“You know, I never really thought about this, but...” She cants her head. “You’ve... had sex before, right, cousin?”

  Courtney widens her eyes. “Oh, you might be on to something...”

  I snort. I scoff. “Yes,” I say, fidgeting. “Of course, I’ve done it.”

  “No, she hasn’t,” Violet says.

  “Nope.” Courtney shakes her head. “Big virgin energy up in here.”

  “Stop it,” I whisper. “Okay, fine. I don’t have a lot of... experience. It’s not a bad thing.”

  “Not a bad thing at all,” Courtney says. “But get that taken care of before the end of Rush Week.”

  “Rush Week?” I ask.

  “Yup.”

  “That’s next week.”

  “And Alpha Delta Xi will sniff you out faster than a damn K9 unit,” she says. “They find out you’re a Kirby, too, and they’ll be placing bets to see who can nail you first.”

  “Ew,” I say.

  She nods. “That’s how it goes. But they won’t touch you until after Bid Night — it’s part of their code.”

  “Why not?” Violet asks.

  “They just won’t,” Courtney says. “Once you’re initiated as a Beta Kappa, however, you are officially fair game.”

  Violet leans forward, her eyes squinting curiously. “But why though?”

  “That’s just how it works, Vi.”

  “But why?”

  They laugh as Courtney playfully smacks her again.

  “Well, what am I supposed to do?!” I ask, not laughing. “I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

  “Get one of your guy friends to take it,” she says. “That’s what I did.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I wish I’d done that,” Violet says.

  I blink. “You do?”

  “Totally. I gave mine up to some jerk who turned out to be a rival dancer’s boyfriend who only seduced me to convince me not to audition for a part that she wanted.”

  We stare at her.

  “Seriously?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

  Violet shrugs. “Yeah. She ended up getting poisoned, so it all worked out.”

  We keep staring.

  “Oh, she’s fine,” she adds with a wave of her hand.

  “You have got to stop going to that ballet school,” Courtney says.

  “Why? I love it.”

  Courtney rolls her eyes. “And you say we’re in a cult?”

  Violet sticks her tongue out.

  “Anyway, do that,” Courtney says to me. “Not what she said. Do my thing.”

  “Ask a guy friend to... take my virginity?” I say it aloud, hoping it sounds less crazy in my voice, but that somehow just makes it weirder.

  “Someone you’re close with,” she says. “Someone experienced who won’t make a big deal out of it. You’ve got some of those lying around, right?”

  I swallow. “Sure. I’ve got... friends.”

  “Mine was my friend, Paul. Theatre workshop. Freshman year. We got a hotel room for an entire weekend. He taught me everything I know.” She glances up, grinning. “The things he could do with his hands...” After a moment, she returns with a sigh. “I should see what he’s up to nowadays.”

  I sit quietly. Unfortunately, guy friends aren’t that plentiful in my life. Girl friends, sure, but none of them are going to Chicago North. Find a guy friend. An experienced guy friend who would punch my V-card.

  Where am I gonna find a guy like that by next week?

  A knock strikes the door. It opens before Courtney can say anything.

  “Good evening, ladies.”

  Connor greets us with a head nod from the hallway. “Court, Coach is here,” he says to his sister. “Mom says come down.”

  Courtney sighs. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

  Wait...

  Connor.

  We make eye contact. He smiles, the warm and familiar smirk of a guy I’ve known my entire life. My brothers’ best friend. The quarterback.

  “Go away,” Courtney says to him. “We’re having a private conversation here.”

  The Homecoming king.

  The Halftime Heartbreaker.

  He steps back slowly, purposefully annoying his sister. His eyes linger on me a moment more before he finally turns, leaving the door wide open.

  Courtney sighs with an outstretched arm. “Born in a barn,” she murmurs as she pushes the door.

  It closes with a click.

  Connor.

  The closest thing in the world I have to a guy friend. But he wouldn’t...

  Would he?

