Monday, Monday... that word alone should be an alternate term for Hell. Even when it wasn't so bad, the anticipation it would be was. I wasn't a "Debbie Downer" or anything, just... tired. Pure Pines was a lot. Home was a lot. I guess I just didn't like not knowing when I was going to catch my next break, mentally, figuratively, or even luck-wise. Overall, I did know I was lucky.

I was grateful for many things. I just didn't like what most of them came with. Almost anything you excelled in at Pure Pines left you under constant scrutiny by both the student body and faculty. I think that's what I hated. I didn't like being thrown to the wolves every day, and I hated feeling like I was under the gun even when I was prepared.

We made it through the uniform debacle and new outfits were on the way; but not without those debuting on the field that night as well. Principal Sabella said they were too scant to wear them to sit in the stands and we had to change right after the half time performance, but there was no reason we should miss out on doing the routine we prepared.

Our band director arrived minutes later and spoke up to mention we could wear our matching practice shorts and tee shirts, but you could tell Sabella preferred a little NFL cheerleader pazazz to us looking like some makeshift dance line we just started that couldn't afford uniforms. Pure Pines did not suffer when it came to the elements between the goal posts or the stadium that surrounded them.

As the office door was closing on our exit that day, I heard the principal make the comment... "Yeah, I'm fine with those on the field for tonight, just ah... make sure they look as you know... appropriate on the rest of the girls." It was our band director, Mr. McClendon's response that stuck with me. "You bet. I think most of these gals are ah, in shape. Hell, they'd have to be to kick that high! But, ah, I'll have their sponsor do a once over—make sure everybody is... proportioned, ah... anatomically correct to wear that on the field tonight. Anybody who isn't can probably sit this one out until the new uniforms come in next week."

Wow. I can't say that didn't stick with me up to the performance. The entire day I kept snapping my head over to Reagan and Lynn every time I saw them huddled together in conversation. I was petrified one of them was prepping to reluctantly come tell me I didn't look okay in the uniform, and I was to be benched until next week. Instead, everything about the performance went exceptionally. The crowd in our stands stood on their feet applauding their new drill team, and we were already more skilled than the opposing team's dance line. They must have had twenty-five to thirty girls in their line. I guess that was the difference in elitism. Our school only took the nineteen who could do it exactly like they wanted. Well, eighteen that night...

As I turned my head to the right on a fan kick lunge, smiling through red lipstick, I noticed the girl that hooked arms with me was linked to a different girl on her right. Someone was in fact missing. When the drum major blew the whistle to march us off the field post-performance, I saw a tear-stained freshman wearing our team practice shorts and tee shirt freezing on the side of the track next to Mrs. Tandy and our band director. She was short. My height or shorter, and she had chunky little legs. In that moment, she reminded me of myself freshman year on the cheerleading squad. I didn't remember her being too heavy or having any part of her tummy bulge over the spandex when we performed in the pep rally that day, however that was all a blur. What was I thinking? Surely not... surely, she just twisted her ankle during our kick routine earlier? Right? I had to stop overanalyzing. Still, as curious as I was... as disturbed as I was by what I heard the two men in the office deliberating over... I did not have the guts to ask Lynn or Reagan. I was a coward. I don't think my own psyche could have handled the worst-case scenario as an answer. Reagan and I both battled with weight, but in very different ways. Hers never showed.

The weekend flew by, and I could tell my mom was happy the drill team had been successful. She wasn't home for the game, but my Aunt Denise went and had my Uncle Dean record it on his new camera the same way they came and took pictures freshman year for the first football scrimmage of the season when I was a Pure Pines cheerleader. Dean was my mom's younger brother, but Denise had been blood to us since they married. She fit like a glove, loved my grandparents, Pure Pines, and all of us.

She and Dean were in love at first sight right out of college. They moved onto my grandad's land, well the acreage he gave his kids as a wedding present and had three boys. Growing up as an only child they were like my brothers, and Aunt Denise, a second mother-sister hybrid anytime my mom was stuck at work. She was a single parent mother, so that was all the time. It didn't bother me not to see my mom in the stands. I had enough one-on-one time with her when she was home. I mean, it was just the two of us when we weren't crashing at my grandparents' house for when we wanted the feeling of a family around because we were probably lonely.

I was always just as proud when Dean and Denise were there, and even more so when my grandad came. Football games were kind of our thing. Dance, twirling, globe scholars, student council, and all the rest... my mom's. If she had been there Friday night, she would have just been taking mental notes on who kicked higher between Reagan and I and who was late on the contagion before we all fell into a jump split.

