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of my elbow. She writes ten numbers down my forearm.
    I grin, trying to calm my breathing. “Don’t trust my memory?”
    She shakes her head, red hair falling from her ponytail. “It’s not that.” She starts adding a football goal post at the end of the number. “I just want to make extra sure you have it.” She caps the Sharpie. “And if you don’t call, it better be because you lost your arm.”
    “Even if I lose my arm, I’m finding a way to call you.”
    “I’ll drive you to the ER.”
    “I’d rather you kiss it better.”
    “Not sure if that would work.”
    “It’s worth a shot.”
    She cocks an eyebrow. “Maybe.”
    I know it’s ballsy, and Josh is sitting in the car waiting for her, but I lean in anyway. There’s something about her that draws me in, makes me want more, and makes me feel okay for wanting it, too.
    What is she doing to me?
    I get inches from her lips and a loud honk! jolts us feet away from each other.
    Josh taps his wrist as if he was wearing a watch as my heart tries to get back to normal speed.
    Sam groans, pulling my eyes back to her. I try to grin and laugh it off, but my breath comes out weird.
    “That’s what they’re here for,” I say.
    “What?”
    I nod toward the car. “Little siblings.”
    “You have a little brother, too?”
    “Sister.”
    Her face relaxes and she smiles. “Does she like football?”
    I think about Parker and her collection of those freaky Monster High dolls and Disney Princesses. “Um, no.”
    “Too bad.”
    “Not really. I think my mom would go insane if all of her kids were football obsessed.”
    Honk!
    “Okay, okay!” Sam rolls her eyes and starts walking backward to the driver door. I automatically follow her steps. “Did you want a ride?” she asks.
    My eyes travel over the Skyhawks bumper stickers, and the Hilton High parking pass hanging off her rearview. It’s not the most welcome car in my neck of the woods.
    “Nah, I better finish my run.”
    Her gaze flicks to my stomach, and I macho man flex even though I’m not sure she can see it through my shirt.
    “Can I call you tonight?” I ask.
    Something flashes across her expression. Like worry or fear or something, but it’s gone in the next blink when she smiles at me and opens her door. I hear Josh in the back say, “It’s about time!”
    “Just make it after nine.”
    Then she gets in her car, fumbles with the key, and gives me a wave through the windshield. I wave back and watch her pull out of the parking lot, going south, while I’m about to head north.
    It’s a good thing I’m not into labels either.
    ***
    “You have to get a boyfriend before you go to the dance, Ty.”
    Parker points to one of the boyfriend squares on the Barbie Prom Date game Mom forced me to play while the Eagles/Titans game echoes from the family room. Mom and Dad argued for a good half hour over whether I’d get to watch football after the suspension, and Mom won. No games till I’ve served my time on the bench.
    “I don’t want that guy,” I point at the picture of Ken in a sparkly disco suit. This game was Mom’s when she was a kid.
    “He’s the only one left, Ty.” Parker is the only person I let call me Ty. “And you have to have a date.”
    She pulls her Cinderella blanket over her head and waits for me to backtrack from the dressing room square—to change into my prom dress I bought for two Barbie bucks, of course—but I give her my best big brother pout face. “Can’t I go stag?”
    Her small nose wrinkles. “What’s stag?”
    My shoulders drop and I move my Barbie piece to Disco Ken. “Never mind.” I pick up my “date” and set him over by my dress and horse drawn carriage.
    Parker smiles and spins the glitter spinner. “See, now you’re ready for prom.”
    “Nah,” my older brother, Hunter comes in and right hooks me in the shoulder. “He still needs his crown.” He leans over Parker, plucks the plastic pink-gemmed tiara thing from the center of the board