“Risky,” she said. Our knees crashed together. She glanced over her shoulder at the dark house behind us.

“You love it.”

“Yeah.” Her breath felt cool against my cheek, like a raindrop in May. “If you combine sweat and pool water and basically shove that smell down my nose, you know, that really does it for me.” Her arms laced around my neck. “Goodnight, Nick.”

“Night, Eliza.”

She rested her head on my shoulder and kept her legs draped over mine for a moment longer. Not long enough.

After Eliza vanished into her house, I sat still, trying to catch my breath. I couldn’t tell whether it was Eliza or the thrill of sneaking around that made me feel so much joy, but I wouldn’t know while everything inside me raced.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, coming back into reality. I had six text messages.

Two were from Carter:

Carter 5:30 p.m.: Thx for driving Eliza. Leaving for tutoring now, not sure if I’ll be there when you get back.

Carter 6:30 p.m.: Still at tutoring, won’t be home.

And then four messages from Austin:

Austin 5:34 p.m.: Carter + Hannah . . . amirite?

Austin 6:00 p.m.: You still at the school? Think I left the history textbook behind, if you see it lmk.

Austin 6:20 p.m.: WYA? No one’s in the pool rn, if ur still here want to do some c-balls? Gonna go change, be back in 10.

And then I read my last message from him.

Austin 6:29 p.m.: dude. You and LOC? We need to talk.

I punched the steering wheel. My phone fell, banging on the dashboard.

Shit.

RULE NUMBER 17

A bro shalt always keep his cool.

I successfully avoided Austin for the majority of the next day. That’s a legitimate accomplishment, since we’re in most of the same classes and he knows where I live.

Neither of us could skip soccer. He cornered me in the locker room, moments before what would turn into probably the most important soccer game of my high school career. I took my cleats out of my grimy, stained duffel bag as he plunked down on the long bench behind me. Guys changed and ran around in every direction. Carter wiped off his shin guards a few lockers away and I really hoped Austin wouldn’t start something between Carter and me right before the game. We needed a win for so many reasons.

“My house. Eight o’clock. Tonight.”

“I’ll be there,” I said. He was giving me an ultimatum. Austin is a great friend, to both Carter and me. Either I would go to his house tonight and give him my side of the story before he told it to Carter, or I wouldn’t go to his house tonight and he would tell Carter exactly what he’d seen.

“Good.” He plodded to the other end of the locker room to begin his pre-game routine. Ever since Coach Dad gave us a two-hour long lecture on sports psychology, every player on the team had developed his own pre-game ritual. For some guys it was nothing more than wolfing down a candy bar or putting black lines under their eyes like we were in the NFL or something. For others, it was considerably more complex. Carter, for example, had a specific motivational quote for each piece of his uniform. He was really secretive about it, and I had no idea what most of them were, but once I heard him say, “You have a choice—you can either throw in the towel, or use it to wipe the sweat off your face,” which I’m pretty sure was a Gatorade ad.