"Have you eaten all day?"

Brenda looked up to see Sharon standing over her, hands on her hips, and winced. "Uhm, yes?" she tried.

Sharon just rolled her eyes. "By which you mean no. Brenda Johnson, have you so much as left the library since school ended –" she glanced at the clock, "oh, two hours ago?"

This time Brenda actually cringed. "Uhm, yes?" she said again.

"By which you also mean no."

"We have a football game tonight!" Brenda pointed out, accurately. "And a competition tomorrow. I wanted to get as much done as I could beforehand."

"That's very nice, honey, but if you faint on the football field, you won't be any good to anyone. Where's Fritz? He normally keeps you sensible about these things."

"He… oh." Abashed, Brenda looked down.

"He what?"

"Went home to get some dinner," mumbled Brenda in the general direction of the floor.

"And?"

"And made me promise to get some too," she finished sheepishly.

Sharon humphed. "And you promised so he'd get out of your hair, then went right back to work. Right. If I promise to let you take your work with you, will you come with me to Chipotle and eat something?"

Brenda opened her mouth to protest, then caught sight of Sharon's glare and shut it again. "All right," she capitulated finally. "But you know we have to – "

"Be back by six-thirty to get ready for the game, yes, I'm aware," said Sharon tartly. "I am in the band too, you know."

Brenda scowled at her, then scooped up books and bag and said, "Fine, let's go then."

Sharon tried very hard not to smirk.

She failed.

Eventually Brenda managed half a bowl of rice and vegetables, though it took her most of an hour to eat it. Sharon curled up on the other side of their booth, and they both worked quietly, sometimes conferring about classes they shared, sometimes in silence.

And Brenda, whose nerves had been running high with anxiety all day, began to settle. By the time they gathered their things to leave, she was no longer rigid with tension, and she accomplished more at the restaurant than she had the previous two hours in the library combined.

They made it back to the school in plenty of time, stowing bookbags in their respective cars before they had to separate – Brenda for the locker room and her majorettes, Sharon for the band room and pre-game warm-ups.

Quickly Sharon tugged Brenda into an alcove between four cars parked nose to nose, giving them a modicum of privacy, and took her friend's hand. "Be careful." She didn't say anything else, but she didn't have to. The horrifying instant when Brenda had crumpled to the ground played in her mind like a broken record until a gentle hand under her chin brought her out of it.

"Hey." Brenda's voice was gentle. "I'll be all right. I swear. I'm going to be extra careful with my warm-ups today, alright? I know that's what I said last time but I'm going to be just fine, Sharon." Mutely, Sharon met her eyes for a long minute, and Brenda smiled a little. "Come here." As she had on Monday afternoon at the bleachers, Brenda hugged Sharon close.

Sharon hugged her back, tucking her face into her friend's shoulder and holding on. Brenda's hand was rubbing soothing circles on her back, and for an instant she wasn't even aware of, Sharon never wanted to leave.

"I feel like an idiot," she mumbled into Brenda's shoulder. "It's just a couple of fire batons, for God's sake. But I can't… all I can see is…" To Sharon's horror, she felt tears pricking at her eyelids, and she dashed them away impatiently.

"Don't," said Brenda sharply. "Don't apologize, Sharon. Not for this. I... if it had been you on the ground…" She trailed off, unable to go on, unable to even articulate what she was thinking.

"Okay." Sharon took a deep breath, then stepped away. "Okay. You are going to do an amazing routine, and you are going to nail it, and I am not going to freak out."

"And tomorrow," Brenda said, beginning to smile, "we are going to go compete, and we are going to win, and then in two weeks…"

"I'm going to trounce you in the debate!" they finished together, and broke down laughing.

They shared one last grin, squeezed hands, and split.

As it turned out, Sharon should have been far more worried about their football team's performance than Brenda's.

"Ouch," Brenda muttered, as their opponent scored their third unanswered touchdown of the night toward the end of the second quarter. Comfortably bundled in sweatpants and hoodie over her spangly majorette uniform, she sat between Irene and Kendall, alternately making last-minute notes from warm-ups and thumbing through a baton catalogue under the glow of the stadium lights.

"What is their problem?" hissed Irene on Brenda's right. "I know we're not exactly known for our sports but this is ridiculous!"