  CHAPTER 3

  CONNOR

  I was thirteen the first time I noticed that my father never called my grandfather Coach.

  My mother’s father is a living legend. Cary Pierce, one of the greatest living quarterbacks to play professional football. Some of his records have never been broken. The ones that have were broken by my father, Junior Morgan.

  I asked him one night, just after Coach’s annual birthday dinner. Why don’t you ever call him Coach like everyone else does? He was his coach once upon a time at Chicago North University. For a season, at least.

  My father went quiet for a moment, then he looked at me and said, “Your grandfather and I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye on things.”

  I thought that was strange. What could two men with so much in common possibly have to disagree on? Before I could ask, my mother called us back inside. I never got the chance to follow up, but as we walked inside, my father immediately went to my sister and hugged her.

  “Dad, what the hell?” She grimaced and pushed him away. At seventeen, she was way too cool for that level of parental affection.

  But Dad just smiled.

  I think about that now as Cary Pierce takes his chair at the head of our dinner table. We’ve celebrated his birthday this way for as long as I can remember. It used to be a small get-together. Just my parents, me and my sister, plus my uncles Grant and Ty. They aren’t really our uncles, but they might as well be.

  Grant studied theatre with my mother while they were at Chicago North, and they’ve worked together ever since. He used to babysit me and Courtney when our parents were away; Mom starring in an off-Broadway show, or Dad leading his team to yet another championship win.

  Ty played for the Bearhawks with my dad back in the day. He wanted to go pro, but he tore his ACL right out of school and became an agent instead. He insists he’s happier for it. Him playing professional football was always his father’s dream, not his.

  The guest list has expanded — along with the adjustable dining room table my mother had custom-made to fit all of us: our family, the Kirbys, and the Novaks.

  The Kirbys have joined us ever since they moved into the same neighborhood when I was little.

  John Kirby was a Bearhawk, too. In the pros, he played for my dad’s rival team. The media loved to play them up against each other, but they’re really best friends behind the scenes. Together, they founded Champion’s Gym here in Chicago — Train like a champion, with champions — and that’s kept them busy ever since they retired.

  His wife, Dr. Rose Kirby, is a tenured professor at Chicago North University in the science department. Chemistry. Not my area of expertise, but she seems to get a kick out of it. She used to visit our classrooms back in elementary school. You know, one of those guests that brings in with slideshows and props to make science seem “fun.” It never worked on me, but I know plenty of kids who plan on declaring science and tech majors because of her presentations.

  Rose’s sister’s family moved to the area a few years ago, so they join us, too. Daisy is an award-winning sports photographer. Her husband is Home Run Hunter himself, Hunter Novak. He’s a former professional baseball player (but we don’t hold that against him) and currently works for the athletics department at Chicago North.

  They have two children: Violet and Aster. Violet is a few years older than me. She’s a dancer at some fancy ballet academy downtown. Vaughn Academy, I think it’s called? She was infamous before she was even born, thanks to Trisha Wells at Sports Illuminated magazine doing an exposé on her parents.

  Aster is six. He likes dinosaurs.

  Rounding out the gang are Alex and Ben Kirby, the two best friends a guy could ever have. Insert your preferred trio reference. Amigos. Musketeers. Stooges. It all fits. Growing up in the shadows of famous parents has its peaks and valleys. Alex and Ben understand my life better than anyone, just as I understand theirs.

  And then there’s Dana. The little sister, or so people mistake her as when they first meet her. They’re triplets, but only Alex and Ben look identical. Dana is smaller. Quieter. Never too far away from her inhaler, unfortunately. I don’t know the specifics, but her lungs didn’t develop well, and she’s prone to asthma attacks.

  Her little eyes filled with fear as she clenched her chest. She recoiled away from me, wheezing, her voice broken.

  What have I done?

  “Look at you, kid.”

  I glance away from Dana sitting directly across from me, realizing the remark was for me. “What’s that, Coach?” I ask my grandfather.

