“But it could’ve been a big deal, Jordan. I don’t think you understand how dangerous this sport is,” Dad says with a shaky voice. I hope he doesn’t use that tone in front of his teammates, because it makes him sound like a complete pansy.

“Dad, I’ve been playing for ten years!”

“Joe Carter weighs 250 pounds. You weigh 170.

“Joe Carter weighs 250 pounds. You weigh 170. You’re lucky you didn’t get knocked out.” Dad starts cramming salad into his mouth. Mike bites into a chicken breast like he’s a vulture or something and shakes his head at Dad.

“Well , nothing happened,” I say, “and I’m not quitting.”

Dad rubs his eyes. “What exactly do you want to do with footbal anyway? No women have ever been in the NFL, ’cause they’d get kil ed.”

“I don’t know, Dad. Right now, al I want is to play in col ege, and see what happens there.”

“You could seriously get hurt. The guys in col ege play at a total y different level than high school.”

“Don’t you know how good I am?”

“You shouldn’t be playing a sport with guys who are twice your size.” Dad stabs at his chicken with a knife and fork, ripping the meat off the bone and forcing it into his mouth.

“Maybe you’d know how good she is if you ever showed up to one of her games, Dad,” Mike blurts. Jake lets out a low whistle, and I think he’s about to take off, when Dad suddenly stands up and throws his napkin down on the table. He shoots Mike a look—the look of death, which I haven’t seen since Henry and I accidental y drove Dad’s ATV into the lake.

“Thanks for dinner, Julie,” Dad says, bending over and kissing Mom’s cheek. He picks up his plate, puts the bottle of Gatorade under his arm, and leaves the room. A few seconds later, I hear the door to his study slam shut.

My appetite gone, I pick up my plate and hold it out for Mike and Jake. My brother grabs the bread and chicken and Jake scoops the mashed potatoes onto his plate.

Mike rips into his second chicken breast, then wipes the grease from his lips with a napkin. “Dad’s such a jerk.”

Grinning at my brother, I stand up and take my plate to the sink. Before heading upstairs, I pause outside the dining room because I hear Mom speaking quietly.

“Mike, I know you’re mad, but you wil show your father more respect.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mike replies softly.

I wish Henry was here to make me laugh right now, because I feel like shit. To get my mind off Dad’s assholishness, I run upstairs to my room and grab the stupid journal. Then I go outside into the backyard, through the gardens to Mom’s potting shed, this rickety oak shack that’s covered in ivy and moss. It’s total y Scotland.

Looking over my shoulder to make sure no one’s watching me, I slip inside and shut the door and take a seat next to the shovels in the corner, where streams of light from our deck shoot through the window and the cracks in the siding, il uminating the dirt floor. I love hiding in the shed when I need alone time. When we were little, Henry and I used to play house in here. We’d make long-winded announcements about how we would never get married to anyone, and I liked to pretend we had a bowling al ey, and Henry would talk about having a helipad, and I’d trump that by pretending to have a transporter like on Star Trek. I find my flashlight. And holding it using my chin, I open the Moleskine to a blank page and try to think of something to write, besides fantasies of seeing Ty’s…

“Jesus, Woods,” I mutter. “Get a hold of yourself.”

I doodle. A few pictures of footbal s, some pinwheels, the Alabama Rol Tide logo about thirty times. I draw a bunch of X s and O s, which aren’t hugs and kisses, but offensive plays from the team playbook, and—okay, okay—I write J.W. + T.G., which I scribble over immediately.

I rip out the page of doodles and wad it up.

Ode to Ty…I love your three-step drop and that quick release.

I laugh as I rip that page out too.

evolution

(aka second attempt at tackling a

poem)

I’ll admit it

When I first saw Jake Reynolds

I thought I’d died and gone to the Super Bowl

(as starting QB)

That blond surfer-boy hair

That tan body that won’t stop

That bottom lip: upturned, a sexy invite

And then he spoke

“Damn, Jordan. You should play tight end

because your ass is wound tighter than a baseball.”

Now every time I see a hot guy

my first reaction is to brace myself

Wait for the sewage to seep out of his mouth

I thought Henry was the last of his kind

I thought hot nice guys had gone extinct

Be still, my hormones

Ty is here to repopulate the species

mudding

the count? 19 days until alabama

The next morning, I wake up a little earlier than usual. Mike, Jake, and I run five miles together and then we lift weights before I hop in the shower. When I shave my legs for the first time in a week, I actual y try to hit al the tricky spots—around the ankles, behind the knees. It’s like when Mom spends hours making sure each weed has been plucked from her vegetable garden.

I also mess around with the assorted lotions, body washes, and conditioners that Mom puts in my bathroom. I hope Ty likes shea butter.

Ugh. Al I’ve done since yesterday is think about him. I only got two hours of sleep last night. Imagine that—

me losing tomorrow’s game against Lynchburg High School, the worst team in our district—because I’m worn out from thinking about a guy al night long. Yeah, I know. I make myself sick too.

