“Fuckin’ public school Neanderthals.” Bad Rob was feeling it for sure.

“Hey, Danny Malone!”

Dan turned to find Emma Wesselman wandering over. He wasn’t much of a fan of the burnt-orange Longhorn colors, but Emma looked cute in a polo shirt for Longhorns girls basketball. She had grown out the curls in her brown hair and still had freckles from her summer tan.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Dan immediately blenched at the nickname and felt the scrutiny of his Jesuit crew. Play it cool.

“Nothing, I was just hanging out watching your buddy there talk his way into an ass kicking. Then I saw you.”

Emma and Dan had gone to grade school at St. Rita’s together. They lived two blocks away from each other and for years had hung out, off and on. Emma wasn’t a tomboy, but she was better than half the boys, including Dan, at basketball, soccer, you name it. Junior high brought different camps and cliques, and Dan and Emma drew apart to avoid teasing and ostracism. But they liked each other enough, and Emma had asked Dan to Sadie Hawkins freshman year. That night, he almost went in for the kiss, but Dan felt pressured and backed off. And then he didn’t call. And Emma didn’t know what to do and kind of gave up on him. He had known her like a sister for a long time, and it seemed weird to fool around or to even think about going together. But he was also used to making excuses, because the truth was: he’d blown it.

“Yeah, that could have gone wrong so many ways.”

“How are things? I never see you now.”

Emma said it very matter-of-factly, like the girl jock that she was. Not inappropriate, but Dan grimaced at the material she was inadvertently giving his crew to clown him with.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I’m just going to school. Selling drugs to children. Normal stuff.”

“Have you been drinking? You’re all flushed.”

Oh boy, now she sounded like his mother. And no matter how much Emma cared or was allowed to be personal with him, Dan was getting embarrassed.

“Well I was drinking. But can you blame me? Your Horns are killing us in there.”

Everything was coming out wrong. Or just off and nervous. Across the parking lot, a car stereo was blaring “Boys Don’t Cry,” and the music jangled along as Dan’s awkwardness grew and grew.

“How’s school?”

“Sucks moderately.”

Sensing things had stalled, Rick called over to Dan, “Dude, I think we’re heading out.”

Dan felt bad. Emma was a good girl. Not quite looking her in the eye, he started in: “So listen . . .” He had things to say. Say you’ll call her. She wants you to call her. But he chickened out again. “I gotta go.”