  “All grown up, eh?” he says, his grin as wide as his shoulders.

  I chuckle. “I hope not.”

  “Are you excited to be starting school?”

  “Very.”

  “When’s your first scrimmage?”

  “It’s not all about football,” my mother says, her voice playful yet pointed down the table.

  “Oh, of course not,” Coach says, drawing a few laughs. “School is about books and learning.”

  “And Delta Xi!” I quip.

  “Delta Xi!” John, Ty, and my father chant in unison, their knuckles rapping twice upon the table, always happy to honor their fraternity.

  Some laugh. Others, like Daisy and Grant, roll their eyes.

  “It’s nice to know the kid has his priorities in line,” Ty jokes.

  “First scrimmage is Tuesday, Coach,” I say, answering my grandfather’s question.

  He nods. “I’ll be there.”

  I blush. “You don’t have to come. It’s just practice.”

  “Practice makes perfect, buddy.” He glances at Alex and Ben sitting on my right side. “And you two,” he says, already knowing the answer to his question. “You’re on the scout team as well?”

  “Hell yeah!” Alex says.

  Rose clears her throat. No language at the dinner table.

  “Who else is going to protect his scrawny ass on the field?” Ben jokes, giving me a hard poke in the ribs.

  Another throat clears, but it drowns amid laughter.

  “Well, if I know the Bearhawks, they’ll be stupid not to give starting slots to all three of you as soon as possible,” Coach says.

  “They have to pay their dues first,” my dad says. “Same as we all did.”

  Ty nods. “Be patient.”

  “The scout team is just as important as the starters.” Dad looks hard at me. “You show your grit there, and the coaches will notice.”

  “And in four years, you call me.” Ty points at each of us. “All right? I don’t want to hear one word of you three accepting any offers without running them by me first.”

  “Yes, Mr. Fisher,” the three of us say, having heard a variation of this every year since junior varsity.

  “I mean it.” Another stern, pointed finger. “I’ve seen countless young athletes take bad deals right out the gate. It’d break my heart to see that happen to you kids.”

  Grant pats Ty’s shoulder. “Basically, your Uncle Ty has dibs on you and you better fill our bank account as soon as possible,” he jokes.

  I laugh. “There’s no agent I’d rather have on my team than you, Mr. Fisher.”

  Ty raises his glass to my father. “You raised your child well, sir.”

  My father smiles with pride and they both take a drink.

  “Courtney.”

  My sister looks up from her plate. “Yes, Coach?”

  “What’s next for you?” Coach asks her.

  “Oh, you know...” She nudges her steak with her fork. “You audition here. You audition there.”

  “Court.” My mother grins. “Tell them.”

  Rose fidgets with excitement, along with Violet and Dana. Guess they’re already in the loop.

  “Tell us what?” Coach asks.

  Courtney sets her fork down. “Okay. This doesn’t go public until morning, but…”

  We lean forward in suspense.

  She waits, leaving us dangling for as long as possible until…

  “I got the lead in Joey Brywood’s new off-Broadway play,” she says. “I’m going to New York!”

  The table erupts with gasps of surprise, but no one is actually all that surprised. My sister inherited everything from my mother: thick brown hair, a biting wit, and enough stage presence to command a room for days.

  “Congratulations, sweetie,” my father says.

  “When do you start?” Rose asks her.

  “Rehearsals start in two weeks. Opening night is in forty days.”

  “That’s fast,” John says.

  Grant chuckles. “That’s stage life, Johnny.”

  We laugh as John fires him a playful glare. He hates being called Johnny, but that’s never stopped Grant as long as I’ve known him.

  “That’s so exciting,” Dana says. “When are you leaving?”

  “Next Friday.”

  Dana and Violet frown.

  “I’m gonna miss you,” Violet says.

  “I’m gonna miss you guys, too!” Courtney says. “I can’t believe I’m actually going.”

