I prepare all morning for the pep rally today at school. Fridays in the fall are every student's favorite day—we look forward to them all week long. The student body crowds into the steamy gym, where the are lights bright against the orange gym floor. You can actually feel the entire gym vibrating from the way we come together with dances and chants, an electric vibe in the air. This year the team, led by none other than Jack, has another chance to go to state and win.

At Royal Eastwood, it's a thing for the girlfriend of a player to wear her boyfriend's jersey at every home game, and of course I'm going to wear Jack's loud and proud. Not every girl has the honor of wearing the number one quarterback in the state of Texas's jersey. Our school colors are orange and black; Jack's jersey has a white #1 outlined in orange against a black background that my hair practically blends in with.

In the middle of the cheerleader's famous Aggressive cheer, Jessica catches my arm and saves me from plummeting to my ultimate doom from the gym bleachers when some rowdy fellow senior accidentally shoves me from behind while trying to mimic the cheerleaders' moves. We're standing on the first row, an honor only held by seniors, so "ultimate doom" may be a little exaggerated since the first row of bleachers is less than a foot off of the ground. If anything, I would have only stumbled forward.

"Thanks, Jess. I swear these pep rallies are going to kill me one of these days."

"Students of Royal Eastwood!" Principal Meyers exclaims into the microphone, and the entire gym goes nuts. "Here is your 2018 Royal Eastwood Warriors football team! Led by none other than three-time state champion quarterback and team captain Jack Dallas!"

The screams grow somehow louder than they were five seconds ago.

Jack runs out, and my throat is already hoarse from shouting. He leads the whole football team into the center of the gym. He's a natural-born leader, and the team has no issue letting him carry the banner and be in the limelight. They look up to him in the same way most of this town does: as a leader, a hero, and the way to get our town known across the country for being home to the next greatest quarterback of all time.

The bleachers shake from the excitement that radiates off of the students; my community lives for football. Friday nights are the highlight of almost everyone's week. I mean, stores literally close for these games. Jack winks in my direction, mouthing an I love you to me before he addresses the rest of the school.

"Are y'all ready for tonight?" he shouts into the mic, spinning around to look at every single section in the gym. And then louder again, "I can't hear you! I said, are y'all ready for tonight?!"

The band echoes the excitement in the room, and I cover my ears as every instrument blares out random notes to add to the cacophony.

"That's what I like to hear!"

He's wearing his other jersey with jeans and boots, looking undeniably sexy in such a simple outfit. The jeans hug him comfortably in all spots, and his jersey reveals the muscles in his arms. The orange and black contrast his blue eyes, and I nearly melt in my shoes every time he catches my gaze.

"We play our rivals tonight," he says. "They've been saying how they're going to break our undefeated streak, two seasons worth of games. Now, how does that make y'all feel?" The crowd erupts into a chorus of boos.

"I don't like it either! Which is why we aren't going to let them put a single point up on that board!" Once again the crowd in the gym goes ballistic.

It's a big promise to say they aren't going to score at all on us, but everyone has so much faith in Jack's abilities, as well as those of the rest of the team, that he has us all believing him.

"But you know what the best part about tonight will be? Not only are we going to wipe the floor with them, but afterward I get to go home and celebrate with my gorgeous girl, Ms. Scarlet Tucker."

I hear a coo of awws from all around, and I'm mortified knowing almost every single person in the school is probably staring at me. And if I'm being honest, I'm not sure how I feel about the double meaning behind his words, which I'm sure people caught onto.

Though Jack makes me happy and likes to show me off, there are times he goes too far. He's a showboat—that's just the type of person he is, and I know that. But it isn't just football he brags about. While I don't kiss and tell, the same most definitely cannot be said for Jack. His friends have asked me intimate questions suggesting they know way too many details, and I've asked Jack to stop, which he did for about a week, but then he was back to his old self. People are who they are, and you either love all of them or none of them.

With Jack, I have to love all of him, even if there are parts I don't want to. Not every relationship is perfect; the important thing is that he kept me happy when all I wanted to do was cry after Max died. If Jack and I were to break up, although it's different, I'm not sure I could handle losing someone else that close to me.

The band kicks in with our fight song, and not a second later every single person in the stands joins in. We wrap our arms around one another and scream every word at the top of our lungs, radiating school pride. Texas schools may just be the most prideful bunch in the entire country.

•

As usual, while everyone in the bleachers filters back to their classes, I wait outside the gym for Jack to come out. Jessica waits with me for a little but eventually even she has to scurry off to class. I lean with my back against the orange and black painted concrete, eyeing the doors to the gym as I wait for Jack to emerge.

He finally does, laughing with Bryce before they bro hug and Bryce walks away while Jack walks over to me. He lifts me into his arms, twirls me around, and laughter spills from my lips.

"You were great," I say.

"I have to be. The school expects me to lead us to another state championship."

"You sure did make a big promise."

"What, to not let them score? Babe, we've got the best defense around, there is no way in hell they're going to get down to the end zone. I've got confidence in my boys."

"That so?"

"You know I'm not one to disappoint," he whispers, pressing his lips to mine. "You look absolutely beautiful representing me." He lets his hand dip dangerously low on my back. "It's kind of a major turn-on."

Elijah's at the other end of the hallway, wearing a dark-gray hoodie zipped all the way up, his hands deep in his pockets. When we ran into one another a few days ago, he seemed so different up close. He was more welcoming. There was a softer atmosphere surrounding him than I was expecting. Jack catches sight of him right before Elijah turns the corner. He doesn't pull away from me completely, instead settling for resting his arm around my waist.

