“Got it,” Paul squeaks out. He must outweigh Will by about a gazillion pounds, but he looks freaked. I’ve never seen Will Whitfield so pissed. Not even when I won valedictorian over him. When Dr. Salter called us into his office, to tell us the results, a sad knowing smile spread over Will’s face. He shook my hand, said congrats, and that was that. Today, fury fills his eyes.

“Sorry,” Paul mutters to me before escaping to the bus.

I don’t know what to do with my hands. I bite on my pinky nail, chipping the polish, and rock on my heels. Brian’s forehead wrinkles as he comes over.

“You all right?” he whispers.

No, I want to say. I feel alone. I thought you were different, but you’re not treating me like an adult. Like someone who matters. You’re treating me like a plaything. And assholes play both softball and baseball.

My eyes water. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Brian squeezes my shoulder and nods. I brush his hand away from me and go into the bathroom to find a toxic warzone. Gross. No way I’m using that. I step back out of the bathroom and see Brian and Will in a hushed conversation, so I decide to eavesdrop on them from around the side of the building. I tiptoe over.

“You showed great leadership today,” Brian says to Will. “Taking care of Parker like that. You’re a good captain.”

“She’s a nice girl. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“What did Paul mean when he called her the team mascot?”

Will pauses. My heart pounds. “Uh, she’s hooked up with a couple of guys on the team.”

Holy mortification.

“Really?” Brian asks.

“Yeah,” Will says quietly.

“But not anymore, right? It wouldn’t be good for the team if she’s dating a player—”

“She’s not dating anyone,” Will interrupts. “She told me herself.”

Brian hesitates before asking, “Are you into her?”

“Why?”

“I’m your coach. I should know if there could be any potential problems down the line.” He’s jealous.

“Nah. She’s not my type. I’m not interested in a girl like her.”

My heart putters to a stop, and a clammy feeling rushes over me and settles in my stomach, hollowing it out.

Will Whitfield couldn’t be interested in a girl like me…

Figures.

I turn and sprint back to the bus, my Converses smacking the asphalt. I climb the steps and curl up in my seat. I slip earbuds into my ears, turn on my iPod, and let the Rent soundtrack steal my thoughts. Let it erase the hurt. As if it could. My chest heaves in and out. Someone taps my knee. I open my eyes to find Drew slipping into the seat next to me. I pull my earbud out.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers.

I turn to stare out the window, hating myself. “Everything’s normal.”

Drew invites me over after the game. He makes himself a PB&J. Sitting on a bar stool at the counter, I eat some celery with a bit of peanut butter.

He raps a knife on the counter like he’s a woodpecker.

“Why are you so nervous?” I ask, biting into my celery.

“I, um, well…”

“Out with it,” I say before swallowing.

“Tate asked me to play mini golf in Nashville tonight.”

I squeal. “Really? Did you say yes?”

Drew bites into his sandwich and chews. He takes another bite, and my grin fades as I wait. I dip my celery into the peanut butter.

“You just double dipped your celery into my peanut butter!”

“Stop evading the question,” I reply, chewing and double dipping again.

“I said yes,” Drew says quietly. He studies his socks. “Please don’t tell anybody.”

“I won’t.”

“Especially not Corndog.”

“You got it. So you and Tate have been talking…?”

“Mostly messaging on Facebook.” He takes another bite of PB&J. “It’s good…it’s good to know someone like me. It’s good to have a friend.”

“I’m glad.” I can barely sit still I’m so happy for him. “Do you think you’re interested in anything more with him?”

Drew’s face goes all distorted. “Why are you so interested in what I think of Tate? Is it because of Corndog? Because if I don’t like him, you can?”

My chest hurts. My face flushes. “Drew…please…”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk to pour himself a glass.

I set my celery on my plate and try to ignore the guilt rushing through me. I vow not to tell Drew about baby-sitting with Will tonight, because he’ll never believe it’s a just-friends thing.

I can have a secret relationship that takes place in a Ford F150 with a guy who’s six years older than me, or I can admit my feelings for Will, a boy who’s not interested in a girl like me, and lose my best friend in the process.

Or I can be same ole, same ole.

I take a bite of celery sans peanut butter.

Will opens the front door, and the edges of his mouth slide into a grin. Those blue eyes drop to mine, and he invites me inside the farmhouse that’s been in the Whitfield family for something like five generations. “Bo’s finishing dinner,” he says, taking my jacket to hang it in the closet. “You hungry?”

I wave a hand. “I’m good. Where are your other brothers?”

Will leans against the doorframe. “Rory went to a movie, and Trey’s at a friend’s house.”

“So it’s just me, you, and Bo?”

