After a long first day of school, it was nice to be able to just go home. And Isabel was well aware how lucky she was to have the home she did. She lived in what was dubbed the Historic District of Roswell in a yellow brick house that had been constructed around the turn of the twentieth century. She remembered moving in there with her mom when she was only four years old. After an especially nasty divorce with no prenuptial agreement, her mother had gotten half of her dad's fortune, and she'd put the vast majority of it towards renovating the house. It was two stories, had both a basement and an attic, a porch that wrapped around the front, and both an expansive front and back yard. The hot tub out back had been a more recent addition.

She couldn't complain. The roof over her head was one of the nicest roofs in town. Her mom worked hard to maintain it, though, as a real estate agent. Isabel actually sort of dreaded the thought of leaving her house behind when she went to college, as well as the thought of leaving her mom. As amazing as Princeton was going to be, she had a cozy, comfortable life here.

Tess came home with her that day, and she sang along off-key to the songs on the radio the entire way. Isabel inwardly breathed a sigh of relief when she pulled her red corvette in the driveway and shut it off. But unfortunately, with no music, that opened the door for Tess to talk about . . . something else.

"So what was it like seeing him today? I mean, I know it's been awhile."

Isabel slammed the driver's side door shut and pushed a button on her remote to put the top up. "Weird," she replied simply, hoping that would be enough.

But of course it wasn't. Not for Tess. She was a sweet girl, and she really did mean well, but she always had to know more. "Details!" she urged. "Did he make you feel all tingly inside?"

"He made me feel all angry inside," Isabel corrected, leading the way towards the door. "Everything's just about sex and drinking with him, and he goes out of his way to make sure everybody knows it."

"Everyone was talking about what he said in English today."

"I know."

"Everyone was saying he was talking about you."

"I know, Tess." She didn't mean to sound shrill, but this just really wasn't a conversation she wanted to have. She unlocked the front door and practically dropped her backpack in the entryway.

"Do you think you're gonna get back together with him?" Tess asked, sounding hopeful.

Isabel bent down to unhook the straps of her sandals. "No. We're through."

"Seriously?" Tess pouted.

Isabel tossed her shoes aside, growing all the more impatient. "Tess, you don't understand. Michael's just so . . ."

"Hot?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, yeah, obviously. But it takes more than that to make a relationship work. Take you and Kyle, for instance. You guys have been together, like, two years now, right?"

"Almost." Tess beamed.

"And that's because you genuinely care about each other and respect each other and trust each other. I can't trust Michael anymore, so that makes it pretty hard to respect him." She did still care, though. She always would, despite her many attempts not to.

"Maybe he's changed," Tess proposed.

"You saw him today. He hasn't changed."

Tess groaned, squirming in frustration. "Okay, but that's just him. That's just who he is."

"Right, and I am who I am. We're two totally different people. We don't fit together."

"Oh, really? Because I seem to recall that, after the first handful of times you two fit together, you said, 'Oh, Tess, he's ruined it for me with anyone else. The sex is just so, so good.'"

Isabel couldn't help but blush a little. Yeah, it had been good. Not that she had anything to compare to. "It's about more than that," she reiterated.

"But-"

"Tess, stop. Okay?"

Tess sighed, giving in. "Fine."

"Okay." She understood why her best friend wanted her to start dating Michael again. The days they had spent hanging out with Kyle and Michael, just the four of them together, had been some of the most fun ones of both of their lives. But there was nothing fun about having a boyfriend who spent half his time puking into a toilet, a boyfriend who could never be bothered to study or get good grades of any kind. And there was definitely nothing fun about being cheated on.

...

It was a miracle. Had to be. Michael showed up for every single day of school during that first week of classes. Of course, he didn't always stay the entire time, but he made an appearance, and that had to count for something.

Everyone seemed to have settled into a routine pretty quickly, even though nothing about the school year was routine. Cliques and social circles were either tightening to keep out outsiders or expanding to include more. A few of the stricter teachers gave a quiz on Friday. Ms. Alvarez constantly looked like she wanted to put a gun to her head. The lunches got progressively worse.

