“Something tells me you enjoy what he’s eating more than what he’s cooking.” She gives me an exaggerated wink. “You know what I’m sayin’?”

“You’re equal parts clever and disgusting, as always.” I try to change the subject. “So, I got a package this morning without a return address. Is that from you?”

The way she lights up tells me that’s a yes.

“Oh Em Gee, yes. I almost forgot. Open it. Open it!” she screeches at me with that mischievous glint in her eyes again.

“Please tell me this isn’t some weird sex thing.”

“Nah, I don’t think you need any more help in that department. Although, I guess if you’re into role playing, it might be useful.”

I pause halfway through opening the box, skeptical if I want to open it at all.

“Oh, come on. Just open it.”

I pull out a big red shirt with JACOBS printed in big block letters on the back. I stare at Jackie blankly.

“It’s a jersey. You know, a football jersey. Austin’s jersey.”

“Yeah, I gathered that, what with the name and all. What exactly am I supposed to do with it?” I hold up the jersey like it’s a dirty dish rag.

“Wear it. To the game tomorrow. Duh.”

“No way. I’m trying to avoid the creepy fangirl vibe, remember?” The last thing I need is for Austin to think I’m reading too much into being invited to his game. It isn’t a sentimental gesture—it’s just to get his teammates off his back.

“Where the hell is your school spirit?” she mocks. “There’s more.”

There is more. A lot more. I now have enough school swag to open my own gift shop. In addition to the jersey, I’ve got sweatpants, beer koozies, stickers, a hat, a blanket and pom-poms.

“You don’t think this is a little over the top?” I deadpan.

“It’s probably the only college sporting event you’ll ever go to. You should do it right.”

I roll my eyes at her.

Why bother arguing? We both know how this is going to end.

* * * *

I’m wearing every damn piece of school swag Jackie sent me, including the idiotic stickers under my eyes. I’m a poser, but no one seems to notice. I blend right into the sea of red that is our grandstands. The place is packed, hardly an empty seat in the house. Except for the ones Austin reserved for me. In his family section. My heart flutters.

A woman in her sixties smiles at me and points to one of the empty seats next to me with a paper sign that reads “Reserved for Jacobs family.”