By the end of the early session, I was ready to catch some shade and grab lunch with Chris. That morning I’d run to school to squeeze in my workout before the late August heat took over. His ride home would save my legs from too many miles. He’d even texted me last night. I saved it. I may have also reread it once or twice… or fourteen times. But knowing he was thinking of me and that we’d see each other “at lunch” had been just about the best thing ever.

  That had been one of the big draws of quitting cross-country. I mean, he’d hang out with the guys, too. But still, some of those days would be mine. And, since I hadn’t seen him in almost a week, of course we’d do something today.

  Now, waiting outside the locker room, I watched cheerleaders flit into the gym. They glanced around as if expecting to see half-dressed boys lounging about in all their athletic glory, just waiting for the squad to enter and appreciate them. At our school, the gym was a temple and jocks the sacrifice, offering, and idol all rolled into one.

  With no male glory lounging, the girls strolled across the basketball court, oblivious to my presence, and filed into their own locker room to clean up and re-beautify.

  I hoped Chris finished with the team before we had to deal with Cheryl, or there’d be some issues with getting my boyfriend-time for the day. The week actually, but who was I to complain? I knew The Plan.

  The locker room door slammed against the wall and the younger guys lumbered past in clusters of threes and fours. Some amped up; others moved as if they’d been hit by a bus, run over by a Mack truck, and then keelhauled. Eventually, the upper classmen trickled out to head home or downtown for lunch.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised Chris was one of the last to appear. He took his senior year duties very seriously. If he didn’t need The Plan to get into Monroe State, things would have been a lot simpler.

  It definitely threw a monkey wrench in my personal plan (note the lack of capitalization). And, of course, it was the oh-so-joyful reason for the Public Image Girlfriend, Cheryl.

  Unlike Miss Most Everything, I thought popularity looked more like a curse than a blessing. My best friend Rachel laughed at my embracing anonymity, but I really didn’t mind living outside the spotlight. Way outside. Like in a different time zone.

  I know being invisible isn’t a superpower everyone wants. But my invisibility had come when I’d needed the space, the quiet. When the two people who always saw me and loved me best… stopped.

  My mom, not by choice. My dad… well, I have no idea about that one.

  Almost all the guys had escaped the locker room when I heard the girls’ room door open. The cheerleaders had changed from their little spandex shorts into their little denim shorts—I guess the material negated the ho-factor—and were leaving in gaggles. Still no sign of Cheryl.

  I hadn’t expected a clean break, but had hoped to escape without more cheer-friendliness focused on my boyfriend. When the next guy rounding the corner wasn’t Chris, I gave an inner growl. And, of course with my luck, it could only be none other than Mr. I-Just-Moved-Here.

  I’m not sure why he picked me to be his new school buddy, but babysitting him at practice was not on my To-Do list. It wasn’t even on my To-Consider list. I was not his “in.” He’d learn soon enough that I was unsweet-talkable. If he wanted on the team, his only chance was to go through Coach Sarche. And, if he really thought he was playing left forward, the only way to Coach was through Chris Kent.

  That was so not a train I was getting on, let alone helping drive.

  He slowed as he approached, hitching his sports bag higher on his shoulder. “Hey.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes, especially since he was blocking my view of the doorway.

  “You waiting on Coach Sarche?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah. Good. He’s got some of the guys in there, some of the veteran seniors. For a chat.”

  “Oh.” I mean, what else could I say to that, besides: Crud. Now I have no ride home and haven’t hung out with my boyfriend in five days?

  “So, you’re waiting for one of the guys?” This kid didn’t know when to give up.

  “Yes. I mean, no. No.” I tried to glance past him again. “I was making sure there wasn’t anything else I have to do. You know. First full day and all.”

  “Cool. So, you know, I’m Luke.” He looked down at me from his six-foot-something frame. Waiting.