Football practice had started up, too. It was all anyone could talk about, even though the first game was still a week away. The cheerleaders were hosting a pep rally Friday evening, a sort of kickoff event to what would undoubtedly be a memorable season with Kyle Valenti at the helm.

Michael didn't go to practice, though. He usually left after study hall, or sometimes during. Kyle and Ryan and all the guys kept trying to convince him to come.

Isabel kept her distance. Tess kept annoying him about it during chemistry.

And just like that, the bell at the end of eighth period sounded, and the first week was done. Students dashed out to their cars like elephants stampeding the Serengeti. The weekend was upon them now. Michael lived for the weekend, even though he usually didn't remember much of it.

Whenever he did eventually stumble home, whether it was Saturday or Sunday, or maybe even Monday if he had a really wild time, he had to remember to carve another tally mark onto his bedroom wall. He'd started that back on Monday, counting down the days. There were one-hundred and eighty days of school total that year, and there could only be five marks on his wall so far.

A hundred and seventy-five more to go.

Fuck.

...

Coach Warner ran a tight ship. Practice went from 3:45 until 6:00 every evening. No exceptions. Unfortunately, Kyle was beginning to worry that all the practice in the world wouldn't help. He was lobbing balls down field left and right, and nobody was catching anything. Both East and West had lost a lot of talent when last year's seniors graduated. Kyle trusted his feet, knew he could get it done on the ground, too, if he had to. But college scouts would be showing up to these games, and he wanted to show versatility.

His dad, Jim, came to watch practice on Friday. As the sheriff of Roswell, he was able to give himself the afternoon off. After it was over and the players were clearing off the field, he sidled up to Coach to talk about what he'd seen. He voiced the same concerns Kyle had while Kyle himself mainly stood back and listened. Coach did a lot of nodding in agreement and saying things like, "I know, I know."

"My son can put this team on his back if he needs to. Lord knows he's done it before. But if we're makin' a run at State this year, he's gonna have to have some help."

"And he will," Coach Warner promised. "It's a new team. These West kids aren't used to such strenuous workouts, and some of these new guys lack the fundamentals. But they'll get there."

"Yeah," Kyle agreed, trying to be optimistic. "They're gettin' better."

"They gotta get better fast, after what I saw today." Jim looked . . . truly worried.

"How you holdin' up, Valenti?" Coach Warner asked Kyle. "First game next week. You nervous?"

Kyle opened his mouth to respond, but his dad answered for him. "Ah, Kyle doesn't get nervous."

"Still . . . it's a lot of pressure," Coach acknowledged. "Senior season, brand new team, new coach. New stadium to play in, new fans to impress."

"Kyle hasn't lost a regular season game since his freshman year," his father boasted. "He got a concussion on the second play, had to sit out the rest of the game. Probably explains why they couldn't pull out the win."

"All I can do is go out there and do my best," Kyle said. It was so much easier to be modest when his dad was around versus when it was just him and the guys at school.

"Well, luckily your best is pretty damn good," Coach said. "I'd say the team's in good hands."

"Thank you," Kyle said, catching sight of none other than Michael strolling past the concession stand. The student council was already getting it set up for the pep rally that night. "Hey, speaking of hands," he said, pointing Michael out to his coach, "that's the guy I was tellin' you about."

"The receiver?"

"Yeah. Michael Guerin."

"At school?" Jim chuckled. "Well, I'll be damned."

"I'm gonna go get him." Kyle darted towards his friend, surprised to even see him there. "Dude, what're you doin'?" he called.

"Just checkin' out the concession stand," Michael replied. "That's a lie. Actually, I'm checkin' out the chicks within the concession stand."

"Imagine that."

"Well, I ran into this one girl today. She said she'd give me free nachos. I told her I'd give her free sausage at the pep rally tonight." He grinned.

"So you're goin'?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"Well, we're gonna party afterward," Kyle pointed out, hoping to entice him. Any party with Michael in attendance was always more lively than a party without.

"Yeah, I'll probably come," he decided, waving at one of the girls scampering about the concession stand.

"Dude, I think she's in junior high," Kyle cautioned.

"You think?"

"Yeah."

"Well, fuck," Michael swore. "They wear so much makeup, I can't tell the difference anymore."

