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anyway?” I asked. “The theater kids don’t usually show up.”
    â€œJournalism assignment. I’m supposed to post about the game on the school blog Monday.”
    â€œJournalism?”
    â€œYeah, they asked for a volunteer to write up the home opener.”
    â€œAnd you volunteered?”
    He shrugged. “New school. Trying to make friends. Monica wanted me to see her and Amy cheer. Plus . . .” His voice trailed off.
    â€œPlus what?” I asked.
    â€œWanted to see you in action.” He looked away when he said it, almost like he was owning up to something.
    â€œWhat did you think?”
    â€œWell, I thought that the basket toss Amy and Monica pulled off at halftime was just really top-notch cheer work. Both of them had great extension, and . . .”
    Jon saw the look on my face and started giggling like I was a little kid. That’s when I realized he was joking and cracked up too. I hadn’t been this drunk in a while. “Not them , you moron.” I punched him lightly in the shoulder. “What did you think of me ?”
    He looked at me like he was sizing me up. “I think I came to the right game.”
    I tried to hold his gaze, but my face was on fire again, and I looked back up at the house. “So, you and Amy . . . ?” The question hung in the air between us.
    He gave a silent laugh—a puff of air somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. “Your girlfriend seems heavily invested in the idea that Amy and I should go out.”
    Your girlfriend. Something about those words made me jump to my feet. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach. What was I doing? I am the star of the football team. How long have I been drunk, sitting by a burnt-out bonfire with the new kid? Was Monica looking for me? What would she think if she couldn’t find me? Were the guys wondering where I was?
    â€œC’mon. We should go find the girls.”
    Jon looked up at me sort of startled. “Oh . . . okay. Yeah, sure.” He didn’t get up. “You okay?” he asked.
    â€œYeah—I’m fine—just . . . We should get back to the party.”
    Jon glanced up toward the house, but he didn’t move. “You go ahead, man,” he said. “I think I’m just gonna sit here for a second. I’m a little dizzy from all that Maker’s.”
    For some reason, it felt very important that Jon come with me. I didn’t want to walk away from him, but I couldn’t staydown here with him anymore either. I held out my hand. He looked at it, then smiled and grabbed it in an arm-wrestling-style grip. I helped pull him up. He must not have been lying about being sort of dizzy because the momentum of getting to his feet carried him right into me, and I stumbled backward a step as our bodies collided on either side of our clasped hands, our forearms pinned between our chests.
    â€œWhoa!” he said, and grabbed my shoulder with his free hand. I wrapped my arm around him to steady us before we both went tumbling into the hot coals behind us.
    We were so close, I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. I could smell his cologne or his deodorant or something—it was sweet and peppery, and his eyes were level with mine. I hadn’t realized how tall he was, and his blue eyes had the same effect on me they had that first time I’d seen them in class.
    I froze.
    We stared at each other for a second.
    â€œYou good?” I asked.
    The smirk slowly spread across his face. He nodded. “Yeah.” He reached down and grabbed the messenger bag that had held the bourbon, tossing the strap nonchalantly over his shoulder and then turning toward the house. “C’mon. Let’s go find those cheerleaders.”

Later . . .
    My hand was about to fall off after writing all that, so I had to take a break. I just read it over, and I’m still not sure how I