  “I can,” my father says. “You worked your ass off on that audition.”

  “Well, so did all the other girls.”

  “And I say they chose the one who deserved it the most. That’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it.”

  Courtney grins. “Thanks, Dad. And thank you for coaching me, Uncle Grant. I couldn’t have nailed that monologue without you.”

  Grant bows his head, smiling with pride.

  My grandfather shifts his gaze down the table, landing on Violet. “And the Home Run Baby?” he says.

  Violet rolls her eyes at the title, but smiles. “Yes, Coach?” she says.

  “You still dancing?”

  “Every day.”

  “They treating you well at that academy?”

  “It’s incredible,” she says. “I never want to leave.”

  Hunter leans forward, the proud papa. “Vi’s auditioning for Grease next month.”

  “Giselle,” she corrects him.

  “Right. Giselle.” His smile remains. “That’s what I said.”

  We laugh.

  “That’s...” Coach pauses, unsure. Not a ballet guy. “Big?”

  “Huge,” Violet says.

  “Well, I have every confidence you’ll knock it out of the park. Your family always does.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  Again, Cary Pierce looks at the next person down the line.

  Dana.

  He squints a moment, sizing her up. “And what’s going on in your life, young lady?” he asks her.

  Dana swallows hard. “Oh,” she says, her mouth twitching with hesitation. “Nothing much really.”

  “You’re going to school, right?”

  She nods. “Chicago North.”

  “You know I hear great things about ladies’ track and field there,” he says. “If you’ve got half your daddy’s speed—”

  “Oh, no.” Dana shakes her head. “I don’t do much in... athletics.”

  He smiles. “Well, that’s all right. Some of us have to be the brains around here. Will you be joining your mother in the science department?”

  “Uh... no.” Again, Dana swallows. “No, I’m... not much for STEM, either.”

  “Then what do you do?” he asks her.

  The table goes quiet.

  Dana fidgets in her chair, clearly uncomfortable with the amount of eyes suddenly focused on her. “Nothing remarkable, I guess,” she finally says.

  She smiled at me, her arms full, the candy sack almost too big for her hands.

  “That’s not true,” I hear myself say.

  Dana looks at me, her big eyes rounder than before.

  Everyone else looks at me, too.

  “I mean...” I clear my throat. “You write. Right?”

  “Do you?” Grant asks her with interest. “I didn’t know that.”

  “She does!” Rose says, leaping on it. “Short stories. Isn’t that right, honey?”

  “Well...” Dana pauses. “I used to.”

  “You wrote that story, though,” I say. “Won a bunch of awards.”

  “It was just the one award, actually,” she says, her voice getting low.

  Alex furrows his brow. “What story?”

  “The one with the kids on the boat,” I tell him. His frown deepens as he tries to recall it. “They get stranded out to sea. Big storm. No?”

  Still, he doesn’t remember. A few hums of acknowledgment pass around the table, but whether they really remember it, I can’t tell.

  Dana ignores them, still focused on me. “You read that?” she asks.

  I look at my grandfather. “It was great. They had it on display in the school library for months.”

  “And on our fridge at home,” John says, touching Dana’s shoulder beside him. “The kid’s right. It was a good story.”

  “She’s really talented,” I say, looking at Dana again.

  “That was two years ago,” she says.

  “Was it?” I ask.

  She nods.

  Damn. Could have sworn it was more recent than that.

  “Well, it was great,” I say again. “Really.”

  “I’m sure it was wonderful,” Coach says to her. “I’d love to read it myself.”

  Dana nods, looking down as her smile falls, too.

  “So, Junior, where’s that sister of yours these days?”

  Dad chuckles. “In Greece with her new boyfriend, last I heard.”

  “And your parents? How are they?”

  “Retired and happy in Seattle.”

  “Good for them…”

  I study Dana, unable to look away from her downturn eyes, as the others chat away.

  Nothing remarkable, I guess.