My dad.

Just talked about his feelings.

Carter and Austin hung with a group of girls near the unused bleachers. Because where else would they be?

“Nick! You were awesome!” Hannah squeezed me in a hug.

“Right cross could use some work,” said Eliza. Her yellow hair brushed my cheek as she gave me a hug too. She silently laughed into my chest and I melted.

“Victory party at my house!” Jeff Karvotsky shouted. As it was a Friday night, we’d expected some kind of party, especially if we won.

“Why not?” said Carter. “We have a lot to celebrate. You ladies want to come?” He turned to Hannah and Eliza. Mostly Hannah.

“I’ll have to check my schedule . . .” said Hannah. Carter all but begged her to come after that.

“You still grounded, superstar?” asked Eliza.

“After absolutely demolishing L-W? Doubt it.” I’d have to double check with my mom, but I gathered that after that game my dad would throw me a bone.

On the walk back to the locker room, Austin’s footsteps came up behind me. “Stop by before the party, Nick,” he said. “Don’t forget.”

I kicked the ground in front of me like there was an imaginary soccer ball. Like I could possibly forget about that.

RULE NUMBER 18

A bro shalt not use the L word until his chick does. He shalt not even think it.

I’m not superstitious. At all. When people say Friday the thirteenth, I think of a crappy movie where the blond girl dies first. I think that’s because my dad started showing me horror films when I was five, and he’d always point out the fake blood and clichéd plot lines. But as I got in my car to drive to Austin’s house, it started to pour, when the sky had been nothing but sunny all afternoon.

It was hard not to see that as an omen.

I strutted up to Austin’s front door at 8:15 p.m. As a general rule, I never get to Austin’s house on time. He runs fifteen minutes later than normal human beings, meaning my 8:15 is his 8:00.

We’d discovered that Austin always runs precisely fifteen minutes late back in eighth grade when surprise birthday parties were still a thing. It was June 10, my fourteenth birthday, and Carter and Austin had gotten our friends together to surprise me. They told everyone to be at Carter’s house by 6:30 and they told me to get there at 6:45. I got there the same time as Austin, who was carrying a colorful net of balloons and a present wrapped in newspaper. I wasn’t very surprised when I walked into Carter’s dining room and everyone jumped out.

The doorbell dinged and Austin answered it after about forty seconds, about how long it takes to save a COD game. He gave me a quick “’Sup, man?” and led me to the basement, a.k.a. his man cave. Austin’s house was bigger than mine, but still about half the size of Carter’s. Austin’s basement was a lot nicer than mine, though, seeing as he actually had one. He had a TV the size of a fluffed-up golden retriever, a foosball table, and a poker table with chairs around it. It wasn’t Carter’s A-lister movie theater basement, but it was a solid place to chill.