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Coach, and I think it’s happening tomorrow.” Jamie Mann is all smiles and hair flips.
    I sit on the bleachers, lacing up my sneakers and listening to Jamie, Kara, Lindsey, and Schuyler chattering away.
    “It is such an awesome idea,” Kara says.
    “I know, right?” Lindsey says.
    “Isn’t it an awesome idea?”
    “Don’t you guys think?”
    Apparently, they’re asking me and Liv.
    “About what?” Liv says.
    “Coed scrimmage. With the boys’ team.” Jamie’s face is all aglow with excitement.
    “Whose idea was it?” I ask.
    “Theirs,” Schuyler says. “Can you believe it?”
    No, actually. I can’t.
    “Their strength is aggression at the net,” Jamie explains. “And we’re better at the passing game, so it, like, makes sense to learn from each other.”
    “Plus if we’re trying to impress each other, we’ll probably play better. I know I will,” Schuyler says. Schuyler is not exactly the queen of motivation during practice. She’s probably most excited about scrimmaging the guys so she can show off her butt in Spandex.
    Liv shrugs. “Sounds good to me.” Meanwhile, her elbow is digging into my ribs. “Hester?”
    I shoot Liv the fish-eye.
    She smiles innocently.
    The girls are confused. “Who’s Hester?”
    “No one,” I say. “Scrimmage sounds fun.”

    Seventh period, on my way to English, I’m walking through the senior corridor (not because I’m hoping to run into anyone, but because it’s the shortest route to Room 310), and I see him. Matt Rigby, alone at his locker, fiddling with the padlock. His polo shirt is bright green, new-looking. Blond hair curls over his collar. Jeans. Black Converse low tops. I can feel my breath quicken, the plunge of my stomach into my knees. He couldn’t look better if he tried.
    What if I walked up to him right now? What if I walked right up and tapped him on the shoulder—smiled and tossed my hair around like Jamie Mann. Hey, Riggsy. What’s up?
    But I would never do that.
    It’s stupid to pretend that I don’t see him, but that’s what I do. I hold my books to my chest and steer my gaze to the end of the hall: the trophy case under the Elmherst Hurricanes banner.
    Out of the corner of my eye I see a redhead in a tube top—Tessa something, a senior—sidle up next to him. “Heyyy, Riggsy!” she says in that perky cheerleader way, draping one arm around his waist like she’s done it a million times before.
    She wants to know if he’s going to study hall. He is? Great! They can go together!
    Great.
    “Are you going to the game Friday night?” I hear her ask.
    And he says, “I don’t know. I have to check with my secretary.” Now she giggles.
    I walk as fast as a person can walk without looking like a moron.
    Sometimes the feeling is like a wrecking ball to your gut. Not that I have any right to be jealous. I mean, just because Matt Rigby disrobed me on a porch swing once, it’s not like I own the guy. He’s probably been disrobing girls all summer long, ever since he and Missy broke up. And who cares if he has? Matt Rigby can do whatever he wants, as far as I’m concerned. It’s a free country.

    “Awww,” my mom says. “Best daughter in the world.” She peels back the lid of the milk shake I’ve brought her and tastes it. “Hmm. White chocolate peanut butter?” She likes to be surprised, so Bob always changes it for her. “No, wait”—she frowns into the cup—“what is that? Almond? Cashew?”
    “Macadamia nut,” I say. “White chocolate macadamia nut.”
    “Aha!”
    “Bob says hi, by the way.”
    “Well, tell him hi back.”
    “If I do that, he’ll think you like him.”
    She smiles. “Bob’s sweet.”
    “Please.” I roll my eyes. “I have ten minutes before I have to go back and bleach something.”
    “And I have no customers. Let’s sit.” She steps down from the ladder she’s been using to shelve books. We’re in the travel section. I used to love the travel section. When I was little I would