"If I understood football beyond 'cheer when we score, boo when they do,'" said Brenda absently, "I'd tell you. I just hope this doesn't go too late, we have to be here at six to load up the buses tomorrow. Oh, look! I'd love to wear that to Nationals."

"I don't know," Irene said, wrinkling her nose. "It's a bit… orange."

"But the way it's cut here, and here…" Brenda pointed, and Irene studied the picture, frowning.

"Well, yes," she said at last. "But that color is not a good one on you. Anyway, why are you thinking about Nationals? The last one was two months ago!"

"Irene," said Brenda patiently, "I was thinking about Nationals five minutes after the last one ended."

Irene just shook her head, grumbling under her breath, then jolted and almost fell off the bench as she looked at the scoreboard. Brenda looked up at the commotion, then got a look at the scoreboard herself and swore under her breath. "Majorettes!" she called, just loud enough for her girls to hear, "time to go and get ready."

The halftime show went off without a hitch. Sharon was more than a bit grateful she didn't come in until several bars into "One Day More", because when she saw Brenda's fire batons blazing bright against the darkened sky, she gasped aloud. The flames lit the sparkles on her majorette uniform, setting red, blue, and white alike aglow as her batons spun and flew, and Sharon realized absently that Andrea had been right – Brenda's fire baton with a number like this was truly unbelievable. When Brenda finally launched into those dizzying fouettés, Sharon poured all the wonder she was feeling into the music of her clarinet, her heart pounding in time with the drums.

And then, bringing tears to Sharon's eyes, the bleachers rose to their feet as one and erupted into applause and cheers, giving the band and their majorette captain a standing ovation.

Out in front, Brenda, batons already extinguished, curtsied to the crowd, then indicated the band, majorettes, and color guard behind her.

The cheers still ringing in her ears, her heart still thundering, Sharon bowed with the rest of the band.

Flushed with triumph, Brenda gathered her batons and herded her majorettes off the field. She felt her feet come off the floor and squealed, only to be soundly kissed and set back down. "You were incredible tonight," Fritz murmured in her ear, and Brenda grinned up at him.

"Thanks, hon," she said, still beaming. "It was quite a show, wasn't it?"

"It really was," Fritz agreed. "What are you doing with our free third quarter?"

"I," said Brenda determinedly, "am going to go and change while I've still got the chance, then I'm doing notes with the girls – yes, in the restroom, and I don't want to hear any jokes about girls and the bathroom!"

"Yes, dear," Fritz agreed placidly, still grinning, then kissed her again. "Well, I'll try to catch you before we go, but otherwise I'll see you tomorrow morning, 'kay?"

"'Course." She squeezed his hand, and, still grinning, waved an arm to gather her majorettes.

Only to squeak in surprise as she collided with a red-headed figure in band overalls and a sweatshirt.

"Well?" she asked impatiently, looking into Sharon Raydor's rather amused green eyes.

Sharon sobered abruptly, but she couldn't keep the smile from curling the corners of her mouth. "You were perfect," she said simply. "Oh, Brenda. You were perfect."

Lost for words, Brenda just looked at her. "I was?" she asked, voice a little hoarse.

Sharon nodded. "Yes," she said, and Brenda was more than a little startled to see tears in her eyes. "You were."

Still not quite able to put words together, Brenda fell back on the old standby of squeezing Sharon's hand. "I…" She cleared her throat, then tried again. "Oh, Sharon."

It was all they needed to say. With one last hand squeeze they separated, Brenda to change and give notes, Sharon to hunt down Andrea.

Somewhere in the back of their minds, the music sang on.

Sharon would forever believe that their halftime show had, in some small way, inspired the Fighting Saints to come back with a four-touchdown scoring barrage that had the bleachers on its feet for most of the second half. Whatever the reason, they won the game, and it was a triumphant but weary band that straggled home after the clock had run out and equipment had been cleaned up.

She didn't see Brenda again, but she hadn't expected to; by the time the game ended and the band was free to go, she was fighting to keep her eyes open, and collapsed into Andrea's passenger seat with relief. Andrea wasn't much better, gulping some sort of sweet caffeinated drink that made Sharon's stomach revolt at the very thought. Which is ironic, she thought through the fog of exhaustion, because I'll be gulping it by the bottle in about eight hours.

When she and Andrea woke the next morning, dawn was still over an hour away, but Sharon's blood was already humming. Competition day had come at last.