"Yeah, forget about her. In fact, come with me," Kyle suggested. "There's someone I want you to meet." He led Michael back out onto the field where Coach Warner was still getting an earful of input from his dad. "Coach?" he said. "This is Michael Guerin. Michael, this is Coach Warner."

Neither one of them extended their hands in greeting. Michael already looked bored. Coach already looked irritated, but he was the first to speak up. "I got a lot of guys from East tellin' me you're a hell of a receiver. Valenti here wouldn't shut up about you all week."

Kyle laughed.

"Too bad you haven't shown up to practice, though. I got a lot of receivers who have been."

Crappy receivers, Kyle thought and almost said.

"What's the deal?" Coach asked. "Why haven't you been comin'?"

Michael shrugged unapologetically.

"That's it?" Coach clearly wasn't impressed. He imitated Michael's detached shrug.

"Practice bores me," Michael revealed.

"Oh, really?"

Kyle quickly jumped in to salvage the encounter. "Alright, Coach, I realize he's a work in progress, but . . . the guy can catch. And we've been playing together since kindergarten. When we get in rhythm, no defense can stop us."

"Is that true?" Coach Warner was asking the question to Michael, but he looked to Kyle's dad for input.

"It's true," Jim admitted. "Sorta like, uh . . . the Longhorns. McCoy to Shipley. That's about the most accurate comparison I can think of. Or if you wanna think pro . . . Rodgers/Nelson."

"Let me show you," Kyle said, grabbing a football from beside the bench. "Go long, man."

Michael still looked like he would have rather been anywhere else, but he gave in and ran down the sideline anyway. Kyle did a few pump fakes, then threw it in towards the center. Michael quickly cut inward and caught the ball easily. He stayed on his feet and ran it into the end zone.

Kyle checked his coach's reaction. He was wearing an expression he hadn't worn during any of their practices that week. Even though Michael's personality hadn't impressed him, his skills on the field obviously had. "Huh," he said, and that one word alone was enough to indicate at least some vague interest.

"He's good, right?" Kyle gave his friend a thumb's up as he trotted on back.

"Kyle, you realize it's hardly fair, though. Reed and Cooper and all those guys . . . they've been workin' their butts off all week. Your friend hasn't even been here."

"I can get him here," Kyle promised. And he would keep that promise. His senior season was going to be one to remember, and he wanted to remember it with Michael.

"Kyle does pretty much drive him everywhere," Jim pointed out, "so . . ." He trailed off and shrugged.

Michael rejoined them, handing the ball back to Kyle without a word.

"I'll tell you what, Guerin: Get yourself a jersey out of the supply room and show up to this stupid pep rally tonight," Coach proposed. "We'll take it from there."

"Whatever."

"He means thanks," Kyle said, even though he knew for a fact that his friend couldn't care less. Because Michael didn't care about much of anything. And for that, Kyle felt bad for him.

...

Michael's bedroom mirror was so speckled and dirty that he had to clean it off just to see his reflection. He'd gotten a jersey, and not surprisingly, it looked damn good on him. Most things did. It was blue, and the number was yellow. Right above the number, also in yellow, was Comets. He'd have to get his name put on the back before the first game, assuming he just might be academically eligible to play.

His dad came into the room, standing near the doorway, hair shaggy, clothes wrinkled. "Hmm."

"What?"

"Oh, I just had a feeling you'd pick that number."

Michael grinned. He'd chosen number 69. How the hell had that one even been left? That should've been the first one gone. "It's my favorite," he said with a smirk.

His dad came further into the room. "Maybe I'll get to see you get off the bench this year."

"I played in the first game last year," Michael reminded him, making sure to add, "You weren't there."

"Well . . . I'll try to get to more this year. It's just . . . work. Keeps me busy, you know?"

Michael narrowed his eyes at him through the mirror. "Yeah, that must be it." That wasn't it.

He went over to his closet and rummaged around for a pair of sneakers. Didn't matter if they were dirty or not, so he went with the first two matching ones he found and sat down on the floor to put them on.

"You know, my best game was my junior year, homecoming," his dad reminisced, a faint smile creeping to his lips. "Fourth and goal, and it was up to me to run it in. I just barely got past the defender, had to reach to get that ball across the goal line. But I did it, and we won."

