This is going to be awkward...

I'm about to leave my room in my full cheerleading getup. Bow, glitter, red warm-up suit, enough makeup that I look like someone else. The pleated skirt and crop top are tucked away, so it could be worse. They don't leave much to the imagination. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to that.

Welcome to college, Hadlee said to me, handing me my short, tight size 30.

I went to a conservative private high school, so, in comparison, my new uniform is very mature, let's say.

In the mirror, I tame an unruly fake curl in my high ponytail, and do a little more blending beneath my eye, hoping to God the pound of concealer I put on does the job. I think my black eye looks ridiculous, worse than it did without makeup, but at just a glance or from a distance, maybe no one will be sure enough to ask about it.

I wish I could call in sick. Because that's how I feel. Queasy. I can't, though. No one else can do what I do on such short notice.

A shot of Pepto Bismol might take the edge off, but I don't have any, can't really afford it, and don't have time to stop for some. I'm running late as it is.

Still, I pause at the door. I'm not ready for this, either...

The apartment has been quiet all afternoon, but over the last hour, I've heard footsteps in the office area, just outside my room. I assume it's Jael, but it could be his girlfriend.

What a fiasco earlier...

She scares the crap out of me, more than Jael ever could. And I doubt the whole cheerleader thing will invite me into her good graces.

It never does...

Why did Jael agree to a female roommate in the first place? Is he a glutton for punishment?

Maybe he's secure in his relationship and trusts himself in regard to any temptation...

Yeah, we'll go with that. And I will do my part. I will—at some point—stop replaying the shirtless motion picture of him in my mind. In fact, I'll find a way to put it in the mental shredder if it's the last thing I do.

I burst from the bedroom and collide into Jael's expressive gaze. Most guys do a better job of shielding their emotions, or they force the opposite just to throw a girl off and give themselves the upper hand.

Not Jael. What you see is what you get. I'm still learning, and men usually lead me astray with all the games they play, so I don't know all the nuances of "shock." But that's the category I'm working with.

"Game night," he comments, his gaze crumbling into chaos rather than deflecting to something safe and solid. It eventually finds his computer screen, but the gesture is wasted. His mind doesn't seem to join him there.

I shoulder my gym bag and lazily present myself with my other hand. "No, I just love red. Glitter everywhere. Mascara spiders. The whole bit."

He absorbs that like I was serious. There's scrutiny, confusion. Then his sarcasm reader turns on, and a smile quirks into his expression, but it doesn't last long. It fades into something solemn. "Are you going alone?"

"Yeah, I mean . . . I won't be alone when I get there or anything..."

That doesn't seem to placate him.

"I'll park as close as I can..."

Why am I rambling? Does he need to know the details? It's not like he's my boyfriend or father.

"It's somewhat well lit, and should be busy, and as long as I leave right after..."

He must be thinking about Ted, and now I'm thinking about Ted. He's been tracking me everywhere I go. Sure, we've made our peace, as much as he's capable, but will it last? He's so easy to provoke. And this won't be right after class. Everyone will be having a good time. There will be alcohol involved. Would anyone even hear me scream?

I'm about two pants into a panic attack when Jael says, "Do you want me to go with you? I love football."

At that, I can breathe again. "You don't look like you love football."

He is fully dressed, but I can't say he'd blend in.

"Is the dog collar too much?"

"A little!"

He rolls his eyes, but he unfastens the collar, tosses it on the desk and grabs his keys from a tray. "I'll drive." He moves to the door leading to the stairs.

I linger back, not sure how to proceed. "You really don't have to. I'll manage. I'm sure you have better things to do."

I thought I played out every possible scenario for tonight, but clearly I missed a few. The Jael effect, and the fork he provides for every line I've laid out.

He might prevent a few problems from ever occurring, but it'll come at a cost.

It always does.

"You caught me at a good time," he calls out from the stairwell. "I'm not working until later."

I don't catch up to him until we're at the door leading out. "Are you sure? These things are long and cold."

When he holds the door for me, I get a close-up of his bare forearm. He follows my eyes there and gives my weather forecast a dismissive shrug. "I have a flannel in my truck."

"Okay," I say in a tone that makes it more of a question than an answer. "You can't say I didn't warn you."

***

"I heard she threw them out..."

I stop in my tracks. I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure Hadlee is telling someone about the flower incident.

"Wow, that's..." The tone is practically dripping with judgment.

Feeling more emboldened than usual, I turn the corner and walk over to my locker. "Exactly what Ted deserved," I finish for them.

I plop my gym bag on the bench and shoot Shawna a cold glance. She raises her eyebrows, like I did something wrong, but she doesn't stand her ground. Instead, she turns her back, her face all red.

With my back facing hers, I begin my locker combination. Yes, I could have handled that with more tact, but she'll never be a fan of mine no matter what I say or do. From what I can gather, she thinks I "stole" her center position and seems to forget that she has a bad ankle. It's taped up more often than not. On top of that, I think she likes Ted. Or dated him? Who can keep track? She's a junior and according to rumor, the football players have done their rounds through her. No one really hangs out for long or comes back for more. I'm guessing, to someone like her, that's not their fault or her fault. It's my fault for being "fresh meat." And based on her tone, I'm ungrateful and have a heart of stone to boot.

