Alex: "I just can't decide which was more epic: Hunter's football practice that Thursday or what happened after."

Hannah: "What happened after—definitely what happened after. I couldn't believe Callista did that!"

Azalea: "Well, I could—I was there. And I was there to meet his dad, too...although I almost wish I hadn't been."

Hunter Thomas Singleton:

That Thursday after I made Varsity Mathletes went by in a flash. First-period Economics and second-period English swept past like a condor jet through the daytime sky. Even my Senior Art and AP Physics classes didn't seem to drag on like they had during the first three days of the week. My head was so far above the clouds. All day, I couldn't stop thinking about it—about her.

Azalea. Gosh, my brain whirred, she's so...wow.

To this day, I still can't pinpoint what it was that made me fall so hard for her. Was it the way she walked through the hallways, her confident yet somehow daintily beautiful gait? Was it the way that fiery smile, rare but electrifying, lit up those bright golden eyes of hers? Or was it seeing the way she stood up for Hannah so tenaciously that first day? I couldn't decide—just thinking about her made my mind run in circles.

Calm down, Hunter. You just met her, I would think. But whatever strands of logic sought to hold my reasoning brain together were rapidly giving way to the flood that washed over me every time I thought of her.

The lunchtime bell rang while I was still beaming and staring off into space, and I headed to the cafeteria at the sound of the joyful jingle. I was smiling from ear to ear and probably looked insane, but I honestly didn't care.

I brushed right past Callista and her cronies and kept walking until I made it to Azalea's lunch table. She was turned around talking to the guys she normally hung out with, three boys sporting dreadlocks and Roca Wear.

"Hey, Azalea!" I called from behind her. "Or...um...hey, Captain." I saluted jokingly as she angled around to face me. "Mind if I sit with you guys?"

Her eyes widened, and she froze mid-sentence. One guy sitting at the table started laughing, a laugh that deflated my soul.

My eyes fell to the floor as I dejectedly turned to go. "Um, never mind," I breathed lowly, shoulders slumping as I started shuffling off.

But as I trudged—

"Hunter!" Azalea gave a light giggle from behind me. "Of course you can sit here—that's what chairs are for, right?"

I whirled around and raced back to where they were, setting my backpack next to an empty chair and placing my lunch tray on the table.

The guy sitting next to my spot shifted away, his face twisting with disgust. "Azalea!" he practically screamed. "Tell dis pasty motherf—!"

"Hey, DeAnthony!" she shouted back, cutting him off. "I've got a present for you."

He paused as she pulled out a miniature box of scented Neutrogena bar soap.

"Now, while I know this can't possibly come close to fixing all of that ratchet, it'll at least help clean out that foul mouth of yours!" She slid the soap next to his miniature milk carton and gave a biting, sarcastic smile as kids at nearby tables turned and erupted in a chorus of ooh's.

"Hunter is my friend," she continued with an edge. "And if he wants to sit with me and the rest of my friends, he's more than welcome...provided we have enough space for you and your racist ego—which, last time I checked, still takes up ten seats." Her golden eyes hardened into a stony bronze as she glared scathingly, unyieldingly.

DeAnthony growled. "Fine," he spat. "You and that white dick can go jump a building for all I care. I'm outta here." He lifted his drawstring bag, grabbed it by the threaded black cords and swung it over his shoulder; then he rose to his full height and turned his back to me—to Azalea. The other guys stood to their feet as well, glares and scowls all around, storming off as they followed DeAnthony's lead.

I lowered myself hesitantly onto the cafeteria seat in front of me. "My bad, Azalea." I bowed my head. "I didn't mean to make them leave like that..."

"Don't worry about it." She stuffed the Neutrogena soap back inside her purse. "It's not like I even liked those guys anyway. They're not the nicest kids on the block, if you hadn't noticed."

"Then why do you..." I hesitated. "I mean..."

Azalea crossed her arms. "Why do I what!?" she demanded at first, but then her voice grew softer. "Why do I hang out with them?"