  Waiting for what? I thanked my stars most people didn’t typically notice me if this was how interesting small talk was. I just did not have the energy for this. To be honest, Luke Parker made me a bit nervous with all that focus. I didn’t like when he turned it on me. Invisibility was looking even better with him standing there studying me like a new playbook.

  “Yeah, so I’m Luke,” he repeated. “And that would make you…?”

  The door to the girls’ locker room swung open again. The senior squad poured out and sauntered across the basketball court to the boys’ door. Cheryl emerged from the formation, gliding toward the sacred portal. Without batting an over-blackened eyelash she did something I never would have considered—even as the team’s stats girl.

  She knocked on the door.

  A moment later, the assistant coach pushed his head through the entry. After much hair flipping and some over-played giggling—from Cheryl, not the AC—he shouted “Kent!” over his shoulder and let the door fall shut. When it reopened, Chris stuck his head out, nodded a few times, and then disappeared back inside.

  “I’ll see you guys tonight,” Cheryl called to the other Rah-Rahs and made herself comfortable on the bleachers. To wait for Chris.

  It might have been the disappointment talking, but wasn’t Cheryl taking her role as fake girlfriend a bit too seriously?

  And just then, BING! My text sounded. Can’t do lunch. Catch you later.

  Catch me later?

  I glanced Cheryl’s way to catch her looking right at me. When our gazes met, she gave me a sticky sweet smile and finally those eyelashes fluttered. Ironic eyelash fluttering. Who would have thought she was that clever?

  “So?”

  I blinked and looked up again. I’d forgotten Luke Parker was standing there.

  “So, I have to go. Good luck at tryouts.”

  I pushed past him and made it to the parking lot before the queasiness tickled my stomach and headed out toward the road without bothering to stretch.

  Chris was going to bring her home. Or to lunch. It didn’t matter which since I wasn’t the “her” in the picture. Every night this week he’d hung out with Cheryl and her friends to get ready for Homecoming nominations. He’d said people needed to identify them as a couple (can you see the annoying air-quotes?) before classes started because new-school-year couples never won. The popular vote always decided the court. And, let’s be honest, Cheryl’s Rah-Rah status won the popular girl vote and her short skirts won the guys… and their votes.

  I’d felt horrible as he stood there trying to explain. It hadn’t just been the words that upset me, but the tone of his voice. The exasperated-yet-trying-to-be-patient tone layered over everything as he discussed the need to align himself with someone who wanted to win. Someone who would play the game and get the Homecoming Crown on his head. It had been like a Survivor episode—all in or get voted off. But if there was ever a deadly environment to the soul, it was high school.

  Or at least, that was the unsaid part of the argument.

  Shockingly enough, I was suddenly glad I didn’t own a car. The run home would burn off my annoyance at expecting Chris to be free at a school thing.

  I picked up the pace, trying not to wonder how I’d get back by seven for the evening session. If Rachel were here, I could have gotten her to drive me. She’d probably like the excuse to sit “reading” while the team ran around doing quasi-manly things. One more reason her being away for the summer stunk.

  Of course, the only upside to no Rachel was how she felt about Chris… She hated him with the heat of a thousand suns.

  About two miles into the four to my house, the saying “it isn’t the heat, it’s the humidity” proved to be a big fat lie. It was the heat and the humidity. Knowing everyone was most likely headed the opposite direction for lunch, I stripped to my sports tank and tucked my T-shirt through the back.

  No sooner had I started up again, than an old, red Chevy pickup slowed beside me. When I say old, I mean my-grandfather-learned-to-drive-on-something-like-it old.

  “Need a ride?”

  I was running a comfortable sub-seven mile. Did I really look like I needed a ride?

  I peeked over without breaking stride. “No thanks.”

  “Because, you know, I’m heading this way.”

  Luke Parker was apparently a talker.

  “Still nope. Thanks though.”

  The truck continued by my side. The rev of the engine rolled through my mind, sweeping over the steady beat of my sneakers and the in-out of my breathing.

