“Bronte is too smart for that. This year is Natalie’s, and we all know it. Could Bronte win? Yes, and that’s the problem.”

We come to a stop at the rail separating bleachers from field while Luke jogs ahead to get changed into his suit. My eyes catch on number 19, barreling down the field, closer and closer to the Tigers’ end zone. My breath catches…and then Gabriel just misses his quarry; the player from the opposing team scores a touchdown that puts the Seaview Vikings behind by another point. We’re losing.

But our favorite cheerleader is chipper as ever. Bronte spots us, body glitter gleaming in the stadium lights as she sprints over.

“Hey, babe. Hey, Cecelia! The game’s a huge bummer, but did you see the pyramid?”

“You nailed it,” Amber says. “That’s why you’re my favorite flier.” And Amber tilts down over the rail, Bronte coming all the way up on tiptoes for a kiss. I step back, knowing when a third wheel should make way.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I—” I turn around to see the person whose knees I’ve stumbled over and find my therapist.

“Dr. Shelby, hi. Oh, and Mr. Mayor.”

The mayor is overdressed for a high school football game—in a crisp white shirt and a blazer. He has the buoyant simper of a politician, but he squints at me with confusion.

“We met the other night at my grandmother’s party. I’m Cecelia.”

“Oh, right. Of course you are. Enjoy the game.” And he goes back to scanning the track with hungry eyes. Probably waiting for Natalie to emerge.

“I cannot believe you!”

Our group turns in tandem. Morgan’s voice is unmistakable, even over the band. It doesn’t take long to spot the problem. Natalie and Morgan are making their way toward us in what appear to be matching seafoam-green dresses.

“Come on.” Amber grabs me by the hand and tugs me toward the field. I get a closer look at the two competing queens as we thunder down the steep concrete stairs and onto the track. Natalie’s hair is somehow perfectly curled, despite having been in a high pony not ten minutes ago, and she is resplendent. Morgan is less glowing. Brunette doesn’t suit her. Guess it was permanent color.

With the hair and the dress, Morgan exudes a pathetic wannabe-doppelganger vibe. Her handmade dress is sweet, but it can’t hold a candle to Natalie’s designer tailored, sequined number. What must be real Swarovski crystals are carefully embroidered onto the bodice versus the cheap glittery fabric of Morgan’s.