Page 97 of Fall Fake-Out

Her expression doesn’t change.

Not approval.

Not disapproval.

Just consideration.

“A bonfire?”

“Yeah, we have to go to the football game tonight, but we’re free tomorrow night.”

At least, I hope he’s free.

“Fine, that would be nice.” She picks up another ribbon. “But don’t think I’m giving up on Ethan Miner.”

“Trust me, I would never think that.”

I take a bite out of another carrot, chewing aggressively because my mom’s getting in my head, and now I’m freaking out that, even though I know Wade isn’t Andy, I can’t trust myself to really be sure.

Ari

By the second quarter, Wade and I have completely abandoned any attempt at acting like responsible adults. We’re packed like sardines into the middle of the students’ section on the bleachers.

“Defense!” Wade cups his hands around his mouth and shouts toward the field as he stomps twice. “Defense!” STOMP! STOMP!

A group of students immediately joins in, and the chant spreads through the entire section of teenagers. Everyone erupts as Autumn Ridge’s defense stops the play on third down. The crowd jumps in celebration.

Including Wade.

Including me.

Including every student packed in the stands.

“Let’s go!” Wade high-fives the kids in front of us, behind us, and two rows ahead of us. Everyone wants a chance to cheer with their cool principal.

I can’t help but laugh and smile as I watch him. There’s something magnetic about Wade when he’s like this.

He’s not Principal Stevenson.

Not the guy everyone calls the town player.

Not the guy my mother keeps insisting is just temporary fun.

He’s Wade. Big personality. Big heart. Big emotions. The guy who remembers that I was in Newsies in sixth grade. The kind of person who was worried about me when I ate too many beets.

The student section starts another chant, this time led by the cheerleaders. Within seconds, we’re both participating like we’re seventeen years old instead of adults running the school.

“What about, what about, what about our colors?” We clap then swing our hips around in a circle, matching the cheerleaders. “Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Maroon! Maroon! Maroon!”

I should probably be embarrassed. Instead, I find myself smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

Mom’s words drift through my head.

Fun.

Like it’s a bad thing. Like fun automatically means irresponsible. She makes it seem like every man who has made me laugh is destined to break my heart. But from where I’m standing, I can’t see a single thing wrong with being with the exciting guy. Maybe fun isn’t the problem. Maybe choosing the wrong person is.

And every day that passes, Wade feels less and less like the wrong person.