"Yeah, I've heard the story," Michael muttered.

"I think you might've been conceived that night."

"Haven't heard that story, and I don't want to."

"That was the best night of my life."

"Really? Not the night I was born?"

His dad waited a moment before answering. "We were seventeen when you were born. So that was the most terrifying night of my life."

"Figures." Michael stood up and shut his closet, looking around for his wallet. Even with the free nachos he'd been promised, he'd get hungry for more and need a little cash on hand.

"Is Isabel still a cheerleader?" his father asked out of nowhere. "Do they still wear those short little skirts?"

"No, Dad, the cheerleaders are wearing pantsuits now." He spotted his wallet hiding beneath his bed and got down on his hands and knees to retrieve it.

"So is she gonna be there?"

"It's a pep rally, Dad. Who do you think puts on the pep rally?"

"Right." He chuckled lightly. "Isabel Evans. Girls like that don't come around very often. You two gonna start things up again?"

Michael put his wallet in his pocket and groaned as he stood up. "Not you, too. Everyone's giving me crap about that."

"Well, she's a beautiful girl."

"Plenty of beautiful girls out there."

"Yeah, but she's got a lot to offer in other ways, too."

Michael gave him a confused look. When it came to girls, he didn't really think about the other ways.

"She's very smart and driven. Really going somewhere in life. Maybe that would be good for you."

Before Michael could tell him to shut up and stop bothering him about it, his mom came flittering into the room. Her hair was falling out of its ponytail in all directions. "Oh, honey, is that your new jersey? It looks great. I love that blue. Really brings out your eyes."

"Yeah, I'm so dreamy," he agreed.

She smiled, and he could tell there was something she wanted to ask him. Had to be. She hardly ever came into his room, so there had to be a reason. "I need a favor," she finally revealed.

"Oh . . ." he groaned.

"Your father and I kind of wanted to stay home tonight and . . . spend some quality time together."

"Oh, sick."

"But Tina really wants to go to this pep rally. She says she's got these new friends and they're all gonna be there. And I just figured, since you're already going . . ."

"But we're going out right after." His mom knew as well as anyone that the places they were going were not places where Tina could tag along.

"So just drop her off back here before you go," she proposed. "I don't think that's too much to ask."

It probably wasn't, but he still didn't want to do it.

"Oh, come on, Michael," his father urged as he left the room. "How often do you do something nice for someone else?"

Hardly ever, he thought, content with it staying that way.

...

The old wooden staircase creaked as Isabel walked down it, and her new cheerleading shoes squeaked. She hadn't broken them in prior to tonight, which probably meant that, after her performance, her feet would be killing her.

Her mom, Diane, was just walking in the door and getting off her cell phone when she hit the bottom stair. "Oh, Izzy, is that your new uniform?" she asked.

"Yep." She smoothed her hand across the bare stomach. It was midriff style this year, showed off about three inches of her belly. And her skirt was super short, leading her to believe that Tess had ordered her an inch shorter than her measurements had actually called for.

"It's . . . revealing," her mom commented.

"Yeah, a little too much so for my taste," she acknowledged, "but what our captain wants our captain gets."

"Well, it looks great on you."

"Thanks. Are you gonna be there?"

"Of course. Where else would I be?"

Isabel smiled. Usually her mom videoed every performance, mostly because she was a former cheerleader herself and understood how cool it would be to look back on all of it years later. And partially because Tess liked to dissect the videos and figure out what they could improve on.

"I'll have to meet you there, though. I have to change and touch up my makeup first. Do you think Jim's gonna be there?"

"Well, he's Kyle's dad, and Kyle's the superstar, so . . . probably," Isabel deduced.

"Then I am gonna look my best just so I can show him what he gave up," Diane declared confidently. "Oh, like mother like daughter, huh? You're in the same boat with Michael."

Isabel laughed shakily.

"I'll tell you, honey, we're so much better off without them." She gave Isabel a quick kiss on the cheek, then scampered upstairs, humming some old eighties tune on her way.

Isabel sighed, glancing down at her uniform again. Yeah, she knew she was better off.

...

