But, especially that there was no compet.i.tion between him and Chris except on the soccer field.

He jogged back to the house, being as careful as I was to not let his eyes get burned out by accidentally glancing to where Rachel and Jared said good-bye.

Jared crossed in front of the car as Rachel slid behind the wheel, a silly grin on her face.

"Ok, talk," I said. "Are you... serious about this one?"

"Me?" Rachel threw me a look as she pivoted to back out of the driveway. "You're the one with a fake boyfriend and Mr. Manners chasing after you. If anyone has something worth talking about, it's you."

"I can't imagine what you're talking about." I even stuck my nose in the air as I said this.

Rachel laughed, light and airy. I wondered what was glowing more, the dashboard or the happiness rolling off her. "You can't put me off with that horrible Gwyneth Paltrow fake stuffy British accent. You're going to have to tell me eventually."

I watched the house drift away as she edged the car onto the street and headed homeward. "I don't have anything to say."

That was, unfortunately, the truth. I had nothing to say. I didn't even have anything not to say.

What did I have? No guys. The top guy. Two guys. No guys again. And now back to two guys. Two guys who wanted to get together to talk. On Monday. After the blue versus green team scrimmage.

Crud. This must be why those popular girls all have date books-to avoid double booking non-dates.

Someone really should teach a cla.s.s on the management of boys.

Chapter 22.

The light, constant patter of raindrops woke me early Monday morning. More rain. More wet, dark, miserable rain. I was getting sick of it. The clouds were so thick, they robbed the morning of its morning-ness.

Sliding out of bed, I stretched, reveling in the first free day in a week. No tryouts. No guys calling or showing up. Not even Rachel stopping by. Just me. Alone. By myself. Trying to figure out what the heck I was going to do.

Suddenly, a free morning didn't sound so great.

I needed to figure out what I wanted my status with Chris to be-if there was even a status to consider. Then I needed to talk to Luke and figure out... I have no idea.

That was part of the problem. Two guys, no status, lots of confusion. My head hurt and my heart kept doing weird speed-up-then-stop things.

Mrs. Parker had been right last night. I needed to be clear about what I wanted. So, I sat down and wrote a pro/con list for each guy.

CHRIS PROs a He's been my dream guy since I was old enough to have a dream guy a He's trying to change a His kisses a He's hot CHRIS CONs a He's either using me or Cheryl or both a He supposedly broke up with her, but they hung out Sunday a Which means that those kisses are going to her too LUKE PROs a I love being around his family a He gets me and my painting a Yeah, also hot a He can see me LUKE CONs a He's pushy a He's stubborn a He can see me Well, that didn't do any good. I knew one thing and one thing only. I had told Chris I was his girlfriend, even if it was a secret, and I wouldn't betray my promise until I'd either confronted him and cleared things up, or ended it. That meant talking to him tonight before I tried to figure things out with Luke.

The drizzle stopped and I knew the scrimmage would be on.

Tonight. Tonight everything would be decided. I'd talk to both guys and trust my heart to tell me who was The One.

Monday night almost the entire school was at the field. It was the unofficial start to soccer season, our version of the Oscars. Everyone was there to see who would walk away with the varsity spots-who would be the It Guys of the school year.

Even the incoming freshmen came, like some type of rite of pa.s.sage.

Cheryl led the varsity cheer squad off the field, waving her little pom-poms in Half-Time victory. I realized all that gymnastics stuff was impressive, but I refused to believe it meant she had a brain too.

Coach handed me his numbers for the blue team. I just needed the numbers from the green guys. I couldn't wait till we had a real game and I only had to track one team.

Princ.i.p.al Edwards took the spare microphone from the edge of the stats table. The crowd ignored him while he strode toward center field until the mic's cord yanked him back.

"Good evening, students." As usual, he addressed us as though we were some elite, private boys' school with his salute and snooty fake accent. "Welcome back for another great year and another great season at Ridge View High. As always, it is my sincere pleasure to see each and-"

"Hi there." Rachel was one of those girls who could get away with chirping. She handed me a Diet c.o.ke. "Sorry I'm late coming back. Anything exciting happen down here while Jared was spoiling me and bribing you with soda?"

"Not a thing." I turned toward her, ignoring Princ.i.p.al Edwards droning on behind me. "I was hoping the squad would drop Cheryl after that toss-her-in-the-air thing, but no such luck. Her hair didn't even come out of her-"

"What!" It was none other than Captain Cheryl herself, gasping on the sidelines.

