I’m sitting shotgun, and Ricky’s asleep in the backseat. To Joe I say, “Where are we going?”

“Where are we ever going?” Joe says, his eyes barely open. “Nowhere.”

Ricky sleep-mumbles, “That’s why she stopped hanging out with us this summer.”

“Shut up. I did not.” But I did. I was with Alex, most of the time. I turn around and punch Ricky in the shoulder. “Wake up! Come on. It’s Friday night. Let’s do something.”

“You have a real restless spirit, Kat,” Joe says. “You should chill out.”

I am restless, because the football game will be starting soon. I lean forward in my seat and drum my hands on the dashboard. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we stop by school? There’s a game tonight. Let’s go laugh at people.”

Joe gives me a look like I’m crazy.

Ricky sits up and says, “A football game? No way.”

“Come on, guys,” I wheedle. “I mean, what else are we going to do? Drive around all night?” I open up my bag and dangle a bag of weed I stole off my brother. “You guys smoke. I’ll drive.”

It’s an offer they can’t refuse.

*    *    *

Half an hour later we’re standing underneath the bleachers by the end zone. The game is just about to start. Lillia’s warming up on the sideline, doing kicks and jumps. I catch her eye, and she gives a nod before she bends into a stretch. So that means she got it done. Good. I was kind of worried after that conversation in the pool yesterday. I need to chill out on pressing her buttons. Because the truth is, if Lillia decided to walk away, there’s nothing I could do to stop her. Even if I went around telling everybody at school what she did to Alex, nobody would care, not after they found out her reasons. It kills me to say it, but I need her more than she needs me. If it wasn’t for Mary, we would have imploded yesterday, and where would that leave me?

I take a drag off Joe’s cigarette, and that’s when I spot Mary in the bleachers. She waves at me excitedly. I look away—but not before I see the flash of hurt cross her face.

I feel bad. She’s sitting alone up there. But it’s not like I can ask her to join me and Joe and Ricky. They’d ask questions; they’d want to know who she was. And Mary would probably faint at the sight of a j. It’s better this way.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

MARY

YIKES.

I avert my eyes and sink low into the bleachers. I’m such an idiot for waving at Kat with all these people around. So much for flying under the radar. Also, waving at someone and them not waving back at you is sooo embarrassing. Hopefully no one noticed.

I do think Kat and I could be friends, when this is over. Lillia I’m not so sure about. I mean, I hope we’ll talk once in a while. But she’s so popular. She doesn’t need another friend. I guess the best I can hope for there is that we’ll be able to stop pretending not to know each other when we’re in public.

Down near the front of the bleachers, the Jar Island band kicks into a fight song. I can’t see the band from where I’m sitting, up in the very top row. Just the rims of their shiny brass instruments moving side to side in unison and the white feathers sticking up from the tops of their hats.

Everyone around me sings along. They flap their arms like seagull wings and stomp their feet on the bleachers to make thunder.

I don’t know the song.

Lillia and Rennie are down on the football field in their cheering uniforms. Rennie has a megaphone with a big C painted on the side, I guess because she’s the captain. The other cheerleaders on the squad stand in a perfectly straight row, the toes of their Keds just touching the white chalk sideline. Lillia, Rennie, and Ashlin walk the line and inspect each of the other cheerleaders closely—adjusting the curls of white satin ribbon that tie up everyone’s ponytails, straightening their sweaters, dotting lip gloss on the girls who need it. When they reach the end of the line, Rennie and Lillia confer. Then Lillia runs off and grabs Rennie’s stubby white pom-poms for her, and together they shake them, along with the rest of the squad, and try to get the people in the bleachers pumped up.

I watch Lillia and Rennie do a quick choreographed dance with each other, smiling and laughing in each other’s faces. More and more I realize how hard this must be for her—to act like she’s friends with Rennie while she’s about to help Kat stab her in the back. I mean, really, everyone we’re taking revenge on is one of Lillia’s friends.