She was amazing, wonderful, and incredible, but also manically critical. At least it would be a while before she had time to analyze the video. She had seen it small through the replay on Dean's camera lens, but I don't think he had gotten around to transferring it to a VHS for her yet. She had already asked me why there were only eighteen girls and not the full line. I didn't have the heart to tell her what I suspected, and I didn't have the bandwidth for her caveat that would follow... something along the lines of, "Well, better do boiled egg and grapefruit and nothing else this weekend to keep on top of it."

Today's Monday wasn't so bad, the first two periods had opened on an a high with a handful of compliments combined with raised eyebrows over the debut of our first official drill team. It did feel good to be official and I heard administration was already getting calls over requirements and dates of try outs for next year. I had suppressed my public groping from Adrian, or my public, bizarre display of affection in just standing there offering some strange form of carnal support, I still didn't know what that was.

However, if you could count on anything at Pure Pines, it was denial and business as usual to save face. I felt quite certain that Adrian wouldn't fall short of that, especially given the circumstances. Come on, quitting football and the way Coach Craig spoke to him... those stakes were way higher than his hand landing on my thigh or waist for no apparent reason.

Lynn was the only thing that kept it fresh on my mind. She didn't ask me directly, but she kept bringing it up unsatisfied with anybody's response. She seemed overly invested in my take on the intensity of which Coach Craig spoke to Adrian, and why Principal Sabella basically allowed it. She point-blank asked how upset I thought it made Adrian. I knew she saw the little encounter, and I felt bad that I didn't have an answer for her.

I told Lynn and Reagan everything. Why was this different? In fact, maybe she was helping me out of my funk, encouraging me to say out loud, "Weird that Adrian groped my thigh while he was getting yelled at. What am I, his mother?" So, we could all have a laugh about it. I didn't laugh though. I didn't say anything... or even acknowledge it happened, which made me seem cagey as if there were a secret. I had a bold personality. You could say anything to me, and I would say anything back. Lynn was used to that.

Since failing to make varsity, I had become more and more of an introvert over things I did not understand. Don't get me wrong, I never just expected to make it, and I have failed at PLENTY of things. I just wasn't prepared for the stigma that came with not making it. I wasn't aware there would be one. Again, why did it matter to other people that I wasn't good enough to make cheerleader? Why did that have to say something about me to them?

It felt like there was a letter sewn to my own chest, maybe an "F" for failure. Okay, that's a little dramatic, and we obviously had gotten our AP English reading list in. The Scarlet Letter topped it and was a favorite of mine. Of course, it was. I just didn't feel as carefree about expressing every little thing I thought anymore, and I'm sure to Lynn that felt as if I was keeping a secret. As if... come on! Lynn was smart enough to know that she'd know something that insane before I would. Adrian was her best friend.

I tried to block it out of my mind and get through third period. At least I would have Lynn and Reagan off my back until lunch. And finally, the release happened. I walked out of third period toward the history hallway. I felt a distant stare on me, but I wasn't going to try and meet it. Just before I turned toward the hallway toward my locker, my brown eyes fell on Adrian's sharp blue eyes just in time to see them cut away from me before I turned. Classic Pure Pines move, and just as I had anticipated from him. I guess that'd be the end of that.

As I headed down my hallway that was always refreshingly quieter between the bells this period, my mind exchanged the moment of relief for a replay of his face above mine. His dark hair making his steel blue eyes stand out as the remarkably identifying feature on his face. He had an angular face, with thick dark eyebrows, but they were tame and somehow kind, even when they furrowed at me. Curious looking instead of ever truly angry, although they did look angry with Coach Craig that day.

His intelligent nose and chiseled chin were contradicted by his abundant lips. Oh my God! What was I saying? Maybe I had just never really looked that close before. I mean, I had a silly crush on him in junior high, but that was kids' stuff. I think I was attracted to his confidence. I've now grown to recognize that element of him as being conceited and cocky. I don't think he's ever been nice to me on purpose.

The halls were almost all empty now, and I thought this was as good a time as any to stop by Mrs. Rickie's class to pick up my books on the reading list. I had fifteen minutes before I had to be in study hall. As I turned down the empty English hallway, something struck me when I looked up at the door to freshman English lit. Okay. Well, there was this one moment with Adrian other than our norm, but it was so long ago, I couldn't imagine it counted.

The day it happened I had just left the very freshman English room I stood in front of. I thought about that day and wondered what my old English teacher, Coach Timpson would say of me now eagerly stepping up to tackle my AP reading list. To say I was an avid reader back then would be a gross overstatement. I loved books and had an avid curiosity over things I thought you were supposed to know or what others knew that I didn't. To devote hours to a book on a list for no reason or read continually was something I did not have time for. My relationship with literature was more of an isolated or serial obsession. I guess you could say a book had to find me, but when it did, I was devoted.

