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“It’s nothing,” I say, sliding through the messages on my phone. “They’ve been bugging me all week to go to the Warriors’ game tonight. But there’s really no point since I’m no longer a Warrior, and I’m not dating a member of the team anymore.”
“Tonight?” Xavier says, his brows knitting together. “That’s the Warriors versus Wildcats game. You should tell your friends they can go with you and watch it from the Wildcats’ side.”
“That’s a good idea,” Trish says. “What better way to stick it to the ex than to watch our boys kick their ass at football?”
She’s not wrong—the Wildcats have historically won almost every game against my old high school. I sigh. “It’d be fun to see my friends again but I’m no longer cheering for that team, and it’d just be weird. Besides, what if Nate sees me and thinks I’m there just to stalk him? Or worse,” I say, feeling an uneasiness wash over me. “What if I run into him and his new girlfriend? What if he’s dating one of my old cheerleader friends?”
“That’s a high stack of what-ifs,” Trish says. “You can’t live your life fearing things that haven’t happened and probably won’t happen.”
“Trish has a point,” Bastian says. “If they’re your friends, you shouldn’t let fear of an ex stop you from seeing them.”
“Here,” Xavier says, opening his backpack and digging around inside. He takes out an envelope and pulls out a slim ticket. “I got free tickets from student council. Now there’s no reason not to go.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking the ticket. Besides the Wildcats logo across the center, this ticket looks exactly the same as the hundreds of football tickets I’ve had before. Only this time I’ll be entering the game without Nate by my side. “But I’m not sure if I’m ready to go. Or if I should go.”
“Go,” Ciara says. “I’d go with you but my brother’s taking me out for Chinese food with his friends and you know I can’t miss that.”
“Let’s take a vote,” Bastian says. “Who thinks Isla should go to the football game tonight and see her friends and not see or talk to or even think about Nate while she’s there?”
Trish, Ciara, and Xavier instantly raise their hands. “Emory?” Bastian says.
Emory nods, tapping his fingers on the edge of his desk. “I think you should go.” He looks over at me, his eyes roaming from my face down to my black flats and back up again. “You should go and look hot and make him feel like an idiot for leaving you.”
“How am I supposed to look hot?” I ask, feeling my heart speed up under his intense gaze.
He shrugs. “Just be yourself, snowflake.”
Chapter Sixteen
The crisp autumn air fills my lungs when I swing open my car door. Tomorrow is the start of October and today marks two months since my high school sweetheart dumped me in the Hasting’s guest bedroom. Unable to step out of my car just yet, I lean back in my seat, gazing up at my car’s gray roof. Driving into the parking lot at Deer Valley High was nerve-racking and painful in a nostalgic way, and now that I’m here, parked in the very last row near the football field, I can’t seem to get out.
Two months ago I became single. Month anniversaries are a big deal in junior high. I remember how big of a deal I made it when Nate and I made it one month and then two and three. On the date we had been dating for six months, I’d talked Nate into celebrating what I called our “Half-year anniversary” and he took me to the park where we had a picnic with sandwiches and cupcakes. We were just kids back then, but when I look back at the memory, I can remember every great emotion from that day. How special it felt getting to know someone for the first time—the tingles in my stomach when he’d grabbed my hand and kissed me on top of the quilt we’d laid on the grass.
I lower my gaze and catch my reflection in the rearview mirror, batting my eyelashes to admire the shimmery gray eyeshadow I’d worked so hard to perfect before driving over here. I will not start counting off the months since the breakup. It seems fitting to go out alone tonight. I almost don’t want to meet up with my old friends and instead choose to live out the night alone and free.
The walk through the parking lot toward the football field is achingly familiar, but when I veer off to the left side of the gated entrance and step in line on the visitor’s side, it’s foreign and wrong. Parents of football players I don’t know wait in line in front of me and students from Granite Hills file in line behind me. Their excited chatter about the Wildcats’ current winning streak would have annoyed me a month ago. Now I am one of them, and I guess I should be excited that our team will probably win the game tonight.
I take my free ticket from the side pocket in my purse and hand it to the woman sitting behind the table. It’s a relief that I don’t recognize her as one of the part-time employees from last year because I have no desire to explain why I’m walking onto the wrong side of the field today. Everything is mostly the same on this side of the field, though the concession stand isn’t as big because it doesn’t also have a storage room for the band’s equipment behind it.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I shuffle through the crowd of Granite Hills people and make my way to the fence on the edge of the football field. Wildcats cheerleaders practice warmups on the rust-colored track that runs around the field, their white and blue uniforms bouncing underneath the stadium lights. Across the field on the home side, the Warriors football players are warming up on the sidelines. I can’t bring myself to look over there just yet, so I take out my phone and shoot a text to Tess instead.
Isla: Surprise … I’m at the game. Where are you?
I lean against the fence, watching my phone for a reply. Someone screams and I look over toward the bleachers, finding two teenage guys jumping on top of each other, shouting whoops and playful insults. I notice the bleachers are already half filled, and people are still walking around and lining up to get inside. And then I see him.
Emory Underwood stands at the bottom of the bleachers, his hand resting casually on the railing behind him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black shirt—his signature hot-as-hell look. He shakes his head, laughing at something one of the two girls in front of him just said. My chest tightens. God help me, but for the last three days, I kind of liked Girl-free Emory. Now he’s clearly back to his old antics, flirting it up with two freshmen girls wearing short shorts and Wildcats tank tops. They must be freezing, but I guess being cute enough to get Emory’s attention is worth a little frostbite.
I check my phone again, but there’s still no reply. I copy the same message to Kaylee, hoping someone will put me out of my misery soon. There’s no way I’ll walk over to the Warrior’s home side all alone.
My stomach growls and although I wanted to wait for my friends before getting food, I’m also sick of standing here like an idiot, so I head over to the concession stand. There are four lines that are all at least a dozen people long, so I step in line and hope that one of my friends will reply to my text before I get up there to order.
My phone buzzes a while later when I’m third in line. Good timing, but now I kind of really want some nachos before I walk over to their side of the field.
Tess: Sorry, we actually stayed home tonight. Wanna come over?
Seriously? Disappointment churns in my stomach. I shove my phone in my back pocket to avoid sending a rude reply that I’ll regret later. They spent all freaking week begging me to go to the game with them and now they aren’t even here. I shake my head, clenching my jaw as I watch a mother in front of me dole out antibacterial gel to all of her children.
“Hey there, snowflake.” He’s using that low, charming voice, and from the sound of it, he’s right behind me. I turn around. My knees feel wobbly, and my breath catches—all things I hope he doesn’t notice. Seeing Emory standing in front of me, bathed in the glow of the high-beam stadium light above us, with the setting sun at his back is like seeing him for the first time. He is the opposite of Nate in every way.
