She chuckles. “He’s over there.” I follow her finger to the left of the cheerleaders, where a giant blond foam Viking head with an equally ludicrous fake muscled body bores into my soul. I feel a sympathetic pang for the poor kid shamelessly gyrating at the crowd.

Amber looks at me expectantly, stifles a laugh. And it hits me.

“Oh no, you are not saying that—”

“Ben Vann is the school mascot?” Amber is outright cackling now. “Yep. Students get paid to do it, and it’s good résumé fodder. I almost considered the job myself, but my dignity won out. Fortunately, or look at this show we would’ve missed!”

I do my very best to push down my horror. Caring about what’s “cool” is so shallow, passé, but…Omg, did he just do a backflip? The crowd is going wild, and the foam Viking head is grinning at me vacantly, and the secondhand embarrassment is simply too much. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to be the school mascot’s girlfriend. At least he’s a decent dancer, I think, as he begins an overexuberant cha-cha slide.

“Here, I think you need this.” Luke hands me a travel coffee mug. I slot open the top and get a whiff of spicy warmth. Mmm, hot apple cider. I take a sip and immediately cough through the burn.

“What the hell is in that?”

“Everclear and apple cider,” he replies matter-of-factly. “Takes the edge off the cold, no? But go easy. A little goes a long way.” He takes the mug back for his own, hypocritical long draw.

Amber nudges my arm, proffering a regular paper cup with slotted top. “Here. This one is just coffee. All the warmth, less of the idiocy.” Grateful, I take it, cradling it in my hands and savoring the heat. We share it back and forth as the football team thunders onto the field and everyone—the crowd, the marching band, the cheerleaders—erupts into raucous celebration.

I barely follow along. First downs, yards run, breaks…or something? I don’t know. Touchdowns are the only things that are obvious, and I shout with everyone else when our team gets one, and maybe a little louder when it’s clear Gabriel’s run a good stretch. Then the Bay Town Tigers score two. The mood on our side dampens, a tense thread of anxiety and frustration pulling everyone taut.

Two football minutes before the half—which, turns out, means at least ten normal-person minutes, apparently—Luke stands up.

“Okay, I have to go meet Nat on the field for the announcement of the court.”

“We’ll come with,” Amber announces, beckoning me to follow. “I wanna say hi to Bronte.”

“Oh, is she running?”

Amber smirks as she shimmies past knobby-kneed freshmen out into the aisle. Then she entwines her arm with mine, and we take the concrete steps two at a time.