Yet here I am at 7:00 a.m., actual y trying to decide what I’m going to wear to school today. I spend two minutes brushing my hair, which is about two minutes longer than usual, then I pick out a nice pair of jeans, and since I don’t have practice today, I try on a pushup bra and matching underwear that have infiltrated my underwear drawer. The lacy blue underwear barely covers anything and offers virtual y no support. Mom must real y want me to get a boyfriend.

As uncomfortable as I feel, I keep the girly underwear on anyway. Who knows? Provided they stay the hel out of my butt crack, they might make me feel sexier later on today.

And instead of my usual ratty “Titans” and “Bel Buckle Moon Pie Ten-Mile Race” T-shirts, I pick out a plain black fitted tee. I know, I know—I’m wild. But seriously? For me, this fitted tee is total y dressing up, and it shows off my boobs. I don’t think too many people even realize I have boobs. Not even Jake, the total horndog, knows I have a chest.

I top off the outfit with flip-flops and chapstick. Ty better appreciate how hard I’ve worked to make myself attractive for him this morning, because I am fucking spent.

At lunchtime I head to the cafeteria, which always smel s like a mixture of meatloaf and salad dressing, like those odors have seeped into the concrete wal s and tile floor. I grab a slice of pizza, a salad, and a couple cartons of chocolate milk. I know I’m seventeen and that those little milk cartons are for kids, but I love them.

Today, I’m the first person to sit down at the footbal team’s table, and when I look up at the lunch line to see where the rest of the guys are, there he is. Ty. He stares at me, smiling. From across the cafeteria, he mouths the words, “Can I sit with you?”

I take a bite of pizza and point at the table. He grins again. Suddenly I seem to lose the ability to chew. He drops his tray down and slides in beside me. Our elbows touch. “Hey, Woods.”

I nod once. “Ty.”

I scan the cafeteria for the rest of the guys, hoping they’l be here soon. JJ and Carter are talking to a tableful of freshman girls. From a few tables away, Lacey is glaring at JJ, but he doesn’t even notice because some redhead is feeding him French fries. Carter is listening to a girl with long brown hair, gazing at her as if she’s saying very important things, like giving a play-by-play account of Super Bowl XXXVII. In al actuality, she’s probably giving him a play-by-play account of some romance novel where some chick is in love with a boy who’s real y a werewolf, and a vampire who’s real y a dragon with enormous wings, and a handsome king who’s real y a vampire.

Henry is standing over by the windows talking to Carrie Myer. He’s leaning against the glass and frowning at her. Is Mom right? Are they going to get back together? Carrie says something, and they both turn and look at me. She stares at me for a sec, then turns back to Henry and says something.

What’s that about? I wish I could read lips. Then he drags a hand through his curls and focuses on the ceiling tiles. Carrie wipes a tear off her face, turns, and walks toward the doors. Her eyes are al puffy and red. Henry fol ows her out into the hal way, frowning. Even though she said she’s glad, maybe Carrie is actual y pissed that Marie went out with Henry yesterday, thus breaking the cardinal rule of cheerleading. JJ once told me that if a guy dates one cheerleader, the rest of the cheerleaders wil never, ever date him because of squad loyalty. Yeah, JJ didn’t understand it either. It’s not like anyone is getting married. But when it comes to Henry, the rule doesn’t apply: the girls disregard it and mess around with him anyway.

Too much drama for me.

Too much drama for me.

Speaking of fooling around, Ty’s sitting so close I can smel him. The scent of soap and detergent wafts up to my nose.

Ty leans over and whispers in my ear, “I don’t know whether to thank you or hate you for sending me home with Henry yesterday.”

“Oh hel ,” I say. “What did he do?”

He stuffs a few French fries in his mouth, but keeps talking. “First he takes us to this diner. Those friends of his, Kristen and Marie, are al over us. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but Kristen doesn’t seem to have anything between her ears.”

I snort and chocolate milk comes out my nose. Yeah, I know, I’m the sexiest creature on the planet. Ty grins at me.

“Go on,” I say, wiping up my chocolate snot.

“So we stay at the diner for a couple hours, talking about absolutely nothing. And I mean nothing. Oh yeah

—there was no studying going on either. Henry and Marie made out for, like, an hour.”

I start cracking my knuckles as Ty goes on. “Then we go out to his truck, and I’m thinking, great—final y, I get to go home. My grandfather’s probably worried sick about me. But no, Henry doesn’t take me home. He drives us way out into the country into this field. It’s basical y a giant mud puddle.”

I grin. “Henry took you mudding?”

“Yup. So we’re in the field, and Henry drives his truck around in circles at about eighty miles an hour. I think I’m gonna die. Everybody’s screaming. He rol s down the windows and mud’s flying al over the place, al inside the cab of the truck. I’m covered in muck. Final y he stops the truck and we al fal out into the giant mud puddle.” He looks down at his cheeseburger, picks it up, and takes a bite. With food in his mouth, he says,

“Pretty soon I’m the only person stil wearing clothes. And then Kristen—” Ty suddenly grabs some fries and eats them, his face growing pink.