"...Never mind," I shrank back. "It's...I've really got no room to talk. I mean, I spent three years sitting at Callista's table."

Azalea hesitated, hands tremoring against the tabletop. "Sophomore year," she finally blurted. "I met them during my sophomore year, and they didn't care if I sat with them. They may be jerks, but at least they were jerks I could eat with." The auric defiance in her gaze melted away, revealing a tender gold underneath. "But the way they were talking to you—the way they talked about you...I couldn't just sit by and watch that happen." Her eyes fell to the table.

"Thanks," I tried, my gaze falling as well.

"And I'm guessing...maybe the only reason you carried that paint for Callista was 'cause she made up some story and begged you to be her hero." She sighed, then angled her head towards me. "Hard to break away sometimes...isn't it?"

Heat rose to my face the moment she stared at me. I glanced off, felt my shoulders scrunch up a little. Azalea folded herself back and returned her attention to her lunch tray just as—

"Azalea! Hunter!" A sudden rush of footsteps carried a bubbly, high-pitched voice.

"Hannah, Alex!" I looked up, a smile widening across my face. "Hey, guys!"

Alex rushed over and grabbed the seat next to me, while Hannah scurried to my left and plopped down beside Azalea.

"Where'd all those boys go who normally sit here?" Hannah asked, staring around.

"I don't know," Azalea took charge. "Though I can't say that I care very much right now. You guys are much better company." She turned reluctantly and smiled at me.

I'm sure I must have blushed, another surge of prickling heat rushing to my head as I changed the subject instantly: "So, um, how have you guys been since...well, yesterday?"

"I've been sooo bored," Hannah spoke up first. "After Starbucks, the rest of my day basically consisted of reading history notes and chugging away at that stupid essay for AP English."

"Ouch, that sucks," Alex said. "My parents are outta town right now, and my uncle still hasn't made it back yet, so I'm basically home alone."

"Why do you sound sad about that?" Hannah asked with a trill. "I'd love a few days to myself."

"Yeah, I guess. I just kinda miss 'em, you know? It's really quiet." He paused. "I hate quiet."

Lunch was great. We kept talking and laughing about everything, unwinding from the craziness of the past few days. And to think, this was only the first week back from summer!

At the end of the lunch period, before the bell rang, I piped up with one more request: "Hey, um, I wanted to ask you guys something."

"What is it?" Azalea responded before anyone else could.

"Well, every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, all the guys on the football team do after-school practice. Everyone who goes here is invited to watch the team, but it's usually just the friends and families of the players who actually show up. And since my parents don't get off work until later and the only people who normally cheer for me are...um, Callista and her friends..." I gulped. "I was wondering if...you guys could maybe come watch." I paused. "You don't have to scream, or cheer, or anything, just...I'd really like it if you came."

The words had barely even left my mouth when Hannah spouted, "I'd love to! That sounds like so much fun!"

"Yeah, and you can count me in too," Alex added, nodding firmly.

I hesitated, then gulped again. "W—what about you, Azalea?"

She grabbed her fork and toyed with her mac-and-cheese nervously. "Oh, well, um, football's not really my thing...I—I'm sure you're amazing, just...it's not really my game..."

"Oh," I tremored. "Okay, well—"

DING! DING! DDDING! The lunch bell's blitzing ping rang out through the air, vibrating across the cafeteria as students began sliding from underneath lunch tables topped with black trays and empty plates. All around us, hands feverishly grabbed at highlighters, mechanical pencils, and sprawled pages of notes to stuff inside their bookbags.

I watched Hannah reapply a layer of lipstick while Alex gathered his trash to one side of his lunch tray after stacking two white plates on top of it. I stood up and turned to leave, mirroring the growing crowd of students rising to their feet.

"Hunter, wait," came Azalea's voice, low but steady as she called from her seat.

I froze, my back still facing her.

"Sure I'll come," she said. "I'd love to."

I twisted to glance over my shoulder, felt my eyes pop wide. "Really?"