The opposing football team arrives and shuffles into the stadium on the opposite side of the field. They have their cheerleaders and their band, but they don’t have even half the number of fans that our side has. Probably because they had to come in on the ferry to get here. It’s a hassle, which is lucky for us. I guess that’s why they call it home field advantage.

Our band kicks into another song, and our cheerleaders change formation, making two long lines near the gates. Then Lillia and Rennie unroll a tube of craft paper across the end zone. They’ve painted Fight, Gulls, Fight! across it in bright bubble letters.

A few seconds later the doors to the boys’ locker room fling open, and a pack of football players comes exploding out, helmets clutched in their hands. Reeve leads the charge, bounding in long strides, with the rest of the senior players falling into step behind him, and he’s the first one to burst through the paper with a pop.

Reeve’s got black stripes painted under his eyes, and his hair is wet and slicked back. Everyone in our bleachers gets on their feet and cheers. He grins and points a finger at the stands, as if he’s singling out a person he knows in the crowd. Like his mom or dad, dedicating the game to them. Only he does it the whole length of the bleachers, pointing at everyone. And they cheer like Reeve is doing it just for them.

Reeve Tabatsky, adored by all.

*    *    *

It was raining hard that day. The ride back to Jar Island was rocky, and the ferry shook from side to side. When we docked, Reeve’s dad wasn’t there to pick him up. He never came to pick Reeve up, but I just figured he would because of the rain.

I saw my mom’s car right away, in the same place where she always parked. Shyly I asked Reeve if he wanted a ride, but he said no. He was just going to wait until it let up. As I ran over to my mom’s car, I kept looking over my shoulder. Reeve was trying to stand under the awning by the Jar Island tour booth, but his book bag was getting wet. His shoulders, too. Then there was a crack of thunder so loud, it echoed in my chest. When I got to the car, I asked my mom if we could give Reeve a ride home. She said yes.

He seemed grateful when we pulled up.

Reeve sat in the back. “Are you sure this isn’t too much trouble?”

“Not in the slightest, Reeve. I’m just glad I’ve finally gotten a chance to meet you.” I didn’t dare turn around and look at Reeve. I was scared he’d think I was telling my mom and dad about my nickname, how mean he was to me. I hadn’t told them anything about that. Only the nice stuff.

“How about we go through the drive-through window at Scoops and get some ice cream?” my mom suggested.

I mustered up the courage, turned around in my seat, and looked at Reeve. “Do you have to go straight home?”

Reeve shook his head, but he whispered, “I don’t have any money.”

“It’s fine,” I whispered back with a smile, because I knew my mom wouldn’t let him pay anyway.

Mom got her favorite chocolate chocolate chip, and Reeve got moose tracks in a waffle cone. I usually got a scoop of peppermint patty and a scoop of peanut brittle, but this time I got a rainbow sherbet, because the flavor board said there were less calories in sherbet.

When we dropped him off, Reeve didn’t run straight into his house, even though it was pouring. He came over to my window and thanked my mom and said, “See you tomorrow!” Then he ran up his walkway.

We waited until he was safely inside, then we headed home.

I couldn’t stop smiling the whole way home. Reeve liked me. He was my friend. Everything was going to change.

Things did change after that day. Reeve stopped racing off the ferry and leaving me behind. He waited for me, and we walked to school together.

*    *    *

Three girls are sitting in front of me, decked out in Jar Island school colors. I watch one girl lean over to the others and say, “God, Reeve is so fine.”

“Is he single?” another of the girls says. “Or is he still hooking up with Teresa Cruz?”

I hold my breath.

“That’s way over,” the third girl says. “Rennie and Reeve are a thing now. I mean, at least I think they are. I heard they’ve hooked up a few times.”

That first day, Reeve was the one to console Rennie after Kat spit in her face. He even gave her his shirt to wipe her face on.

Could they be together?

I look out at the field. Rennie’s climbing onto the very top of a cheering pyramid. She’s so tiny. She probably weighs, like, ninety pounds, max. I watch her sneakers grind down on the backs of her teammates as she pulls herself higher and higher. A few of them wince.

Girls like Rennie get whatever they want. They don’t care who they step on.