  I glanced to where he still puttered along beside me.

  “Really.” I let my annoyance tint my voice. If I had to keep talking to him, I’d need to drop my pace.

  He eyed the road and turned back to me. Before he could meet my gaze again, I sped up enough to be out of line with his window. Note to self: Trucks gain speed more easily than humans.

  When he pulled parallel, I felt his gaze take me in all the way down to my running shoes. Despite the heat and not because of my sweat, a shiver rushed through me. Guys never looked at me, and to be so thoroughly assessed made me uncomfortable in a parents-talking-about-sex-at-the-dinner-table kind of way. Not that I’d know anything about that, but the assumptions of the teenage mind are a brilliant thing.

  I halted, kicking my leg back and grabbing my ankle in a quad stretch.

  The Chevy stopped and the driver’s door slammed open.

  He jumped down and raised his arms in a half shrug. “What?”

  I paced past the truck bed. “Do you mind? You’re throwing my stride off and I have a time going here.”

  Before he could answer, I shot past him.

  Alone was all I wanted and pushy-invisibility-seeing guy was not welcome in my sphere. It’s like Rachel always said: Never trust a guy who claims to want nothing from you. Trust me equals I’m a big fat liar-liar. Pants and everything.

  Plus, I had enough guy issues between my dad ignoring me and Chris blowing me off that I didn’t need another guy trying to call the shots in my life. He’d have to find his working-to-get-his-spot-on-the-team friend somewhere else. I wasn’t his time-filler—especially since the spot he was working to take was Chris’s.

  A girl’s gotta have her loyalties.

  As I cleared the end of the road, I turned onto the old trail that cut through the conservation wetlands knowing no truck, no matter how old, was going to follow there. Behind me, I heard the pickup slow before it over-revved and drove away.

  Chapter 3

  “You’ve reached the middle of nowhere. Leave a message after the beep.”

  BEEP.

  “Hey, Rachel. It’s me. Haven’t talked to you in days and I’m hoping your day off is coming up. Only another week of being a camp counselor and then you come home. Yay for me! Things are a little crazy right now. I really wish you were here. Everything with Chris is weird and… and… crazy. Yeah, babbling. Sorry. Stay safe. See ya soon.”

  I am a horrible friend. I am a super-amazing-life-alteringly horrible best friend for being annoyed she was where she needed to be instead of with me. If I weren’t, I’d totally get that this summer working at the wilderness camp was the best thing Rachel could do for her college apps.

  I did get that. Really. But I’d never been in this situation before… in this boy situation. Even if Rachel couldn’t stand Chris—or Ego Boy, as she called him—and didn’t get my six-year-invisible-loyalty thing, I could have used her advice. Rachel was a pro at handling social things. She could blow off drama like a starlet breezing past the paparazzi.

  I was even jealous of Rachel’s tightness with her mom and how she could discuss anything with her.

  One week. I only needed to last one more week on my own and she could return to being my life-organizing whirlwind of a best friend.

  # # #

  The phone rang at 1:09 am, the light from its screen lighting up my bedside table.

  Took her long enough.

  “Where have you been? I called you three times this week.” I know, a little pushy, but I was tired—it was the middle of the night—and anxious since I hadn’t heard from her.

  “Babe, you saw me today at practice.”

  I practically fell out of bed as I shot up and pulled my phone away to check the caller ID.

  “Chris. Sorry. I thought you were Rachel.”

  He kind of chuckled on the other end. Any time I brought up Rachel he evaded. I think that heat-of-a-thousand-suns thing was a little obvious.

  “I just wanted to call to say good night and tell you how much tonight sucked.” He breathed out, the quiet behind him letting me know he was finally alone. “I could have used the downtime with you.”

  “Oh.” I grinned to myself. Good. Let it be not-easy being with her. Let her be a pain in the butt.

  “So, I was just calling to say good night.”