"Of course." She paused, donning a gorgeous smile. "What time'd you say it starts, again?"

****

If I thought the first half of school went by fast, the second half was like a shot of lightning. My head was so far in the clouds that I didn't even notice the bell ring to dismiss seventh period.

As everyone scrambled to their feet, piling out the door and joining the sea of bodies migrating through the hallway, I headed against the grain—away from Gallensley's front entrance and straight for the gym, a stout building situated across the parking lot behind the school.

Once I made it to the gym's locker room, I shoved open the double doors at the front and beelined for my locker, where I twirled my combination into the smooth black lock and retrieved my football gear from inside, donning it swiftly as the other guys on the team began filing in and heading for their lockers as well.

"What's up, Hunter!" came the greeting of Ryan, the captain of the team, as I stuffed my jeans and short-sleeve top inside the silver box in front of me, then slammed and sealed it shut.

"Nothing much, dude." I nodded, smiling. "Been looking forward to practice all day, though."

"Awesome sauce, bro." He passed by, patted me on the back. "Let's kill it today."

Football practice was one of those places where I really was my happiest. I had always been good at football since the time I could walk; I'd never had to worry about coming up short or looking pathetic. I may not have been as built as some of the other guys, but I was strong enough—and definitely fast enough—to make waves. I held the record for the swiftest two-mile time in Gallensley's history, and only four guys on the whole football team could outdo me in the weight room.

Still, to say practice was rough would be an understatement. Coach always drilled us like crazy, and today was no exception. As sweat poured from every orifice of my body, I ached and grinned at the same time, thinking back to freshman year, when I'd first tried out for this team. The moment he saw me, Coach was convinced I had the body and build of a runner, but he'd only offer me a spot if I could prove myself to be just as good as the best guy out there.

And to be honest, ever since that Friday afternoon when I got the call saying I'd been accepted to play for Gallensley's team, I'd been doing just that—proving myself.

To the cheerleaders, I had proven that I was worth shouting for; to Coach, I had proven that I was willing and ready to do whatever it took to drive the team onward; to my dad, I had proven that I was able to fill his shoes—perhaps even overflow them. It was only to myself that I'd yet to prove something I was striving for.

But that's all about to change, I thought as I raced up and down the football field, barreling past arms and shoulders blocking my way, vaulting over bodies diving for my legs. As I bounded onward, I looked up and into the bleachers, spotted Hannah and Alex just arriving, Azalea not far behind. Now that I'm a Mathlete, that's all about to change.

After a few more drills, Coach blew this whistle for a break. All of us hustled over to the giant Gatorade coolers next to the bleachers.

As we stood in line for our turn to guzzle that gushing blue liquid, an airy voice dripping with drawl began purring my name. "Hunter. Hunter," echoed the moaning words.

I shivered, shifted my head to the left. "H—hi, Callista," I stuttered.

"Sooooo, me and the other cheerleaders agree," her words dragged on as she stepped closer and closer to the line. "You are, without a doubt, the cutest, sexiest player on that entire effing team." Her lips curved suggestively as she reached her hand forward and rested it on my shoulder.

"Oh, um...thanks." I hazarded to look around, gulped at the scowling faces of my teammates staring back at me; I turned briefly to Callista again before lowering my gaze to the grassy field undergirding my quaking legs.

The guy in front of me—Gary was his name—it felt like he was taking forever to fill his thermos with Gatorade. And every second I stood there, frozen in place, I felt the team's angry stares pelting me from behind as Callista leaned her head ever closer.

"Oh, Hunter," her voice hummed melodically. "You know how to thank me." Her fiery gaze dropped, watching sweat drip from my body—from between my legs.

Why me!? I wanted to shout. Any of these guys would bang you like a grenade the moment you asked.

"Look, Callista, I, um..."

PHWEEEE! "Alright, ladies, let's HUSTLE!" Coach ordered as he blew his whistle again.