Michael swiped his dad's keys and drove his car to the pep rally that night. If he was forced to drag his little sister along, he wasn't going to force Kyle to make a pit-stop between the pep rally and the party. Besides, it was impossible to tell how many people were going to pile into Kyle's truck tonight. They'd start drinking before they even got to the party, and there was no way he was going to have Tina around all that.

When they got there, the so-called festivities weren't exactly underway yet, but the bleachers were still bustling. Even though there wasn't going to be a game played, almost every football dad had shown up. They were congregating around their fearless leader, Jim Valenti, and he was alternating between talking sports with them and flirting with the women who took turns idling up to him and striking up a conversation. The student council looked completely overwhelmed at the concession stand, and Michael overheard them saying something to one particularly dissatisfied customer about running out of nacho chips, which was an automatic disappointment. Kids were zipping through the bleachers, knocking the nachos which had already been purchased out of the hands of annoyed adults, and down on the track, the cheerleaders were practicing their routine in between flirting with the football players. Isabel wasn't down there. He couldn't help but notice.

Tina stood up on her tip toes, scanning for her friends everywhere. She frowned when she didn't see them.

"They're not here yet?" he asked.

"No." She sounded disappointed. "They'd said they'd be here by the concession stand."

He had a feeling these so-called 'friends' of hers probably weren't going to show up at all. She'd told him their names on the way here, and he knew it was the same group who had made her cry on the first day of second grade for calling her ugly. But he played along anyway, not willing to dash her dreams of popularity just yet. "Maybe they're just running late," he suggested.

"Yeah."

Oh, he hated snooty girls like that who thought they were the center of the universe. If they showed up, he'd give them a piece of his mind. Didn't matter how young they were. A bitch was a bitch, even from a young age. "You can stick with me until they get here," he offered.

That got a smile out of her. "Okay."

"Okay." As much as he'd complained to his mom about having to take her tonight, hanging out with Tina wasn't really so bad. As far as little sisters went, he could've done a hell of a lot worse.

"There's Kyle!" she exclaimed, waving wildly as he approached. She'd had a crush on him since the third grade. "Hey, Kyle!"

"Hey, kiddo," he returned, purposefully messing up her hair.

She straightened it out quickly, correcting him. "Kyle, I'm not a kid."

"Oh, well then hello, Magnificent Tina."

"Much better."

"Much better, huh?" Kyle lowered his voice when he spoke to Michael. "You brought your sister along tonight?"

"I'm gonna drop her off at home and meet you guys at the party," he explained. "I had to. My mom made me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, so . . ." He stopped talking when Isabel and Tess came out of the bathroom, which was, of course just right next to the concession stand. Which meant, of course, that they couldn't help but see each other.

God, she looked . . .

That uniform . . .

Her hair was up in a high ponytail. He wanted so desperately to get behind her, grab onto it with one hand and hold her hips with the other and just . . .

Tess looked hot as hell, too, but she was off limits, so that left him with no choice but to stare at . . .

"Isabel!" Tina exclaimed. She sounded even more excited to see her than she'd been to see Kyle. Tina worshipped Isabel. Her dream was to be as beautiful and popular as she was.

Isabel snapped herself out of what looked to be a similar trance. "Hey, Tina, how are you?"

"Good," she replied. "I like your outfits."

"Aren't they the best?" Tess put her hands on her hips, striking a few model poses.

Kyle scooped her up into his arms, kissing her exaggeratedly. "You're gonna have to wear that for me in private sometime," he told her.

"Oh, I will."

"Promise?"

Another kiss. That was probably code for promise.

"So how's school going so far?" Isabel asked Tina.

"Pretty good. Kinda weird, though."

"Yeah." Isabel met Michael's eyes momentarily, then added, "For me, too."

"Guess what, though? I decided, when I'm old enough, I'm gonna try out for cheerleading."

"Really?"

"Yeah, will you help me?"

"Well, I'll be in college," Isabel pointed out. "But we'll Skype or something. I'll help you."

"Cool."

"Cool." Isabel smiled, and it was a radiant smile, one Michael hadn't actually gotten to glimpse that often.

Tess, who seemed to be engaged in some never-ending lip-lock with Kyle, finally tore her lips away from his and said, "Okay, Isabel, we gotta go practice one more time. Let's go." She grabbed her friend's hand and tore her away before Tina could even say goodbye.