Princ.i.p.al Edwards paused for a moment before continuing, or reiterating, or something I'm unsure of since I hadn't been paying attention.

"As I was saying, due to budget constraints the school needs to find more funding for the Fall sports and clubs. And so, to make the Homecoming Court more in tune with true school spirit, the School Board has decided that the person-or captain of persons-who raises the most at the Half-Time Auction at the Homecoming game will be crowned King or Queen. They'll have the opportunity to offer the other crown as they see fit. This alleviates the social pressures and unfortunate standards set by a blind vote of peers."

Oh. My. Gosh.

He had to be kidding.

I glanced toward the cheerleaders, watching Cheryl taking in the news. She turned and looked up the slope to the school where the teams waited to take the field again. Where Chris waited.

Everything he'd worked for, the entire Plan, down the tubes because of an economic crisis the adults had gotten us into.

And then I got mad. Everything that had happened over the last three weeks came down to nothing. Down to less than nothing. There was no need for the secrets and the double life. There was no need for Cheryl. There was no need for Chris to "date" her to become Homecoming king. Everything that went with that-The Plan, the double life, the rivalry with Luke, everything-none of it mattered now. Now, all you had to do to become Homecoming King was earn the most money? What did that mean?

It meant The Plan-and the public image girlfriend that went with it-was a thing of the past. Now, Chris had no excuse to be with Cheryl... and I had no excuse not to figure out what I wanted. For the first time, there was no "big picture" to consider.

It meant next time I saw Luke, I'd have to be single or taken-but not relationally in limbo. And, as I watched him sprint down the sideline getting open for a pa.s.s, I suddenly knew where I stood.

Behind me the crowd worked itself into a roar. Split by color, students and parents cheered for their jersey team as though it were the state finals instead of just the last round of tryouts-scrimmage. At my side, Rachel checked out the guys, scanned the crowd, and text messaged Jared who sat all of two rows behind our table. Basically everything someone can do at a game besides watch the game.

As the clock ticked down to nothing-high school regulation time-Chris and Luke managed to work together to force the ball into the other team's box. Luke circled out past their midfielders with the ball, only to be cornered by two defenders. I held the timer in my hand, hoping for the best, but knowing I'd call time the second it struck zero. Before my finger could hit the b.u.t.ton, Luke pa.s.sed the ball off to Chris.

No one expected that. Well, no one but me. I'd known when it came down to it, he'd do what was best for the team no matter who earned the final glory.

The unexpected pa.s.s took the Green Team off guard and gave Chris an open shot.

The ball hit the back of the net as I blew the air horn and ended the game.

A bunch of Blue Shirts tackled Chris to the ground. Some of the guys scooped Luke up in the standard Chariots of Fire Victory lift and the team brought them both to midfield where Coach ran out to congratulate them. The ref jogged down the field, bringing the winning ball with him.

It was glorious. One of those moments you think can't get better, that you want to hold onto forever in the sc.r.a.pbook of your mind.

The ref tossed the ball toward Chris-winning scorer earning the winning ball. Chris trapped it and then kicked it back into the air, sending everyone's gaze racing with it as it soared toward the crowd and gently landed in the invisible girl's hands-as it landed in my hands.

Luke's head swung toward me as I tried to wipe the silly grin off my face. Even with Luke's scowl focused in my direction, a glow spread through me. I forced myself to not peek at Cheryl in my moment of glory. To enjoy it all because it was only going to come once. To try to ignore the fact that the entire school was looking at me. I wasn't stupid enough to let Chris's last ditch effort do more than give me a warm-glowy. It didn't fix things with Chris or mean I gave him my trust.

But it also didn't mean that for that one second, my stupid heart didn't flip over. Twice.

Crushing was a bad habit. Going cold turkey was practically impossible. There should be interventions.

But, this wanting Chris thing was a habit... one I knew for sure I wanted to break. If I was honest, I'd known that for awhile but had been afraid to let go. Afraid of what came next.

Luke Parker. My heart actually stopped as my gaze swung toward him. And not in the same idealized six-year-habit way, but in a new, scarier-than-anything-else-high-school-has-thrown-my-way way.

His face changed, contorted with a rage I didn't think he had in him.

Lowering his head he plowed into Chris, taking him to the ground with a fierceness that surprised even the other boys.

How could he? How could he embarra.s.s his team and me like that?