It was just the excuse I needed. I slid away from Callista, rushed to the table to gulp down some Gatorade right as Gary—jolted to attention by the screech of the whistle—sealed his thermos and fled with it; and then I ran back to the center field as fast as I could, leaving Callista standing by the cooler with a hand placed angrily on her hip.

The second half of practice wasn't as grueling as the first, but it was still no cakewalk. About ten minutes in, after we'd broken off into teams and were practicing alternating between defense and offense, I looked back up to the bleachers.

As parents and students cheered for their kids and friends on the team, driving them on with screams and applause, my eyes swept to the right, where Alex and Hannah were yelling my name and Azalea silently gave her support by smiling and waving. Seeing them up there pulling for me, proud of me, even though this was just a practice—it made me go crazy inside. I ripped through the other guys' defense and outran the three guys chasing me, even managing to tear past Ryan as I lunged for the edge of the field.

"Touchdown!" Coach yelped, his thundering voice full of satisfaction.

After eight more downs, Coach called it a day, and we all headed back to the locker room. A ton of the guys congratulated me, telling me I'd done even better than usual. Some of them chalked it up to good old-fashioned hard work, while others glowered that it must've been Callista's not-so-subtle wellwishes that had gotten my testosterone pumping. Either way, they were proud of me—my whole team was proud of me—and it felt amazing.

After we finished changing and a few more guys patted me on the back, I hurried back outside to the field to thank Azalea and the others for showing up. I pushed through the double doors on my trek out of the locker room, the squealing twist of the door hinges scraping through the air. I cut to the right, started speed-walking past a supply closet stationed in front of the bleachers when—

PING! The metallic lock planted in the closet's wooden door flicked downward, the door flinging open seconds later.

I froze, my eyes growing wide just as a petite pair of hands lunged from the closet shadows and gripped my shoulders tightly, wrenching me toward the darkness as their owner thrusted her body suddenly into the light—and suddenly into me.

"Callista!?" I practically yelled as she pulled me against her. "What are you—?"

"Shhh. Darling, you were marvelous out there," she drawled deviously, backing us ever so slightly into the closet. "I know you had to look tough for those...those boys." She bit her lower lip and gave a quick, feverish smile. "But don't be afraid to show me your tender side—your sexy side." She pulled out her ponytail, let her hair fall down and brush over her shoulders.

"Callista, um, I think maybe you..."

She pressed a single finger to my mouth, then looked up with naughty eyes. Her lips widened, puckering as they moved in to press against mine.

"Callista, stop." I grabbed her arms, pushed against her trembling. "Please."

"Oh, Hunter," she whined playfully. "It's just a kiss."

"I'm not interested in you like that," I whispered with frustration, glancing around. "Look, I don't have a problem being your friend, but I'm not your..." I paused. "I'm not that guy, Callista. Please, just stop it."

Rage burned suddenly across her cheeks. "Who do you think you are!? How dare you—"

"Hi, Hunter."

I twisted around. "Azalea," I actually breathed a sigh of relief. "Hey."

"Um, excuse me," Callista raged. "We're kind of in the middle of something here, if you hadn't noticed!"

"Oh, I noticed," Azalea countered. "I just thought I'd save you the trouble of getting rejected twice in under five minutes." She ran a hand through her dark hair. "You know, that'd be a record—even for you."

Red-hot rage erupted across Callista's face, fire spewing into those dark blue eyes.

I gasped, wondering for a moment if her head might explode.

But just as she looked her maddest, she let out a single huffing sigh, then placed a tremoring hand on her hip. She lifted her head and drew her eyes thin, then pushed past me and strutted out defiantly, shooting Azalea a hard glance as she pranced away. "Screw you," she breathed.

Rolling her eyes, Azalea giggled as she brushed by Callista and walked closer to me. "What a poser," she said matter-of-factly.

"Th-thanks," I mumbled. "For...saving me from all that."

Azalea shrugged. "Hannah and Alex are still waiting outside. I just came in here when I heard all the commotion." She paused, ran her hand through that gorgeous black hair again. "You know, I was kinda jealous of her. You two sounded like you were having fun."