“Yep. Come on.” He grabs my hand and leads me to the kitchen, where Bo’s playing with his food, dipping chicken nuggets into applesauce.

He scrambles out of his chair and into my arms. I bury my face in his neck, taking in his smell of crayons and juice. Will grins to himself and starts cleaning up Bo’s dishes.

“Hey, Bo,” he says. “Want to show Parker your birthday party stuff?”

I act surprised. “When’s your birthday?”

Bo looks to Will for help.

“You turn five on April Fool’s Day, right?” Will says, and his little brother nods. “When Mom called Dad to say she was in labor, he thought she was kidding and was way late to the hospital. I stayed in the delivery room until he rushed in at the last minute.”

“That’s sweet,” I reply, smiling, even though I’m kinda envious of his family.

“My birthday’s on April fifth,” I tell Bo. “Our birthdays are in the same week.”

I leave Will washing dishes and follow Bo to his room, where it looks like his mom has been working on invitations. “You’re having a baseball and dinosaur themed party?” He nods, and shows me dinosaur streamers and baseball party favors. Cute.

Bo plops down on the rug to play with Matchbox cars, so I kneel with him and drive a yellow racecar up onto his bed and back to the rug and then up my legs and arms. His mouth forms an O as he watches me.

Will appears in the doorway. “How about a movie?”

“Is that what you want to do?” I ask Bo, who nods. He sure does a lot of nodding. I read online that people with Asperger’s usually have repetitive quirks.

Will brings apple slices and cheese, and I carry Bo down the steps to the basement and soon we’re watching School of Rock, ’cause Bo loves the music. He likes to say “gee-tar” over and over.

Will sits on the cushion right next to me, and Bo wedges himself between us, and after eating his cheese and apple, he promptly falls asleep against Will’s side.

“He’s adorable,” I say, gently mussing Bo’s brown curls.

“Thanks,” Will replies, focusing on the screen. “I love him.”

Bo lets out little snores. “I can see why.”

“You’re one of the only people he’s ever spoken to.”

I touch Bo’s tiny hand and study his fingers. “That’s so sad.”

“Mom and Dad are pleased he likes you.” Will glances my way. “It’s hard for them.”

“They’ve got you and you’re great. That’s gotta count for a lot.”

“You’re pretty great yourself,” he murmurs, but I pretend not to hear. This afternoon, he told Brian I’m not his type. Would he lie about that? He doesn’t know about me and Brian. Could Drew have mentioned something about me and Brian, to keep Will away from me?

No. No way Drew would do that. I want to ask Will what he’s thinking, but I can’t betray Drew. So we sit here with only a little boy separating us. My life is a twisted pretzel.

“You’re going to Vanderbilt, right?” Will asks.

“Yeah.”

He chews on a thumb. “Remember how you said on the way to church, how you wished we had been friends before now?”

“I meant it.”

“I never did understand why you started ignoring me. I mean, I’m a dork and you’re beautiful but you were always so nice–”

“You’re not a dork.” I take in his blue eyes. “I stopped talking to you because of Laura. She liked you, and I didn’t want to get in the way of that.”

Will’s mouth falls open. “Naw, I know she didn’t like me. Not really.”

Damn, he’s observant. “What school are you going to?” I ask, changing the subject. “Harvard, right?”

He kisses Bo’s head. “My great-grandparents started a trust fund for me, before they died, but I’m giving the money to my dad for Bo. So he can go to therapy and a special school.”

“What? Can your parents, um, not affo—”

“Things have been hard on the farm lately. Gas and water prices are up and sales have been down…It was a hard winter. I’m going to college somewhere nearby where I can get a full ride instead.”

“You’re all right, Will Whitfield.”

That’s when he slides an arm across my shoulders. “I’ve been giving Vandy serious thought. I’d be close to the farm and my parents and Bo…and you’d be there too.”

“Yeah,” I say before thinking, glancing at his face, which is focused on me. Holy seriousness. He must’ve told Brian he’s not interested in a girl like me because he doesn’t want me to have to stop being manager. “It would be nice having a good friend on campus,” I add quickly.

Will’s hand is warm on my shoulder. He rubs the side of my neck with his thumb, and it feels so good I shut my eyes and concentrate on not making a sound. And then I’m thinking about how he’s a virgin and how I’d love to learn what making love feels like with him, as friends, as partners, with someone who listens to me and cares. We’d do it in our own time.

As soon as the movie ends, I make my excuses and ride my bike home, where I’m alone except for text messages from Brian asking where I am and if he can come over.

The irony. I finally found a boy, Will, a boy I’m willing to risk everything on, to risk breaking my heart, but I stay still. Unmoving.