It’s not right.

I let out the breath I’m holding. At that very moment Rennie stumbles as she’s rising up to the very top. The whole crowd sees it happen. Some of them gasp. She ends up falling straight backward and crashes into the arms of her spotters, who then lower her gently to the ground, unhurt. Rennie looks pissed that she didn’t make it up to the top. Pissed and surprised. The rest of the girls in the pyramid climb off each other, and Rennie screams at them for having bad form.

My heart is racing and I’m breathing hard. I know I didn’t just do that. I couldn’t have.

Even though Rennie deserved it. Even though just for a second I wanted her to fall. But just because you want something to happen, that doesn’t mean it will come true.

Or does it? That day in the hallway, when I was chasing down Reeve, I wanted so badly to get his attention. The lockers . . . did I make them all slam shut?

I inch back in my seat and sit on my hands. No. There’s no way. It’s an impossible thought.

While everyone else stares at the field, I turn and face the shed that’s at the very top of the bleachers. An old man takes a seat behind a microphone. The cord of the microphone is plugged into a mixing board, which is hooked up to speakers mounted underneath the eaves of the roof. He takes a sip of water, clears his throat, and says, “These, ladies and gentlemen, are your Jar Island Fighting Gulls!”

He opens up the folder in front of him and traces his finger down a list of names. The list Kat and I put in the announcing booth early this morning, before anyone got to the stadium.

“Let’s give a warm welcome to our seniors, who are taking the field for their last season.” As the words echo out of the speakers, Reeve, Alex, and the rest of the senior boys pull apart from the pack and face the bleachers. The senior cheerleaders step forward too and stand behind them.

“Quarterback and captain, number sixty-three, REEVE TABATSKY.”

Hearing his name, Reeve hops up onto the team bench and waves to the crowd. They scream for him rock star style. Rennie turns a bunch of back handsprings the entire length of the bench.

“Your kicker, number twenty-seven, PJ MOORE!”

Everyone cheers for PJ as he steps up onto the bench with Reeve. He pulls his leg back and then swings it forward, simulating a kick. Lillia leaps up and does a toetouch.

The applause dies down, and I suck in a breath, because I know what’s next.

“Wide receiver, number forty-six, ALEX LIMP.”

A few people clap, but mostly there’s just snickers and people whispering, “What did they just call him? ‘Limp’?”

Alex drops his head to the side, like he maybe didn’t hear right. His face is red, redder than it is normally with his skin issue. Redder than I’ve ever seen a face get. The blond girl who’s Alex’s cheerleader has her pom-poms up over her head and, she’s about to lean into a handstand. But she doesn’t. She freezes.

I guess because Alex doesn’t climb up onto the bench, the announcer says his name once again. “ALEX LIMP!”

This time everyone hears.

Reeve pitches forward laughing. PJ too. One of the players standing behind Alex taps him on the back. When Alex turns around, everyone in the crowd sees it. The back of his jersey doesn’t say “Lind.” It says “Limp.”

Lillia’s brilliant idea. She swapped out his old jersey with this new one, bought from an athletic store online that makes jerseys in our school colors. She sent them a money order so the order couldn’t be traced to her, and then she had it overnighted.

“Oh my God,” the girls in front of me squeal. “Alex Limp? Eww! That’s so gross!”

I watch Lillia. She’s covering her face with her hands, pretending to be shocked. Her sister had started jumping around and clapping when the announcer first called out Alex’s name, but now her hands are dropped to her sides. She takes a few steps backward, and hides behind the other cheerleaders standing around the bench.

Alex starts turning in circles like a dog chasing his tail, trying to see or get his hands up on the back of his jersey. I burst out laughing, because it’s just too funny.

Reeve eventually hops down from the bench and tries to help Alex, even though he’s laughing at him pretty hard. Well, maybe that’s what Reeve wants to do. But I guess Alex just sees his friend laughing at him, because he lowers his head, drops his helmet, and rushes Reeve, wrapping his arms around Reeve’s waist. He tackles him down on the ground with a big thud.