"I wanna be like them," Michael heard his little sister whisper longingly.

"Hey, you know, I bet Tess would give you some cheerleading lessons," Kyle told her. "She does that, you know, during the summer. Usually she charges, but since she's friends with your brother here, I bet she'd give them to you for free."

"Really?" Tina's eyes lit up.

"Yeah, I'll talk to her about it."

"Awesome!"

Michael made a face of disgust, hoping his sister didn't see it. The only thing he liked about cheerleading was the attire. Otherwise, it was a completely obnoxious activity. None of the athletes enjoyed the high-pitched screams of support that came from the sidelines every two minutes. Especially during wrestling. It was so damn annoying when they pounded on the mats. He sort of hated the thought of Tina ever being associated with that, but . . . well, if it was what she wanted . . .

"Hey, I think we're supposed to go down there," Kyle said, pointing towards the other players down on the track. He laughed a little when Tess got down there and literally shoved them away from her cheerleaders. She was strong for such a tiny thing.

"Alright, let's go," Michael said, motioning for Tina to follow him.

Once they got down there, they were greeted with shouts of "Valenti!" All the guys fist-bumped Kyle. Jase discreetly handed him a flask, and he turned his back to the crowd and took a drink. He offered it to Michael, but Michael shook his head. Not with Tina there.

"Guerin!" Ryan shouted. "Finally decided to play, huh?"

"I guess."

"Nice. And, uh . . . who's this?"

"My little sister."

"She a football fan?"

"Not really. She's . . ." He watched her for a moment. She was still looking up at the crowd, looking for friends who didn't exist. "She's with me." He wrapped one arm around her protectively, hugging her to his side.

"Alright, cool," Ryan said, his eyes drifting over Michael's shoulder to the cheerleaders. "Oh, look at that," he salivated. The girls were stretching, and those skirts didn't cover up anything. "Slut's in season."

Antonio, Jase, and a few of the other guys laughed. Michael laughed along with them, refraining from pointing out the obvious: that the two best cheerleaders on the squad weren't exactly sluts, even though they weren't virgins.

They stood down there for a good ten minutes until the pep rally finally got underway. First they introduced all the volleyball players and softball players, which no one really cared about, and then they forgot to introduce the handful of runners who had gone out for cross country. The captain of that small team jumped up in the crowd, outraged, shouting profanities at the top of his lungs, and the announcer quickly introduced them on the spot.

After that, it was time for the cheerleaders. They ran and tumbled to their positions on the football field, shouting inane things like, "Go, Comets!" and "We're number one!" Once they were all in formation, they stood still, feet together, hands down, and waited for the music to start up.

Michael tried to watch Tess, because she really was far and away the best one out there, probably the only one who had a future as a college cheerleader. But his eyes kept drifting to the right, to Isabel. To her . . . pom poms. The hip-shaking and hair-flipping was nice, but when they sprang towards the crowd doing this huge, glorious shimmy, he felt his pants get tighter.

"Yeah!" Kyle yelled in support of his girlfriend. "Shake it, baby!"

Ryan modified the phrase to his own liking when he hollered, "Shake it, sluts!"

"Hey, would you shut up?" Michael snapped.

Ryan gave him a confused look.

He pointed down at his sister, whose eyes were glued to the field, and Ryan nodded in understanding.

At the end of the routine, they tossed Tess in the air and just barely caught her. That got the crowd to applaud, and a few of the cheer moms, Diane Evans in particular, stood and clapped for them at the end.

"Give it up for your West Roswell Comets Cheerleaders!" the announcer bellowed as the cheerleaders spirited off the field.

Most of the football guys cheered them on heartily. Michael clapped, because even he had to admit that they'd done a good job of . . . rallying pep. Beside him, Tina was screaming, jumping up and down excitedly, undoubtedly picturing herself out there in a few years.

At last, it was time to announce the football players. Tess and Isabel brought out a huge banner with a picture of their Comet mascot on it, each holding up one side of it. The rest of the cheerleaders returned to the field, standing in two rows, creating a space for the players to run through.

