002. Liam Alvarado

At Aquino High, in order to move up, you have to knock someone else down a rung.

The rest of the school day drags, like every day has since my senior year began. I have tennis practice afterwards, and in less than fifteen minutes I've changed into my uniform and jogged out to the court. The season hasn't officially started yet, but I go hit some balls every afternoon after school anyway. Being team captain and the number one player looks good on college applications, and even though I've already applied to all the Ivy Leagues, I have to maintain my image.

Cassidy Clark joins me just like she does every day, so that I'll have someone to return my shots. Not only is she likely going to be the number one player on the varsity team, but she's ranked in the country. She's already committed to play in college at a Division 1 school.

"What'd you think about calculus class today?" she asks, twirling her racket as I grab some balls and stuff them in the pockets of my skirt.

I bounce the first ball up and down a few times, savoring the purposeful thumps it makes on the hard court. "You mean the material or the fact that Allison tried to one-up me?"

When I serve the ball, it slams neatly into the service box, and Cassidy returns it before calling out, "The latter."

We rally back and forth for a few seconds, until I hit the ball past the base line. Cassidy runs me so furiously from one side of the court to the other that I'm already dripping sweat, but I welcome the workout. Just like everything else in life, I savor the challenge--otherwise, it's no fun at all.

"I think Allison's just looking for attention," I say finally, as I send the balls over to Cassidy so she can serve. "She clearly didn't know what she was talking about in class today, but she just wanted to make a scene."

Shrugging, Cassidy bounces one of the balls up and down on her racket. She looks contemplative, like maybe I shouldn't be speaking so harshly about my sister. But I know better. At Aquino High, in order to move up, you have to knock someone else down a rung. And who cares whether or not that's my sister?

For the next hour, Cassidy and I are too absorbed in tennis to talk anymore. I welcome the silence, because all I have to focus on is powering the ball as hard and accurately as I can across the court, where Cassidy will return it with a grunt typical of the professional-bound tennis player she is. By the time we stop for water at 4:30, I'm gasping, gulping in mouthfuls of freezing February air.

"You're going to the football game tonight, right?" asks Cassidy. She's already recovered and is perched on one of the bleachers, wiping her perspiring face with a towel. She glows when she sweats. Sadly, I become red-faced and sticky.

Even though I know what time it is, I turn on my phone screen out of habit. "I guess," I say. I have just enough time to go home and shower--I'll have to do my homework after the game. Odd as it is for there to be a football game on a Monday night, I'm willing to go just for the chance of running into Spencer--and to make sure Celia doesn't cling to him all night.

Cassidy grins and hoists her tennis bag over her shoulder, simultaneously zipping up the pocket that holds her rackets. She looks like she's bound for the US Open. Chewing down on my lip, I realize I'll probably never beat her for the number one spot on the team. And that should be okay, shouldn't it? After all, tennis is her life. It's just a hobby for me.

Still, as my best friend waves and jogs off to her Jeep, I can't help but feel a twist of envy.

It's a five minute drive back to my house, which I could have easily walked in ten minutes if I didn't have to tote along my tennis bag and backpack. Allison's silver car is already parked perfectly in the driveway, so I pull up on the side of the road because I can't get around her to enter the garage. Dad's car is absent--he must still be at work.

I leave my tennis gear in the car and grab only my backpack, shivering a little. Rumor has it it will snow tomorrow. I hope it doesn't, because a snow day means twenty-four hours stuck in the house with only Allison for company.

When I get inside I scamper as quickly as possible up to my room, so I can avoid my sister lounging on the family room chaise and working on her calculus homework. She's the unusual type: she's Celia Carter's best friend, but she's still the girl who stays home late at night reasoning through equations and checking to make sure her GPA measures up.

As I shrug out of my sweaty tennis uniform and hop into the shower, I can't help but think of Spencer. There is zero chance he's leaving the blue Post-It notes on my locker, but even so, I can't help but hope. After all, nobody's ever confirmed that he's leaving them on Celia's locker. Maybe he's annoyed that she sticks to him like Velcro and boasts to everyone that he's in love with her.

A stream of hot shower water hits me in the face and knocks me out of my reverie. It's impossible that Spencer O'Brien likes me. We exist in alternate universes, like me and Luke Horton. He'd never think twice about me that way.

But then who is leaving those nines on my locker?

*

I skip the tailgating before the football game and arrive at seven on the dot, just as kick-off begins. I'm wearing an American flag t-shirt in the spirit of the theme, but I couldn't feel less enthusiastic. In perfect view at the bottom of the bleachers, I spot Celia and Allison on either side of Spencer, both staring up at him and grinning so widely I can see their gums.