  I wasn’t really sure what the right answer was. Was I supposed to tell him how much I’d missed him tonight or just say good night back? When I opened my mouth, my polite gene took over.

  “Thanks.”

  Chris chuckled again. I wish he did that more often. “You’re welcome.”

  Before I could say anything else, the line went dead. I held the phone a second longer until the screen light flicked off and rolled over to try to fall back asleep.

  Try being the operative word.

  Chapter 4

  Second session tryouts were not my friend. It had already been a long day and the bike ride back to school was grueling in the early evening heat. I locked up my bike and headed into the building, breathing in the cool air of the darkened hallway. My keys landed with a heavy thud at the bottom of my official stats girl locker. I could hardly wait to get to the restroom to wash and put on a clean tank top. Basically, girlify myself in my standard fashion.

  “Babe.”

  I tried not to spin around, but as the boy who went with that voice leaned past my locker door, my heart sped faster than when I’d hit the third hill on the way there.

  “Hi, Chris.”

  He bent down to pick up my backpack and surveyed both ends of the hall. With a grin, he leaned in and brushed my hair behind my ear. His warm hand cupped my cheek and I thought, Kiss me. Kiss me, already!

  “Did you see that attack I made this morning? I was really on my game.”

  What was I supposed to say? It was true. It was always true.

  “Coach kept a couple seniors after practice to let us know he’d be watching this evening to name the tryout captains.” He braced his arm against the locker and peered down at me. I dropped my head to hide how big my smile grew at the whole thing—the whole Chris-is-so-close-I-can-smell-the-soap-he-used thing.

  “Well, of course he’ll name you. You’ve been on the varsity team since freshman year. You’re the best. The guys already consider you their leader.”

  His smile widened. “Did he say anything to you about it?”

  I shook my head. I did that a lot around Chris. It was easier than trying to make sense and gave me a second to pull my thoughts off his general hotness. “I didn’t even know you guys did tryout captains.”

  That blinding smile came back and I felt like I’d won some type of lottery. I wasn’t even sure what type, just something really good.

  “Let me know if he does, alright, babe?”

  I nodded, grinning at him again. Man, I needed to get Botox in my lip muscles to stop the stupid expressions that popped up around him.

  “You know, this is easier.” He cocked his head to the side, looking at me like he hadn’t seen me before. Like I was new, brand new. “You being here. Knowing you’ve got my back. Just having you here makes me feel… I don’t know… calmer.”

  I grinned again, or maybe just bigger. He made me feel anything but calm.

  “What is it about you?” His voice had dropped and he looked, if not serious, more serious than I’d seen.

  The doors behind Chris opened and he peered over his shoulder at new-kid-Luke coming in. The Look evaporated and he stepped away, distancing himself in more ways than one.

  “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  More nodding on my part. “Okay. Talk to you later.” Parroting was almost as bad as nodding. Doing both had to look twice as inane.

  I leaned against the cool metal lockers to watch him walk away, bag slung over his shoulder, hitching up his T-shirt to show the tan line around the top edge of his shorts.

  “Hey.”

  For a new kid, this guy was everywhere.

  “Hey.” I settled my backpack over my shoulder and started down the hall.

  He fell in step with me and motioned toward Chris, as present as ever a few yards ahead of us.

  “You know that guy?” And nosy.

  “I know him."

  “How?”

  “How do I know him?” I stopped and gave Luke Parker my full attention. “He’s Chris Kent. Everyone knows him. You even know him and you’ve been around for like, what, eight minutes?”

  He leaned down enough that our eyes met and I wondered where all that intensity came from and what it was going to get him on the field. “I was wondering, because, you know, he looked awfully comfortable with you just now.”

  It wasn’t any of his business and, since no answer I gave was going to make sense, I shrugged. Hopefully my bangs gave me some coverage when I rolled my eyes as he shortened his stride to walk with me again.

  “After seeing you run, I’m surprised you’re a bench-jockey.”