As we approach the stands, I can hear the band playing our school fight song. The cheer team is on the sideline, shaking their metallic blue poms to the beat as they do a simple dance. I spot Cami Lockhart in the front row, right in the middle. Her smile is big and perfect, straight out of a toothpaste commercial, and there’s a temporary tattoo of a badger paw, our school mascot, on her cheek.
I look away and focus my attention on the bleachers before us. There’s a variety of ages sitting in the stands. Older people. Parents. Little kids. Middle schoolers.
“Want to sit in the student section?” Sophie asks me.
It’s packed tight with a variety of grades, and I realize quick we’re going to have to sit near the bottom. “We won’t be able to see the game.”
“True.” Sophie glances around, then points. “Let’s go sit over there.”
We sit up high and across the aisle from the student section, near the snack stand the football booster club runs. The scent of chili lingers in the air and my stomach grumbles, despite eating way too many fries and chicken strips earlier at Pete’s. But the booster club is famous for their Frito boats, and I might have to convince Sophie to get one to split before the game is over.
We stopped by my house before we went to Sophie’s, and I dropped off my backpack and grabbed a fresh pair of jeans and my wallet, which had a five-dollar bill in it, plus six quarters and other miscellaneous change. I gave the quarters to Sophie for our after-school snack at Pete’s, though she tried to give them back to me. I couldn’t take them. Even if it was only a dollar-fifty, I felt better giving her a little bit of money than none at all.
I don’t like feeling like someone’s charity case. Sophie’s family has more money than mine, but they’re not what I would call rich. Not even close.
“I’m glad we’re sitting over here,” Sophie says once we’ve settled in. “The student section is so crowded.”
The band is directly in front of us, though down at the bottom of the bleachers, and it seems extra loud when they play. To the point that we’re wincing and plugging our ears with our fingers. It’s not that the band sounds awful, it’s just that they’re so…noisy. When they finish their song, Sophie and I send each other a look before we start cracking up.
It’s nice, having a friend who understands you, even when you don’t say anything at all.
The game starts, and I watch as our defense slams into the opposing team’s offense. I try not to look for him, but my gaze wanders, tripping over every boy’s jersey number printed in white on their backs until I find number four.
He’s standing right next to his father, his helmet off, dangling from his fingers. He’s actually taller than his dad, which is impressive, because Drew Callahan, former Super Bowl-winning quarterback, is a pretty big guy. It’s still wild, to think that he’s a coach for our little high school football team up in the mountains.
Not that I really care about football or anything like that. I mean, what do I know? I don’t keep up with sports. It’s been just my mom and me since my brother Joe graduated high school and went into the Navy six years ago. My father was never really a part of our lives. Mom has had a few boyfriends, but nothing too terribly serious until recently. And when she’s not with Rick, she’s busy working, trying to keep a roof over our head.
Sophie has the game program open in her lap and flips through the pages until she gets to the varsity football team photos. It’s a two-page spread, with individual photos of each boy on the team, in order by number. Of course, my gaze lands on number four.
His expression is serious. He’s squinting in the sun, his dark hair glinting in the light, his jaw like granite, his jersey stretched tight across his broad shoulders. It’s unfair, how gorgeous he is.
“You know, you never did say much about what happened between you and Jake Callahan,” Sophie muses.
Oops. She caught me staring.
I tear my gaze away from his photo and smile at my friend. “I think he was trying to set me up.”
Sophie frowns. “What are you talking about?”
I explain everything that happened. How his friends were standing around. How they were making fun of Jake. How I figured they were making fun of me too.
“Was Tony there?” Sophie asks when I finish my story.
“Um, I think so?” Yeah, maybe he was. That guy is notoriously quiet. Most of the time he blends into the background. Kind of like me. And Sophie.
“He’s actually really nice,” Sophie says, her gaze going to the field. “He’s in my environmental studies class. We sit at the same table.”
“He’s a jock,” I remind her. “His friends are all assholes. Just like Jake.”
“They’re not all assholes,” Sophie says, her cheeks turning the faintest pink. “I don’t mind Tony.”
“He’s best friends with Diego. Just like Jake is.” I send her a look when she turns to face me. “They’re our mortal enemies.”
“Diego is Marty’s mortal enemy. Their problems go back to when they were in diapers and they hated each other even then.” Sophie blows out an exasperated breath, her gaze focused on the field. “I know those guys have been mean to Marty in the past, but I like Tony. We’re…friends.”
I’m stunned silent. She actually wants to be friends with one of the jocks? I can’t believe it.
“There’s no denying Diego has hurt Marty over the years, but I’m not going to lump the entire football team together like that because they’re all friends,” Sophie explains when I still haven’t said anything. “Until he proves me otherwise, I’m going to continue thinking Tony is a nice person.”
“Okay,” I say, drawing the word out. I’m sure she can feel my doubt.
“Tony told me about the party at his house tonight,” she says, somewhat changing the subject.
“Right. You mentioned that earlier.” I may not hang out with the popular crowd, but we always seem to know exactly what they’re doing at all times. Gossip spreads fast in a small high school.
Tony Sorrento’s family is loaded. I’m pretty sure his parents divorced a few years ago, and his mom got the massive house that sits right on the edge of the lake in the divorce. And from what I’ve heard around school, his mom is never around. She goes out of town pretty much every weekend, making it easy for Tony to host his notorious parties.
“He asked me if I was going, and I said—yes.” She bites her lip, her expression wary as she studies me. “He also said I could bring a friend too, if I wanted.”
Realization dawns and I lean away from her, my mouth falling open. “You did this on purpose! You brought me to your house, helped me pick out an outfit.” I wave a hand at my favorite jeans and the cute top I’m wearing, courtesy of her closet. “You did my hair.” She actually curled it, something I never make time for. “And you brought me here under false pretenses. You don’t care about the game. You want to go to the after party so you can…what? Hang out with Tony Sorrento?”
Sophie frowns, her expression full of hurt. “I wasn’t trying to trick you, Hannah. I just knew if I mentioned a party after the game, there’s no way you’d agree to it. If you don’t want to go, I can drop you off at your house before I head over to Tony’s.”