“Don’t listen to grouchy pants over here.” Camille laughs. “He’s just sour because he’s got to plan the football pranks.”

“I just think it’s a stupid tradition is all. I mean… filling a quarterback’s car with popcorn? TPing the trees in front of Taylor? How is any of that going to help us win a football game?”

Camille rolls her eyes. “Well, it’s not, honestly. But it’s not just about that! It’s a tradition, Juls. Something Crenshaw and Taylor have been doing for a million years. Don’t you want to put your mark on it somewhere?”

“I think the tradition is dumb,” Julian says, throwing his spoon into the bottom of his empty sundae cup.

Camille sighs hard. “Aren’t you tired of being Oscar the Grouch all the time?” She rolls her eyes. “It’s just for fun. It’s supposed to be silly. Lighthearted. Entertaining. Merrymaking. Let’s see, how many SAT prep words can I think of for fun? Elijah, you want to help me out here?”

“Delightful? Pleasing?” I say, and Camille laughs. My gut warms.

Julian’s face is a storm cloud, though.

In all honesty, I can see his point. The traditions that he’s expected to uphold don’t really serve any purpose other than good fun, and I don’t know that Julian has ever been the type to do something just because it’s fun. On the other hand, why not do something just because it’s silly? Does everything have to make sense?

I think about Coley. She laughs every single day. About bubbles in the sink. About the funny voices Frankie uses when she reads her favorite book. Sometimes she laughs at nothing. One of the best sounds in the world is the sound of her laughing at something I’ve done.

Julian has been serious since the day I met him. Sure, he laughs and has fun at football, but there’s always been this undercurrent of work in everything he does. I start to wonder if he’s ever had a moment of just pure joy.

“What about the camping trips the football team takes to Port Aransas? Or homecoming mums? Do you think those are dumb? Those are traditions, too.” Camille juts her chin out, daring Julian to take a swing at homecoming mums.

Julian rolls his eyes again. “Those ridiculous dinner-plate-sized flower arrangements girls wear around their necks before the homecoming game? Those don’t exactly have a point, either,” he says.

“I didn’t hear you complaining about them two years ago when you had that gorgeous garter arrangement from Reece around your bicep.” Camille raises her eyebrows.

I stop midlick. My stomach flip-flops, and I see the tips of Julian’s ears turn bright pink. Reece? Who is Reece? And why does the mention of his name make Julian’s ears turn pink?

“W-who’s Reece?” I clear my throat.