Every part of my body aches and the euphoria of winning the game is beginning to float away as Coach Buckner lectures us on all the things we could have done better tonight. Can’t the guy ever just enjoy the moment? I can feel that he’s proud of us—we played a hell of a game—but it’s buried under his anxiety about the season. I get that it’s his job and all, but the dude is way too invested in high school football.

“Jesus, do you think Old Buck could ever just give us a break?” Ryan moans after Coach leaves, sinking down on the bench to untie his cleats.

“Oh who gives a flying fuck what that prick thinks,” Bryce practically shouts, “that last touchdown was legend!” He slaps Ryan on the back and I can feel Ryan brighten a little bit at the chorus of compliments from the team that follows Bryce’s swaggering.

Ryan smiles, high-fiving and fist-bumping the guys in between getting out of his various pieces of gear. Despite what happened earlier, I’m reluctantly grateful for Bryce in this moment. As the quarterback, Ryan has a lot of pressure on him, and I know he wants to do everything perfectly. His self-doubt about how he played was really starting to bum me out—like the weight of the world was coming down on my shoulders. Apparently all he needed was some hyping up from the team idiot.

“Hey—Mr. QB. I hear Jessica Hernandez asked you to that Sadie Hawkins thing,” teases Henry, the team sleaze. The guys all ooh and wolf-whistle, shoving at Ryan playfully. My stomach swoops and my heart rate picks up.

“Yeah, she did. Not that it’s any of your business,” Ryan shoots back, swatting his towel in Henry’s direction. A blush is creeping up Ryan’s neck and I feel warm all over. My face scrunches in confusion as I pull my jersey over my head—is Ryan nervous? Why would he be nervous? He’s always talking about girls. I don’t understand why this is any different.

“Dude, she is hot,” Justin says, and there’s a murmur of agreement through the locker room.

“Super hot,” agrees Henry. “I certainly wouldn’t mind taking a bite of that sexy burrito.” Henry does a little dance, spinning his jersey above his head like a lasso, and the instant spike of white-hot rage from Ryan almost makes me fall over.

“Dude, shut the fuck up. That is offensive on literally so many levels,” Ryan says, chucking an elbow pad right at Henry’s face.

“What, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about tapping that? And now she’s asked you to the dance…” Henry trails off, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. I feel like I’m biting into Styrofoam—my teeth squeaking and sliding unpleasantly at Henry’s words.