His cool mask is murderous. “What is your problem?” Dylan asks James.

It’s the summation of years of anger and rivalry between them, and I’m stuck. Literally, I’m trapped staring at Dylan’s chest when James pushes on the outer edges of his shoulders.

“Hey!” I try to break out between them, but they’re starting to officially fight now.

I’m trying to push them apart, but they’re amped up on adrenaline and testosterone, and I’m just a casualty at this point.

The coaches try to get through the circle, but the teenage athletes are forming a blockade, eager to see how this plays out.

I once again place my hand on Dylan’s chest, trying to get him to stop, but this time, it doesn’t work.

I shove my other hand upward to try and stop James. The heel of my palm hits something hard, and I hear him cry out.

I turn and gasp. Dylan’s rage turns into laughter at the sight of James wincing and holding a hand over the left side of his face.

“Oh my god, James, I’m so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to.”

He holds a hand up, willing me to stop talking.

“This is what it feels like to be on the opposite side of one of Reed’s black eyes?” Dylan says smugly. “Not bad.”

That, of course, reignites James, and they start their shoving match all over again. I’m able to dodge it as best I can until the coaches make it to us and pull them apart.

The athletic director, who I recognize from the few times he’s had to give out awards during assemblies and speeches after meets, is completely red faced when he reaches us.

“You three,” he nearly sputters. “In my office. Now.”

“Me?” I ask, somewhat dumbfounded. “I was in the stands. I had nothing to do with this.”

That, apparently, doesn’t matter.

I’m silently seething as James and I sit in uncomfortable metal folding chairs outside the director’s office.

Like we’re in some sort of bad cop movie, he’s pulling us in one at a time to give statements of what happened. He was nice enough to provide James with an ice pack before barking at Dylan to get inside his office, leaving James and me to sit in silence.

“You lied to me, Harper,” James says finally. “You said nothing is going on between you two.”

I roll my eyes. “You asked me that question months ago, James. And it’s not like we’ve been having sleepovers every weekend since, staying up, brushing our hair, and talking about our crushes.”

I expect him to fire back at me, but he is speechless.

“What has he done to you?” James asks quietly.

“What does that even mean?”

I know exactly what he means, actually.

The Harper he knows was timid, lost in cycles of planning and worrying, and never really doing anything of note. Too scared to go after what she wants or do anything other than follow him around like a lost puppy.

“It means…I don’t know,” he falters. “Things are just different between us lately.”

“You’re just now noticing that?” I ask.

My words are harsh, but internally, I’m cracking just a bit.

I don’t want to be against him. Despite everything, I do want and need him in my life, but we need to evolve to different terms.

I can no longer be his reliable sidekick that fills a gap between girlfriends, the person whose hand he reaches for when he’s feeling lonely, the doormat to his brooding.

I need a best friend who will cheer me on, just like I’ve done for him for so many years, and I need him to understand it.

“I’m sorry,” I start before I stop myself. “Actually, wait, I take that back. I don’t know why I’m apologizing.”

James gestures to the ice pack that’s covering the red bump forming on his cheek. “Maybe for this?”

I can’t help but smile. “Sure,” I say.

The sound of heels clacking down the hall draws both of our attention.

Somehow, I’m not surprised that the sound belongs to Mrs. Archer, who is dressed exceptionally well, considering she’s at a high school sporting event.

She takes in James and me for a beat.

“Harper,” she says evenly. “Lovely to see you again.”

“You too, Mrs. Archer.”

“Is my son in there, by any chance?”

“Yes,” I tell her. “It’s been a few minutes actually.”

“Thank you,” she says before knocking and letting herself in.

“So,” James says and then clears his throat. “Are you and him, like, official?”

I pause as I realize we’re in that undefined talking stage.

Well, talking and kissing if I’m being specific.

“I…don’t know,” I admit quietly.

James lowers his ice pack and faces me. “Look, I don’t know the details, and frankly, I’m not sure that I could stomach them.”

That’s completely fair.

“And I know it’s weird timing, but I’ve been thinking about this since lasagna night and…” He trails off, leaving me frozen in uncertainty at what he’s going to say next. “I just was really hoping you’d want to go to prom with me.”

I open and close my mouth a few times. “Won’t Lyla have something to say about that?”

He looks at me sheepishly before he answers. “She dumped me this morning.”

I laugh. Of course. I’m his guaranteed backup.

He reaches for my hand, and I don’t immediately pull away. This is him feeling guilty but also wanting me to listen to what he has to say.

“Lyla and I…and me and the other girls…it just doesn’t work. It has never worked, H, and I think I’ve finally figured out why.”

I swallow. It’s loud. I turn my head away from him, and James squeezes my hand tighter, trying to pull me back to him.

Of course, it’s at that moment Dylan opens the door.

I yank my hand out of James’s, but before I can open my mouth to explain, Dylan sneers, “Isn’t this cozy?”

He drops in the seat next to me and makes no move to reach for my hand or take advantage of our close proximity.

“Don’t let me interrupt whatever this is,” Dylan says, gesturing between us.

“Dylan,” I start. “It’s not anything.”

“What’s it to you, Archer?” James seethes.

“It’s just such a shame that shiner’s going to mess up your face for the pictures,” Dylan says. “Prom? Sounds terrible, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

I groan. “I didn’t agree to anything yet,” I tell him.

“Yet,” James says.

“Well, don’t let me stop you, Reed,” Dylan suggests. “You’re finally getting everything you wanted.”

He’s doing his self-preservation thing. I recognize this and want to tell him to cool it, but I don’t dare do so in front of James because it would only make the entire situation worse

I see the hollowness in his eyes, and I hate it. When I reach for him, trying to fix it, he pulls back.

Voices carry down the hall, the same one that Mrs. Archer came from, and James and I lock eyes, recognizing the sounds of both sets of voices.