It's like the bookshelf everyone's had in their room since childhood. Mine was full of old classics or new ones that adult relatives or my mom's friends bestowed on me for Christmas or birthday presents of significant coming of age years. They were all signed and dated inside the front flap: "You're turning twelve this year! You'll love Little Women." "Every little girl should read Tuck Ever Lasting."

Or my favorite... "Hey, kid start with the classics, Great Expectations, it'll put hair on your chest." Love Uncle Don.

I can't say I read them at the time I received them, but the older I got, and the more I got to know those friends and relatives, some in a different light, and others, maybe even less than I had known them as a child, I began to grow curious about their relationship to the book. I wanted to know why that particular book truly mattered so much to them, why it made them think of me, or in some cases if they'd even read it.

After that, it became a personal education. A teacher would say a phrase or make a pun, then reference the book it came from. I'd tend to find and read that instead of what we were required to for class. We didn't have google back then, so a book was the only way to satiate your curiosity. I'd get obsessed with it for a while. What the author meant by it, why they wrote it, and why the person remembered that line or moment from it.

It was similar to the time I randomly heard that Winston Churchill's favorite movie was That Hamilton Woman. He used to watch it over and over. It was an old black and white movie from the 1940s starring Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier. I remembered hearing that when we got to Churchill in history, and the teacher made a comment that he wasn't much of a romantic. Hmmm. To watch that movie multiple times you would have to be a hopeless romantic, that or in love with Vivien Leigh or obsessed with Laurence Olivier. I can't imagine he was watching it for the art of war. Needless to say, I must have rented it at the tape store and watched it as many times as he did to try and figure out why he liked it so much.

At that time, we were studying short stories in freshman English and made to read The Scarlet Ibis by James Hurst. I didn't read it before the class discussion. Then once it piqued my interest, I spent the class lecture time reading it thoroughly. Coach Timpson assigned a two-page essay over the plot just before the bell rang. I went home and wrote a seven-page essay.

It just struck me, this story of these two young brothers and what goes on in the over-analytical mind of a child. The things you think when you're a kid, how heavy the burden and significant to that moment they are. The story really brought that to the table for me the way Charles Dickon's did with young Pip and the convict in Great Expectations. I must have read the story three more times, once even after I wrote the overachieving seven pages. English and history were my strong suit, even without reading required material.

Imagine my surprise when I got a "C." I naturally assumed Coach Timpson was being a dick and holding me to the assignment being two pages, not seven. But then: See me after class! written by it, seemed even more severe. I began to skim through my words. I had a horrible habit of not proofreading. Maybe he was punishing me for that to teach me the value of not having typos. It would have been fair.

Freshman Year...

As soon as the bell rang after class, so did Coach Timpson. "Miss Edwards?" I'll never forget having to unintentionally saunter up to the desk in my blue JV Palamino cheerleading uniform. It was a Thursday, and JV had a scrimmage that night. Freshman cheerleaders covered JV, so we wore our uniforms on Thursdays to show support for game days. It was ridiculous if you thought about it. A school with a dress code that strictly allowed no tank tops, spaghetti straps or dyed hair beyond that of "natural human coloring," and the most paramount rule, no skirts, shorts, or dresses more than four inches above the knee... this same dress code actually encouraged cheerleading uniforms two days a week.

I'm sure you can guess the skirt was far more than four inches above my knees. Certainly, both JV games on Thursdays, and Varsity games Friday had to be covered. After all there was a pep rally on Friday, so you had to be in uniform. I wish I could say that was the most hypocritical part about Pure Pines, but in truth, it was probably the mildest of many.

"Miss Edwards, out of seven pages I would have thought you could have landed on the theme of the story at least once. Unfortunately, your grade had to reflect that you did not. Now, I hate to give you a "C" when to write so much and so in depth, you clearly read it... I'm just not certain you grasped it."

I was livid. Did he read my essay? Did he not grasp it? "I'm not sure I understand. I mean, I'm not sure what you think I missed or how the theme is different than what my essay suggests."

"The theme of the Scarlet Ibis, Miss Edwards, is that Doodle's brother is ashamed of him. He acts out of pride and that is the downfall or what ultimately makes him responsible for pushing his disabled brother so hard he finally dies."

"Wait. He wasn't ashamed that his brother couldn't walk or run as fast as the others, no more than any kid embarrassed of their family or surrounding elements. He wanted a brother, and he wanted to turn Doodle into a brother he could be proud of, yes... but pride is different than shame. And often being proud of someone is very different than the theme's foolish pride or that of being too proud of one's self that we typically explore in literature...I think he just wanted to be a big brother and all he had to offer was what he knew to bestow on Doodle. Doodle lived and had a big brother he looked up to for much longer than anticipated, and he died trying to live. They both learned from each other. I'm sorry Coach Timpson if you didn't get that from my essay, or is it that you needed me to accept the shame angle and make it the brother's fault? Forgive me but is that on some Cliff's note or teachers' guide over the story?"

