“At least think about it.” She gives me a half smile. “And hey, the Guardettes are having a fundraising dance this weekend that all of you football players have to come to, anyway. Maybe you’ll find yourself a homecoming date.” She bumps me with her shoulder.

“This is the most dance-having school in Texas, jeez.” I laugh.

“Hey, I know you spent a lot of time in the big city,” she jokes, putting air quotes around big city. “But spoiler alert: There’s not a whole lot else to do out here in the middle of nowhere. Cow tipping? Mailbox baseball? Watch the pumpjacks? Yawn. Hey, did you know that homecoming mums are only a Texas thing?” Camille changes subjects as often as some people change their socks. My head is spinning while I try to keep up.

“No way,” I argue.

“Yeah!” She laughs. “Everywhere else in the country, you just go to homecoming. Mums are this big bushy plant people put on their front porch in the fall. Isn’t that weird?”

We laugh together all the way to the guidance office, where Camille splits off and heads toward her marketing class.

Everyone in the guidance office is dressed in either a pink or purple T-shirt in support of the Powder Puff game tonight. Ms. Woods meets me at the door in a bright pink jersey that looks very similar to Camille’s. WALTZIN’ WOODS is spelled out on the back in glitter.

She sees me eyeing it and twirls around. “I won’t tell you how many years old this is, but we played Powder Puff way back in the dark ages, too.” She smiles and winks. “What can I do for you, Mr. Vance?”

“I’ve got a problem with my schedule,” I tell her.

“Let’s get that fixed, Elijah,” she says, perching her red readers at the end of her nose and taking my schedule from me.

She starts typing on her computer, and I look around her office. There are pictures of her with students everywhere you turn. Some are taken at school functions, some right here in her office. On a top shelf in a dusty corner, I spot a picture of Frankie all dressed up in her marching band outfit, smiling away with her arm around Ms. Woods. I didn’t notice it yesterday.

“When was that taken?” I point toward it.

“Oh, your sweet big sister. That was her sophomore year at the last football game of the season. Isn’t she a cutie with her piccolo?”

“I miss her,” I say before I can stop the words.

Ms. Woods removes her glasses from the end of her nose, and they hang on a chain around her neck. “How are things going for you, Elijah?”