“He’s not.” Please let him not be staring at me. Maybe there was someone else behind me.

“He definitely is.” She kept staring at the gym floor. “Is something going on? He hasn’t looked at anyone else as long as he’s looked at you.”

“Piper.” I stuck the highlighter in the center of my notebook, letting the pages flop over. “He’s not—”

Our spot on the bleachers was the perfect spot for late arrivals and early escapees from the mandatory pep rallies. In the center of the court, the entire team was lined up, and behind them was the coach, who looked three seconds from an aneurism. His face was beet red, with veins raised on his neck and forehead like a topographical map of the Rockies.

He introduced the starting lineup and played up the tradition of the junior vs senior game, the Bedlam Bowl, and how at least eight of their rising seniors signed commitment letters within a week of the game every year.

With his hands clasped behind his back and the most ‘over it’ look on his face, Dare stared right at me.

My stomach flipped, cartwheeling around inside my body. Senior year just got a hell of a lot longer with the required crash course in Dare Diversion.

The train wreck of a pep rally continued with cartwheels, and an ear-splitting rendition of ‘Hey, Look Ma I Made It’ by Panic! At The Disco blared by the marching band. Did no one ever listen to the lyrics in the verses instead of the chorus? The football coach brought up how this team would go down in Greenwood Senior High history at least ten times in his ten-minute speech.

He mentioned that in a little over a week, more than half the team would be going to a skills combine to show off their athleticism for recruiters. Dare’s gaze snapped to the coach. Was he going to that? Where would he be going to college next year? He’d been evasive when I’d asked him on Saturday.

“How many more of these self-congratulatory sessions do they need before we’re all put out of our misery?”

“The official trophy hasn’t even arrived yet. We’ve got at least two more of these to go,” Piper responded unhelpfully.

We stood, not because we were driven to our feet by the excitement of the atmosphere, but because we needed to get out of here before we were gridlocked in the hallways.

Leaping—well, more like tumbling—from our spot on the bleachers, Piper and I evaded the crush of people waving plastic pom poms and pennants and rushed out of the gym. Flyers for the talent show fluttered off the bulletin board beside the doors as people rushed to freedom.

Ducking and dodging, we made our way through the sea of people who would hang out at school until the championship trophy bonfire caravan out to the clearing in the woods in three hours.

I needed to get the soundboard set up for the dress rehearsal and get to the studio by nine. Leaving closer and closer to when my mom left upped the risk factor, but playing beside musicians, not just watching them through glass, had stirred something in me I hadn’t felt before. The songs were coming fast and furious. I hadn’t had the courage to sing them in front of anyone else, but every day it felt like more of a possibility.