I blushed. "It—it wasn't like that..."

"I was kidding, Hunter. Relax." She smiled.

I blushed again.

"So I was talking with the others, and we were thinking of going for coffee at the—"

"HUNTER!"

I gulped at the words barked out from behind Azalea, but she didn't flinch at all. She simply turned nonchalantly to face the growling man who stood mere feet behind her.

I swallowed hard. "D-Dad," I stammered.

"Hunter," he growled, "what the heck are you doing? You and this...girl hidden back here, locked away in this place?"

"Wh—Dad, we're not locked away...we were just talking."

"Son, you listen to me, and you listen good. If I ever catch you fumbling around anyone like her ever again—"

"And just what is like me?" Azalea interrupted, angling her head to the left and taking two steps toward him. "Because if you've got a problem with two people talking, you should've seen dear old Callista Clarendon trying to stick her tongue down Hunter's—"

"SHUT UP!" He grabbed Azalea's arm, yanked her to the side.

"Dad, stop!" I cried. "We were just talking—that's it!"

"You're right; that is it." He turned to Azalea. "Get out. NOW!"

She stared into his eyes defiantly, gave a moment's pause...and laughed. "Pathetic," she mused at him.

Dad's eyebrows arched in anger, and his fists balled.

Azalea giggled up at him, then turned on her heel and strode away, leaving me alone with my seething father.

His hard eyes homed in on me. "Go get in the car." The words rolled from between his lips like gravel.

"Look, Dad, let me explain..."

"NOW, HUNTER!"

I jumped at his commanding roar, just as I felt my phone buzz against my thigh. I fished it out, glanced quickly at the illuminated screen, then shut it off again. "I—I have to go to the bathroom, Dad," I said.

He glared warily at me.

"I'm serious...I—I just downed a crap-ton of Gatorade. Come on, please."

His eyes narrowed. "You have five minutes. Then I'm going home, with or without you."

I hurried off, sprinting straight to the locker room and shutting the door firmly behind me. The stall door to a single commode hung open, situated adjacent to the first row of lockers. I checked behind me to make sure no one was watching, then called out tentatively into the air: "All clear."

Azalea strolled out from behind the door.

"Hey, I'm so sorry about my dad."

"Don't be—he's not even worth it." She glanced away for a moment, then returned my stare. "We don't have much time, so I guess I should officially say great job. You were seriously amazing out there."

I grinned from ear to ear. "Really?" I could feel myself blushing again. "Thanks, Azalea...Seeing you guys cheering really made me go nuts, I guess."

She laughed for a moment, then grew suddenly quiet. Her hand raised to rest gently on my shoulder. "Hunter, listen. The real reason I texted you to meet me here was...well, I owe you an apology for what happened on Monday. It was really unfair of me to judge you before I'd even met you, especially when all you were trying to do was be friendly." She paused. "I'm...I'm sorry I said all that mean stuff to you. You're a really nice person, and..." she trailed off. "And I hope we can still be friends."

"I...I'd really like that."

She sighed with relief, then smiled a joyful smile. "Great," she said warmly. "Glad to hear it." She turned to leave, then glanced over her shoulder back at me. "Well, I'd better get going. Principal Hollendale is already on my case, and getting written up for hanging out in the boys' locker room might not be the best thing to have stamped on my High School record." She giggled playfully and sauntered away. On her way out, she stopped once more at the doorway. "Oh, and Hunter?"

"Yeah?"

I walked over to where she was standing, almost as if magnetized by those glowing golden eyes.

"Thank you."

I hesitated. "Thank me? F...for what?"

"For listening." She smiled lightly. "You're the only guy in my life who ever has." Pausing for only an instant, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. Then she turned away, her rich and shining eyes the last thing to withdraw from me as she twisted to the exit. I smiled as I watched her leave, her hips swaying majestically through the doorway.

Wow, I thought to myself, she's so beautiful. I waited for her to close the door, to weave melodically out of the boys' locker room—all the while hoping silently that one day, we would be more than friends.