It was a testament to Luke that the teams split immediately. I would have guessed with his new-guy status, the majority would have rushed to Chris's aid. To have Chris's back. That probably would have been for the best. Everything would have ended before it started. Unfortunately, loyalty seemed to be equally divided and the melee that followed was a sight to behold.

Never in RVHS history had a riot like this broken out-even against a rival school. The team colors merged and faded into indiscernible patterns. No one color jersey defining loyalty at that moment. The crowd was too confused to jump in as the energy swept over them and pulsed with a life of its own.

Coach and the refs finally got the situation under control and sent guys off in different directions. The adults seemed afraid to send the team up to the locker room lest the chaos continue there. The teachers and security guards started directing everyone toward the gates and out into the parking lot.

The fear of another, bigger riot must have been overwhelming because when the cops showed up they forced all the students into their cars and off school grounds.

"You ladies need to leave." The cop behind us couldn't have been more than twenty.

"I'm with the team," I answered, afraid to look away from the two groups separated by Coach and his cohorts.

He shifted his hands on his gun belt, hitching it up on one side in a sad Clint Eastwood impersonation. "Sweetheart, everyone thinks they're with the team. Doesn't mean I'm gonna let them all stay here throwing punches."

Rachel batted her hot chocolate browns. "Officer, do we look like the ma.s.s chaos type?"

He glanced from me to Rachel, Rachel making the much better showing in her A&B top and denim miniskirt.

"No, miss. But I can't leave anyone down here that isn't a team member."

She slipped her hand through his arm as though he'd offered to lead her onto a dance floor in a BBC costume saga.

"I wouldn't mind being escorted to my car." She actually fluttered her eyelashes. "I mean, with all this craziness, a girl shouldn't be walking alone up there without some protection, don't you think?"

I could see her pull, her magnetic vortex sucking him in and weakening his resolve. Jared was not going to be happy if he was waiting in the parking lot.

So not my problem.

"If I promise to wait in the car until Coach Sarche is done with Amy-to be on my very best behavior and stay out of the way-can we call that good?"

More eyelash fluttering.

I saw him glance at me, undecided about leaving me behind.

"Um, Coach?" I called to where he paced among the guys settled into small groups on the ground.

"Whalen? Are you causing more trouble?" he bellowed back.

Great. Just great. Of course this would somehow become my fault.

"No, sir. But this officer wants me to leave." Which suddenly seemed like the best idea under the big night game lights. "Is that okay?"

"h.e.l.l no it isn't okay. You sit your skinny little a.s.s down, Whalen. I'm not done with you."

I glanced at the officer as Coach turned back toward the team, his bellowing momentarily redirected.

"I don't suppose you'd consider arresting me?"

The officer looked toward Coach and his battered Ravens.

"Not a chance. I played for Coach three years ago. No way I'd cross him." He looked down at Rachel. "Still want to be walked to your car?"

"More than ever," she said, and pulled him away.

"Cowards," I called after them, sitting my b.u.t.t back down and waiting for Coach's bellowing to deafen me.

"I'll see you at the car. Don't let the man get you down." Rachel raised a well-manicured hand as she followed the officer up the slope to the lot. At the gate, she turned and shouted back, "Oh! Please try to get to the car without starting a small war."

As they disappeared through the gate, I collected binders and ref reports. I forced myself to concentrate on sorting and organizing the data, beginning with the reports Coach would want tonight to make his decisions for the captain spot-if that was still even an issue.

I'd finished the summary sheet, but Coach was still railing away at the team. Settling myself in for the long haul, I watched him pace and yell, swinging his clipboard around as if it were a weapon of annoying teen destruction.

With a final warning, he dismissed the team, threatening to call off the entire season if anything happened in the locker room.

The guys disappeared up the stairs to the school's back door and Coach made his way to hover over me. Studying his oversized sneakers, I waited for the explosion that was mine to own.

"Whalen?" his voice had dropped to a softer pitch.

I tried not to look up, afraid to see either overwhelming disappointment or uncageable anger in his eyes.

"Amy?"

"Coach," I answered, still staring at those beat-up running shoes.

"Look up here, sunshine." He crouched down in front of me, giving me nothing to focus on but him. "I know you didn't instigate that. I know you aren't playing those two against each other. But that doesn't change the fact that my two best players are treating you like a toy they're fighting over."

"Coach, honestly, I'm not trying to be fought over."