Quickly, I turn my head away and make my way down the concrete steps to Cassidy and Brynn.

"Don't look now," murmurs Brynn in my ear as I sidle up beside them. "Jerk sighting."

At first I think she's talking about Spencer, who has just squeezed out from between Allison and Celia and who is now making his way to the concession stand. But she tilts her head to the right, and I barely have time to register the fact that Taylor Cunningham is walking toward us before a strong wave of cologne overtakes me and I choke.

"Who's he trying to impress?" Brynn simpers. He passes her without a glance, his gaze resting on me for a fraction of a second before he breaks out in a jog to catch up to Spencer.

I can't decide if it's the mystery in his dark brown eyes that makes my stomach flip. After all, he knows everything about the Post-It note system--everything I could ever dream of knowing.

The marching band breaks out in a spirited tune and the crowd begins to chant. Someone at the front of the bleachers is catapulting empty soda bottles out to the opposing team. Rocking back on my heels, I shiver a little in the cold despite the body heat surrounding me and hope the game will be over soon.

As the game begins, I shift my gaze from side to side, observing the student population instead of the on-field action. Celia and Allison are still at the front of the bleachers, now giggling as they admire the catapult the senior guy was firing onto the field. I haven't seen Taylor or Spencer return yet, though when I crane my head I see them descending the bleachers, armed with hot dogs and sodas.

Before I can even think about saying anything to either of them, they're swept up in the crowd, squeezing past the rowdy student body to return to their spots next to Celia and Allison. I blow some hair out of my face and cross my arms, wishing I could will away any fantasies of Spencer actually speaking to me. In Calculus and English class, we're acquaintances, but outside of school we might as well be strangers.

"Admiring the view?" asks a voice close behind me. I snap out of it and whirl around to see Liam Alvarado standing beside me, unscrewing the cap to his soda. He looks perfectly tanned even in the middle of winter, and his blonde hair has the kind of messy style that makes most girls swoon. I follow his gaze from me to Spencer, who is inhaling his hot dog.

"What view?" I reply quickly. I can't imagine why Liam would be talking to me--we're not exactly friends.

Liam's thin lips morph into a tight smile. "I'm not blind," he says matter-of-factly. "I know you've got a crush on him."

"Says who?"

He crosses his arms to match my stance, his hazel eyes locking onto mine. "Let's just say if girls left Post-It notes on guys' lockers, you'd be dropping blue tens every Monday."

I want to argue with him, to insist that he's lying and that he doesn't know anything about me, but for some reason I fall silent. My gaze inadvertently shifts back to Spencer, and I jerk it back as quickly as I can. On the field, a timeout has just been called. The cheerleaders are waving maroon pom poms and chanting, bouncing up and down in their little white tennis shoes. If I concentrate hard enough, I can almost believe that Liam isn't right behind me trying to get the scoop on my love life.

"Take a walk with me."

And there it is: my concentration is broken and this time when I turn around, I see that Liam's thin smile has quirked up into a smirk. He's studying me, challenging me. Maybe he wants to get to know me, the girl who exists somehow on the same level as Celia Carter even though they're polar opposites.

"Fine," I say. It's better to argue it out far away than here, where anyone who strains their ears hard enough can hear us bickering.

Liam slides past Cassidy and Brynn, tipping his head up at them, and I shrug as I follow them. As we climb the bleachers and slip away from the obnoxious crowd, I try to figure out why he'd want to talk to me. I can't imagine he'd like me: we've barely associated, even though he seems like a nice enough guy. He's friends with Spencer, which I guess gives him some bonus points. I remember vaguely that he is the one hosting tonight's after party.

When we've travelled a suitable enough distance away from the stands, Liam turns and faces me. He's parked himself on the opposite side of the concession stand and is leaning against the concrete wall, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

For a few seconds, he just studies me, and I hug myself and shiver in the freezing night air. My next breath puffs out in a translucent fog in front of my mouth.

"Can you be honest with me?" he asks finally, as if we're best friends and I owe it to him not to withhold any information. "I just want to know whether or not you're after Spencer."

I wrinkle my nose a little at his phrasing. It's unusual for girls to be the one to chase guys at Aquino High. Maybe at other schools, that's how it's done, but not here. The Post-It note system ensures that boys will be the ones to pursue, and the girls will be the ones to judge whether or not to accept.

"I'm not 'after' Spencer," I say, making air quotes. My knuckles clench and I realize how frozen my hands are--I wish I'd brought gloves. "I don't know why you care, anyway."

