking talented they are at crafting and design. They both plan to pursue those passions after high school.