After seven episodes, I spent the rest of the afternoon sweating through my nightgown and beatboxing. Somehow I’d convinced myself my rapping skills rivaled the young Will Smith’s.

Jacob Deris didn’t agree.

At recess, Jacob chased me across the bark dust, carrying a piece of dog poop on a stick. I took refuge atop the monkey bars, and all the kids joined in the fun. Soon, I had not only canine feces tossed my way, but the ugly, nasty words that cut me to the bone. I’d never admitted my feelings about a boy again. That was until Gray Peters, and words—especially his—hurt.

“What? What the hell?” I jerked my eyes open and looked down. Arms were wrapped around my waist, I was sleeping on a pile of silk, and all I could smell was apples. A soft neighing, reminiscent of a horse who’d spotted a carrot, blew into my ear, and I turned my head. “Allison?”

Allison opened her eyes and gave me a lazy smile. “Morning, beautiful.”

Ripping her arms off me, I sat up in bed. “Allison, what are you doing in my bed?”

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and yawned. “I heard you crying last night in your sleep, so I jumped in next to you. You fought me at first. Mumbling something like, ‘Hand’s off, micro-dick,’ but then you cuddled against me and went off to Sleepyland.”

Slipping out of the bed, Allison pulled down her skimpy tank top.

I wanted to lay into her, but she’d forgiven me last night, so I swallowed my tirade.

And she was right. I was a mess.

After I left Gray’s house, I drove for a while, listening to bad ‘80s break-up ballads, and ate three cheeseburgers at a drive-in while sobbing into my fries.

“Yum.” Allison bent down and snatched up a half-eaten cheeseburger from the floor. “It’s good to eat your carbs in the morning,” she said through packed chipmunk cheeks, devouring my leftovers. “That way you have all day to burn it off.” Flexing her scrawny bicep, she sank next to me on the bed.

Yesterday, Allison had told me Katharine was incensed when we showed up at Gray’s party. In fact, she’d threatened to kick Allison out of Kappa Delta. Understandably, an enraged Allison had handed over the note, thinking it would help her situation, but it didn’t.

Katharine had instructed Allison to ditch all things Porter, including Jack. And worse, she’d ordered Allison to publically reveal Sunday Lane by Monday or risk her dream of staying a Kappa.

“I thought you were staying at the sorority?”

“Screw Kappa Delta,” Allison responded, tossing the wadded wrapper across the floor. “I’m sick of being pushed around, and I’m sick of Katharine.”

“Allison, I need time to formulate a plan. Katharine’s going to expose me today because you didn’t show up there last night.” I began to panic, thinking now I had less time to prepare.

Allison turned with a wicked smile. “Oh, I went to the sorority last night.” She suggestively patted her tummy. “After our pledge dinner, I grabbed three cans of refried beans from the pantry and smeared them all over the bathroom.”

“What? Allison, that’s disgusting.”

She nodded. “Then I moaned from inside, and when Daphne Anderson walked by, she opened the door and screamed, ‘Oh my God, she’s shitting all over the bathroom.’ Katharine was so freaked she kicked me out and cordoned off the restroom.”

Allison crossed her arms, sporting a self-satisfied smile. “But before I left, Katharine said, ‘Do it by Wednesday, puddle, or you’re out.’”

Rubbing my palms down my swollen face, I laughed as they fell to my lap. “Allison Meyers, you faked explosive diarrhea for me? That’s the most disturbing and sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” I gave her a hug.

“And I bought you two days,” she said, arching a thin eyebrow. “Now, what happened with Gray?”

Before I could say anything, a knock came from the door, and I grabbed my covers, pulling them over my face. “If it’s Peters, don’t tell him about the BOMB IN HIS CAR,” I yelled through the cotton comforter.

I heard Allison skip to the door and then a string of frantic smacking noises.

Jack.

“I missed you, sugar bear,” Allison squealed, and I tried to poke my fingers into my brain through my ears.

“I know, sweets. I missed you, too. Where’s Sydney?”

Strong hands ripped the blanket off me, and Jack hovered over my face. “I know, Sydney,” he said, sitting on the edge of my bed. “Gray called me last night. He told me about Sunday Lane.”

I felt a fresh roll of anger sweep over me. “He did?”

“I just feel sorry for Chance,” he said with a sigh. “Some people just want to make sure they’re in love before they have sex.” He glanced over at Allison, and she blushed.

“What?”

“Brown-eyed Virgin.” He laughed under his breath. “He said Chance was pretty upset, but he’s okay now. But Gray, he’s a mess, Sydney. It’s not like you haven’t been awful to him. Can’t you just forgive him?”

“It’s complicated,” I growled, and Jack scooted down the bed. “And it’s over, so we’re not talking about it.”

Jack lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Just thought I’d drop off a ticket for today’s game.”

“I’m not going to the game.” I slammed back on my pillow and pulled up my covers. “No F’n way. Besides, Mom’s in town, right? She texted me last night that she was coming in this morning. It would be the first game she’s seen. Give it to her.”

Jack sighed. “It was for her. She called this morning and said she wanted to go shopping instead and that maybe she’d hang out after, but she might be tired, so she’d see us in the morning for brunch.” His voice faded with a subtle ache only a Porter could detect.

Margot Porter had always been selfish, and even though Jack was playing it off like he didn’t care, he did.

“All the other moms will be there, Sydney.” He looked down with red-tinged eyes. “It doesn’t surprise me, though. Mom never liked football, so I don’t want to put her through that.”

I wanted to shake Jack for making excuses for Mom. She didn’t like football, that was true, but she was supposed to love her son. She was supposed to be there screaming and cheering with the other moms, bragging about Jack, the greatest running back Northern’s ever seen.

“Give me the ticket.” I held out my hand. “I’m going.”

The stadium was something out of my worst nightmares. There were thousands of Northern fans dressed in their favorite player’s numbers. Everywhere I turned, #24 Gray Peters slapped me in the face. Jack’s ticket had a special seat number for the players’ families, so at least I had some direction as I waded through the sea of blue and grey.

Making my way down corridor twelve, I located aisle B and glanced down the long row of seats. It was a prime location just off the fifty-yard line. I would be well protected in a mob of Betty Homemakers, and, bonus, maybe someone brought homemade cookies.

“Hi there.” A blonde in her mid-fifties greeted me as I sank down beside her. “Ready for the big game.”

I nodded, distracted by her large sunstone earrings (okay, this is the one time geology had paid off).

“You look a little young to have a player out there,” she teased, and I echoed her warm smile. “Who’s your boy?”

“My boy?” I asked, stiffening against the cold plastic stadium chair. “Jack Porter is my brother.”

“Jack Porter,” she squealed, gripping my forearm. “My baby Gray’s been watching out for that boy.”

I looked down at her lace-collared sweatshirt and to a silk-screened picture of a young boy in diapers tossing a football. Great.

“You must be Sydney?”

I started coughing uncontrollably, and Gray’s mom smacked me across the back. Then she grabbed a water from her purse. “Quick, drink this. They charge three dollars a bottle here! Outrageous if you ask me, and think of all that wasted plastic.”