His smirk fades and he leans toward me conspiratorially, as if we're in middle school and he's about to tell me some enormous secret. Against my will, I lean in so I can hear him better. "I need your help," he says quietly, his hot breath tickling my ear. "I know you like Spencer. And you know he and Celia are all over each other."

My stomach twists a little bit, because even though I know it's true, it still hurts to hear it from someone else.

"But I'm pretty sure we can break them up. I've been the ones leaving tens on Celia's locker every Monday."

"You what?" I accidentally say this so loudly that Liam takes a step back, wincing. If Liam is the one calling dibs on Celia, that means Spencer isn't--so where is Spencer leaving his Post-It notes?

My heart is pounding as Liam leans back in and mutters, "Celia isn't giving me the time of day and it's killing me."

"Where do I come in?" I ask. I figure Liam could probably get Celia to like him well enough on his own. After all, he's not lacking in the looks department, and he's not a social outcast or anything. Considering those are the only two things Celia cares about, she and Liam should already be dating.

Liam leans back again, stuffing his hands back in the pockets of his Aquino High sweatpants. "You like Spencer, and I like Celia," he says matter-of-factly. "So we need to break them up. And in order to break them up, we need to make them jealous."

"Jealous?" I quirk up my eyebrow.

"Yes." That secretive whisper is back. "It'll be easy. If we fake-date--you know, let ourselves be seen a few times together--it should make them question why they don't break up."

"Celia and Spencer are dating?"

Liam shrugs, but I narrow my eyes at him. "Spencer's one of your best friends," I say, letting my lips crease in a thin line to match his. "How wouldn't you know?"

I know everything about my best friends' love lives. I know that Cassidy only recently got her first kiss and that Brynn has had her heart broken one too many times. Just because Liam and Spencer are boys doesn't mean that anything is different.

Again, Liam shrugs. "He always changes the topic anytime anyone tries to ask him," he says. "I think he's sort of embarrassed."

I don't know why any guy in the school would be embarrassed about dating Celia Carter, but I refrain from further comment.

"What do you say?"

It takes me too long to realize he's talking about his little plot. Chewing down on the inside of my cheek, I survey him up and down. I can sense him squirming under my analytical gaze as I study him like I'd study a math problem. He's well-built, fit, and attractive. Not to mention he's decently smart. It certainly wouldn't hurt to fake-date him for a little while.

"Fine," I exhale, making it sound like I'm resigning against my will. Inside, I'm actually squirming with excitement, because a small part of me thinks that maybe this could work.

Liam grins. He actually has a nice smile, when he's not smirking. His teeth look fresh out of braces. "Awesome," he says. "Thanks, Erika. I'll text you sometime and we'll figure out a day for our first date, okay?"

He wiggles his eyebrows at me and I can't help but laugh. I wonder how he even has my number.

"Sounds good," I say. Someone yells behind me and I whirl around to see who it is, paranoid that maybe it's Spencer or Celia. Instead, I see a freshman whose nachos have just been knocked out of his hands by a burly senior guy. When I turn back to face Liam again, he's gone.

For a few seconds I stare at nothing, wondering what I got myself into. Then a sly grin works its way into my mouth and, before I can second-guess myself, I hurry to make my way back to the bleachers.

"What did Liam want?" asks Cassidy when I settle back in beside them. Aquino High is winning 6-0, and the cheerleaders are in higher spirits than ever. We must have just scored a touchdown.

"Nothing," I say. I figure I'll tell them what's going on between us eventually, but not in such a public place where anyone can hear us. "He just had a question about the physics homework and wanted to talk about it where we could actually hear each other."

Aquino High scores its field goal kick and the crowd erupts in cheers as the marching band breaks out once again in song. Every beat of the drum sends a pulse to my temples.

"You going to his party tonight?" asks Brynn, leaning towards me. Her hair, freshly dyed white, cascades over her pale features.

"No." I pretend to turn back to the game, but instead let my gaze flicker down to the stands. Spencer is talking to Liam, Taylor, and some other guys in our grade. "I really have to study for my calc test."

Brynn pretends to pout for a fraction of a second, but she gets over it soon enough when the girl beside her leans in to start a conversation. She's used to the fact that I turn down parties and invitations to hang out the majority of the time. My social life doesn't extend far past school and a little weekend activity: any other time is reserved for making sure I maintain my position as number one in the class.

When I look down to glance at Allison, I see that Liam is standing beside her. He's still talking to Spencer, but as I stare at the back of his head he turns around and locks eyes with me for a fraction of a second. My stomach twists, and I quickly yank my gaze back up to the field.

At Aquino High, you never know where anyone's allegiances lie.