"Starting quarterback, senior, number seven, Kyle Valenti!"

The crowd went wild, and Kyle ran through the cheerleaders, bursting through the banner on his own. He waved at the crowd, and theirs cheers for him were deafening. Standing at the top of the bleachers, Jim Valenti just smiled and nodded, soaking it all in.

They announced the other starters next, including Ryan, Antonio, Jase, and Bubba, before getting to the rest of the team. As fewer and fewer players remained, Tina started to look panicked. He knew he couldn't leave her standing there by herself, so he bent down and said, "Get on."

She hopped up onto his back, and he held her in place there, waiting for his name to be called. It was the last one, of course, since he'd technically just joined the team today.

"Playing wide receiver, senior, number sixty-nine, Michael Guerin!"

He ran through the forest of pom poms, carrying a giggling Tina on his back.

...

It was a weird, inexplicable thing that Michael ended up hanging out with his sister after the pep rally that night instead of going to the party. He'd been dead set on going the entire time. But when the pep rally was over and he'd looked into her hazel eyes, he'd seen so much disappointment there. Disappointment that her friends had never shown. Disappointment that he was about to ditch her, too. And he didn't want to disappoint her.

So he took her out for ice cream. At first she'd said she wanted to go to Dairy Queen, but then they'd driven by the Crashdown and she'd changed her mind. So they went there instead. It definitely wasn't crowded. There was only one other duo there, and two waitresses. Maria was one of them.

Tina ordered a simple bowl of Vulcan vanilla ice cream, which she'd requested be loaded up with sprinkles, syrup, and chocolate chips. Michael oddly enough found himself ordering two red giant root beer floats.

Fucking root beer.

In between spoonfuls of ice cream, Tina said, "Thanks for taking me out there tonight."

"Did you like being out on the field?" he asked.

"Yeah. It made me feel like I was in high school."

"Well, don't get your hopes up. High school's not all that great."

"I think it's gonna be," she insisted. "I hope I have a boyfriend like Kyle."

Michael shook his head, smiling. Oh, Tina. Always so hopeful for the future.

Maria came back up to the table with his second root beer float. "Best one I ever made," she proclaimed. "Surely this merits at least a seventy-five cent tip."

He laughed a little. Surely it did.

She started to walk away, but he called, "Hey," to get her to stop and turn back around. "Why're you always working?"

She shrugged. "I need the hours." And then she turned and walked off again.

"Who's that?" Tina asked.

"Just the waitress." He sipped through his straw, not even sure if he had enough room for another float. Maria knew how to make them well. It was practically overflowing, and she scooped a lot of ice cream into them.

"Michael?" Tina squeaked quietly.

"What?"

She sloshed the meltier parts of her ice cream around in her bowl, staring down at it when she asked, "When I'm in high school, do you think I'll be popular?"

Probably not, was his immediate thought. Once you hit the age Tina was at, the social dynamics were pretty much set. "Why do you even care about that?" he asked her.

She shrugged and pointed out, "You're popular."

"Yeah, but you're smart. A hell of a lot smarter than me. And that's gonna take you further in life than popularity ever will."

Still, she frowned.

"Hey, those girls who stood you up tonight . . . they're not worth it," he told her, happy to be able to impart some kind of wisdom. For once. "They're gonna grow up to be shallow, stupid, miserable bimbos."

"What's a-"

"Just trust me, they'll be bimbos. You don't need friends like that."

"I guess," she mumbled. But he could tell that, even if she believed him, she was still sad they hadn't shown.

...

Maria fought to contain her disgust while she wiped off the counter. She swore that people sometimes vomited up the food they ate and didn't clean up after themselves. How else could things possibly get so dirty? By the end of that day, some of the stuff was caked on, no matter how hard she scrubbed to get it off.

She glanced up as she was doing so, watching as the guy with the hair slid his root beer float towards the middle of the table to share with his sister. She leaned in and sipped through the second straw, but when she wasn't paying attention, he flicked a glob of ice cream at her. She laughed and flicked a glob back at him. He pretended to be outraged and seized the float back from her before giving in and giving her the whole thing.

Hmm. So the beer-loving fake ID guy actually seemed like a good big brother. That was surprising.