"Hey, freak!" Jack calls. "How come you weren't cheering? Too high to realize what was going on?"

Elijah stops walking, his body stiff and unwavering, but then he continues on his way. The pause lasts for mere seconds, and then he's out of sight. My heart drops for him.

"Thanks for cheering so loud during the rally, babe," Jack says, kissing my cheek. "But I'm going to go find the guys. See you later."

I watch him go, a part of me glad he's gone so I don't have to fake a response to his teasing. My eyes travel back to where Elijah walked off and I recall how stiff his body became when Jack addressed him like that.

Maybe I should go find Elijah and apologize for Jack. I mean, he and I did have a conversation the other day, even if it only really consisted of me rambling on about baby proofing my house. But if we held (sort of) that conversation, doesn't he deserve for me to go and apologize to him now? I begin walking toward the hallway he went down, but then Jessica runs up with a few of the other girls and they engulf me in their conversation about what to pregame with for tonight.

•

After grabbing all of my books for the weekend from my locker, I head out to call my mom to see if she can pick me up. Jack usually drops me off after school but he's busy with the team. There's a heavy trail of smoke rising into the air in the distance, and I can't help but think that a Friday pep-rally afternoon is an odd time for a bonfire.

The line of smoke leads to an old, beat-up Ford truck, and it sort of excites me to realize I could potentially make someone's day (and mine) by helping them fix their car. Wandering over, I find Elijah messing around under the hood. My stomach flips at the sight of him, since he's the last person I was expecting. His hoodie is off, revealing a stained white T-shirt, but my eyes zero in on some white tape on his knuckles.

"Car troubles?" I ask once I'm close enough to him, knowing full well Jack would not want me talking to him.

Elijah lifts his head from the hood and looks over at me with surprise. "What was your first clue?"

"May I?" I ask.

"Be my guest."

Waving the smoke out of my face, I touch a few wires here and there as the smoke starts to dissipate, flinching from the heat. I can see the problem right away.

"Hey, so . . . I'm sorry about Jack," I say. "You're in luck, it just overheated. Get some coolant and you'll be good to go. There's a shop about a mile down the road."

"Thanks, Scarlet."

My breath catches in my throat when he says my name. It sounds so foreign coming from him, and it's odd to hear your name from someone as reclusive as Elijah. He pushes off of his truck and walks off in the direction I pointed.

I jog the few feet needed to catch up. "I work at the shop and my shift is starting soon anyway. Plus, I can get you a discount."

"Right, Tucker Auto. Your family owns it," Elijah says. "Scarlet . . . Tucker," he repeats to himself a little ominously, as though he put something together.

"It's my dad's business," I say, kicking a rock. "But I work at the one down the road, which is why I get the discount."

"Why work there at that level when you own the whole thing?"

"I have to make money somehow."

Elijah stares at me for a few seconds and then he averts his gaze to the walk in front of us.

"Do you really like walking or is your car not working?"

"Right, I come from money so I must own a Mercedes or a BMW," I mutter. "That's why I work at the auto shop. I'm saving up to buy my own car. I didn't want my parents to buy me one. Call it pride or whatever, but I don't have a car."

I sense his surprise. "You stereotype me pretty hard."

"Don't you do the same to me?"

When I don't reply, he moves past that topic and looks at the road next to us. "Considering who you hang out with, I assumed."

I kick the rock one more time and it passes into Elijah's path and then onto the road. "I'm not really like them. I'm only friends with them because of Jack. I know he can be a jerk to you, and I don't like that he does that. Sure, he can be too cocky at times, he can flirt with other girls too often, and he can be pretty rude—"

"Are you going to get to the but soon?"

"But," I emphasize, sensing his teasing, "he's a good boyfriend."

"I never said he wasn't."

"Still, I'm sorry for the way he treats you—" I start.

"You shouldn't have to be."

The neon Tucker Auto sign is up ahead, just beyond this small hill, and I say nothing in response. We stay silent as we walk up the hill, avoiding deep cracks in the sidewalk that could "break your momma's back." I can already smell the gas from the garage, but we avoid that part of the store and instead go to the shopping portion attached, hearing the familiar ring of the doorbell as we enter.

"Let me guess, that truck of yours is a 1980?" I ask, and he confirms it. "I figured. It really is a beautiful truck, just looks like it has a few engine problems."

"You really know everything about cars, don't you?"

"My dad's been teaching me the ins and outs since I was a kid." I pass him my favorite brand of coolant. "He brought me to the shop when I was only ten to fix a tire, and, for some reason, I absolutely loved cars. I'd whine until he'd let me look under the hood with him and then I'd pretend to diagnose the problem, even if I had no clue what I was doing. He says I was quite the whiny child, but I feel like he only says that to get under my skin at times. I—"

"Is rambling a thing you do often or . . . ?" Elijah pokes fun.

"Long story short, my dad actually started the business in this very shop."

I tell Archie to take Elijah's coolant from my paycheck. Elijah was quick to object but I shoved the bottle in his hands before he could say any more and gave him instructions on where to put it and how long to wait until driving off.

"Thanks for this."

I wave it off. "Take it as my apology for running into you the other day and making you pick up practically all of my papers."

A car roars by on the street in front of the shop, drowning out Elijah's chuckle.

"Have fun at the game."

The coolant in his hand sloshes against the sides of the dark container as he turns to head back the way we came, leaving me to my thoughts about how long after my shift I'll have to get ready for the football game tonight.