Nate snorts. “Are we in seventh grade and someone forgot to tell me?”

“Oh, come on, I just thought it would be fun. You know all the girls are going to wear matching outfits,” Darien laughs. “Besides, I have no idea how I’m supposed to dress for an ’80s dance. I don’t want to look stupid all by myself.”

“Have you heard of Google?” Nate laughs again. “Jeez, Murphy. Are you sure you didn’t get knocked around a little too hard in that tackle drill this afternoon?”

We all tease Darien mercilessly, making sure to give him as much wrong outfit information as possible for tomorrow’s ’80s dance.

“Slicked-back hair, white T-shirt, black leather jacket,” Bucky says.

“Bell-bottoms, gold chains, and a flowered shirt unbuttoned to your navel. I have at least three you can borrow,” I tell him with as straight a face as I can manage.

“You guys can go to hell.” Darien laughs. “I’ll just ask my dad.”

Bucky begins regaling us with a story about the cows getting out of the gate of his family’s farm during a thunderstorm a couple of weeks ago. It apparently took four neighbors to corral Bessie in the middle of Old Barn Road while thunder rumbled and the street started to flood.

We’re all cracking up loudly over our plates of pasta and salad when I catch a glimpse of Elijah sitting alone across the room, watching us. My chest aches watching him watch us.

Team dinners always feel like they stretch on for hours and hours, but that’s probably only because Birdie volunteers me as a one-man cleanup crew when it’s all over. Scrubbing out those giant pans caked with red sauce in the church kitchen takes forever, but at least this time, Elijah is here helping to wipe down the tables. By the time we load the washed pans and tablecloths back into the trunk of Birdie’s car, I’m exhausted.

Elijah doesn’t speak to anyone on the way home other than to say, “It was good, thank you,” when Birdie asks him if he enjoyed his first varsity team dinner.

Part of me wants to knock on his door after Birdie goes to bed. As angry as I’ve been, I still didn’t like to see him looking that dejected.

But instead of knocking on his door, I lie on my bed staring at my ceiling, thinking of all the things I’d like to ask him.

Hey, remember when we kissed? That was kind of important to me. Apparently it wasn’t to you?

Nope, that wasn’t going to work.

You basically ripped my heart out when you rejected me and then disappeared without saying goodbye. Are we just never going to talk about it?

Mmm… probably not the best choice, either.

Maybe I could just write it down.

Dear Elijah, You broke my heart.

Dear Elijah, I loved you.