"Obviously." Hadlee sashays over to me like she can do no wrong and strokes a consoling hand down the back of my ponytail. "Are you okay?"

Hadlee likes to "help," but, as my mother always says, "help is only help if it helps," and that's where Hadlee always seems to falls short.

"Fine," I say flatly. "I just want this day to be over with."

"I hear ya. It's been a hellish week." That seems to end our interaction, but then she does a double take, and when her eyes return to mine, she gasps. "Oh my God! Did he do that to you?" She grabs the side of my head and tilts it toward the light.

I did a lousy job covering the black eye, it seems. I'm no makeup artist, and the fluorescent lighting in here could pierce you to the bone.

"No, uh . . . it wasn't like that."

Yes, I lie for him. His coaches are strict, and so is school policy, and he has a playful, party-boy image to maintain. Besides football, it's his only social ace. In the rest of his hand, he has twos and threes.

I know it's not fair. I "lose" no matter what, but at the end of the day, my silence is the safest thing for me. Unfortunately, I hesitated and stammered. I'm a lousy liar to begin with, and I'm crumbling further under pressure.

I break away from Hadlee's grip, but her eyes are still fixed on the side of my head. Shawna is peering over as well, her curiosity apparently stronger than her lingering shame and general disdain for me. I also catch Colbie's attention from the end of the aisle, and that can't be good. There's a "bad girl" edge to her, and she doesn't seem to care about anyone or anything.

I'd be the first to admit, it isn't easy getting noticed or finding acceptance. These older girls are close to the coaches and have known each other for years. Colbie and I have only been here a couple of months. But unlike me, Colbie doesn't even try to fit in. She's usually in a world of her own. It makes her a convenient scapegoat. On a slow gossip day, Hadlee and Shawna would probably be talking about Colbie instead of me.

"Then what happened?" Hadlee asks as Colbie shuts her locker and leaves the row.

"Uh..." Blood rushes to my head. I'm queasy again. I had a lie prepared. What was it again? It takes me a second to spit it out: "I took an elbow to the eye yesterday during practice." I make sure my gaze is inside my locker. I exchange a few things in and out of my bag, and zip it up, avoiding eye contact the whole time.

Shawna sits on the bench, close enough to crowd me, and takes a moment to straighten out her knee-highs. "Was it Colbie? She is kind of terrible." At least she keeps her voice down this time.

I shrug and shoulder my bag. "I don't remember. It all happened so fast."

"It probably was," Hadlee surmises without my confirmation or any evidence.

I didn't intend to throw someone else under the bus. I should have thought this through a little better.

Colbie isn't even that bad. She's a base. My base during most of our stunts. It would make sense if she accidentally hit me, but it didn't happen, and if fiction becomes fact in the rumor mill, it could have consequences I didn't foresee. Colbie is someone who prevents me from hitting the ground at a very unfortunate angle. We don't need to be best friends, but I can't have her hate me, either.

While Shawna is tying her sneaker, Hadlee clutches onto my arm. "Walk with me?" She pulls me into the hallway with an urgency that's head-spinning.

She probably wants to grill me about the eye, to see if I'll point the finger in a more definitive direction.

"I have some good news," she claims.

Oh boy. This should be "good," indeed.

"All right?"

Hadlee bites her lip. It doesn't hide the fact that she's smiling like an idiot. "Ian Tierney asked about you."

"What?" I can't help it. I laugh like I haven't laughed in a while.

He's the quarterback, a winning one at everything he does. He's a senior and drives a sporty little Mercedes that always turns heads. His dad is some entrepreneur/politician, and he has a 4.0 GPA. He also has thick auburn hair that he often strokes from his eyes and freckles that he wears well. Long story short, he's really hot, like, too-good-to-be-true hot, and he's even hotter in person. The pictures on the website don't do him justice.

I have to admit, he's one of the reasons I applied to Winchester U, but never, in my wildest dreams, would I ever expect him to "ask" about me.

"Does he even know my name?"

"He does now!" Hadlee informs me.

My laugh tapers to a flimsy giggle. The shock sets in. It's not light and airy, like butterflies in a meadow. It's a hot, heavy dread. I wouldn't even know where to start with a guy like that. Meanwhile, this is all probably routine to him. As I try to picture what that "routine" might entail, my insides turn watery, and my mouth goes dry.

"What's the matter?" Hadlee tugs me into a bathroom alcove. "Nervous?"

I lean against the wall. If I faint, maybe it will slow my fall. "I guess you could say that."

"You shouldn't be." Hadlee goes for my hair again. "You're such a pretty little thing. It's no wonder Ted was so crazy about you."

She's a pro with her hair and makeup, but beneath it all, there isn't anything striking about her. She does fine for herself, I'm sure, but still, there's a note of envy.

It takes effort to moisten my mouth. "Yeah, about that. Isn't it a little soon? Aren't Ian and Ted friends?"

Her eyeroll suggests the boys are at each other's throats more than we are. "They have a love-hate thing going on. It's more hate this week, I suppose. Ian respects certain boundaries, but if he really wants a girl, there's not much that would stop him. For your own sake, it's a blessing you're now single. Ted had his chance, and according to you, he blew it. That's something Ian would keep in mind."

I can't say I find any of that reassuring. But I nod, take a drink from the fountain, and then, with our smiles on, Hadlee and I enter the crisp autumn air, bouncing and waving to the fans.