I blink at her, then at the jersey. “Uh, ‘Go Falcons’?”
She gasps. “No. This is the basketball equivalent of a love declaration.” She turns to Ezra. “Tucker never gave me his jersey to wear until our third date.”
Ezra chuckles and crosses his arms. His smile glitters as bright as his stud earrings. “Guess I just work faster.”
Mabel elbows me, grinning so wide it could split her face. “You have to wear it. If you don’t, the entire team will think you broke up.”
Oh, perfect. No pressure.Not to mention the idea of wearing it provides me with a flurry of feelings.
“She’s right,” says Ezra. “Girlfriends do that sort of thing.” On his face is a grin with so much game, I have to force myself not to swoon. But the annoying part isn’t even how cute he is; it’s his sweetness combined with his confidence. He interacts with people like he knows they will listen to him, and he always moves through the hallway like he belongs there.
“You realize everyone will notice if I show up wearing this, right?”
He smirks. “That’s kind of the point.”
As soon as he walks away, Mabel squeals beside me. Her gold hoop earrings flash in the hallway light as she bounces on her toes. “I can’t wait to take pictures of us at the game. This is iconic.”
The bell rings, and the hallway empties in a rush of footsteps. As Ezra walks off, I catch myself staring at the back of his head, nerves swarming my entire body.
I shake myself.
Get a grip, Rue. This is pretend.
Mabel and I split ways for class, but instead of going straight to English, I duck into the theater room, where it’s quiet and dim. Dust motes float lazily through a shaft of sunlight coming from the high windows, and the faint smell of sawdust and paint clings to the air from the new set pieces the design crew has been building.
I pull out my phone and open the Little Birdie admin console—something I shouldn’t do at school but can’t help checking right now. Usually the inbox is full of harmless gossip, like cafeteria mishaps, bad haircuts, and the occasional anonymous “spotting.”
Today, one submission sits at the top of the queue, flagged urgent.
Mabel Evans:breaking news: Ezra Davis gave Rue Sullivan his jersey for tonight’s game…confirmed sighting near lockers
My jaw drops. “Mabel,” I whisper to the empty room. “You little traitor.” Now if I don’t post it, everyone will assume Little Birdie’s slipping. But if I do, everyone is going to know.
Which, I guess, is exactly whatshouldhappen.
I hover over the “publish” button, heart pounding. Above Mabel’s tip is a spot to add my own comment, so I type:
Dearest fledglings,
A juicy worm crawled right into my nest today in the shape of a basketball jersey! Ezra Davis’s jersey, to be precise. And the darling point guard happened to pass it along to Rue Sullivan in the hopes that she’d don it at his game tonight. Is there anything more romantic? I myself highly doubt it.
Yours truly,
Little Birdie
I hit post before I can chicken out. And within minutes, my phone vibrates nonstop with incoming text messages.
First from Meredith. Then Dot. Then Carlton. Then… Mabel. The worst part? Mabel renames our group chatFlock Talk.As if the only thing we talk about is Little Birdie.
Meredith:
RUE. TELL ME THIS IS REAL.
Dot
it’s all over LB
Carlton