"Miss Edwards!"

"I'm sorry Coach, but I really love this story, and I guess I'm a little upset that you don't get my understanding of it." Ugh! This was not coming out right! And why did he care so much. He was a coach for crying out load. The rest of them usually just phoned in everything that wasn't on a field or court.

"July, I don't want to insult you with this, as I'm sure you didn't' intend to insult me over the teachers' manual you assume I graded you by. I'll leave you with this..." He looked my uniform up and down and handed me the "C" marked essay to suggest the grade still stood and were mine to keep. "I fear you have a very "Pure Pines" view of this story, and I urge you to look past the generally accepted scrutiny and criticism that makes up the norm on our campus, so that you can potentially see that he was in fact ashamed of Doodle."

Oh, my God, was this man seriously judging me for being in a cheerleading uniform? That was his second mistake.

"For example, you don't ask your friends who are not cheerleaders to adopt the uniform and skills to tryout do you? You're quite well versed in these halls Miss Edwards; I don't see you turning to your band friends and suggesting they take on student council or whatever else may interest you. Your less academically inclined friends... do you tutor them, and insist they join GLOBE Scholars and take AP classes such as you plan to? However, their differences are not as celebrated as those that do share cheerleading and student council and—I'm simply suggesting you might see the shame he held for his brother in trying to make him become something he was not, if you viewed it as yourself doing that to any of your peers, which is common among our halls."

The next bell rang. I tugged at my backpack and folded the "C" paper, declaring I was going to take it. I thanked Coach Timpson for his time as politely as possible. I walked away from the classroom replaying his interpretation versus mine, chasing the idea that I had been too forgiving of the older brother and that's why he suggested this Pure Pines point of view he thought I harbored. Assuming because I was a cheerleader, I thought it was okay or better to bring someone you were ashamed of up to your level as opposed to risking being embarrassed by them. What? Wow. His assessment wasn't wrong about Pure Pines, but the judgment he made of me was. What a jerk.

I caught the reflection of my short chunky legs below my cheerleading skirt as I passed the glass windowed hallway. It made the corners of my mouth dip down every time I saw what made me ashamed in my uniform, what didn't look like the typical thin, figure that I thought would magically appear when I "made it." It must have been magic that I did in fact make it, as there never were fat, or chunky cheerleaders at Pure Pines, at least I had never seen one until my own reflection.

You see, where Coach Timpson and I both went wrong over our assessment of The Scarlet Ibis, is that I wasn't judging the little brother either way... I was "Doodle," I had something off, wrong, or disabled about me, that I would ALWAYS be working or striving to fix. Maybe I welcomed the brother's tutelage the way I had secretly hoped a combination of the summer, a potential growth spurt, and the magic of wearing the cheerleading uniform would make me look like all the others.

That day, as I turned the corner into the cheer PE room, I tried to regain my confidence. It was sign painting day. I even tried to use the fact that Coach Timpson misjudged me as a bitchy, snotty privileged cheerleader, but that didn't work. What did work was Adrian.

I went straight to work on my task from the varsity captain to fix one of the signs some dumbass had misspelled. None of us were artists in the group, so it sucked to be tasked with turning a mistake into something clever for our boys to run through. If you didn't achieve it, you had to repaint the whole sign yourself.

I spread the grey craft paper across the hallway. It was stunning to think someone could mess up sayings as simple as "Kill the Hill!" for Spring Hill, or "Smoke the Oak" for Red Oak. Those with nondescript mascots were typically our hardest to come up with.

This one, however, someone had gotten clever with. It had the word government in the phrase, misspelled across the top of the entire sign. On all fours, I reached all the way over to the other side to secure the corner to the floor and begin working on it. I heard sneakered footsteps jogging up, then slow down behind me, but I didn't bother to look, even though my cheerleading spanks were the only thing representing me with my butt hanging out under my skirt. I knew it had to be one of the girls.

It was a closed period between classes, and these halls were usually empty but for us. There was a longer pause behind me than expected. One of the girls would have already spoken by then.

"You're missing an "N." A deep, male's voice fired off the statement with what sounded like a sarcastic smile. I dipped my head between my arm and body to look behind me, and there Adrian stood, upside down from my angle, with a succinct view of my derriere. I wish I could say I calmly rose from all fours with tact, instead I plopped on my bottom immediately as if the damage had not already been done. I felt wet paint beneath my bloomers and the back of one leg. Apparently, part of a flag someone attempted to illustrate had not dried completely. I tried not to let it show on my face.

"I'm not missing it. I mean, I might look stupid in this very moment, but I wasn't the one stupid enough to leave the "N" out of the word government. Thank you, though for the concern." A smile grew across his face, and he squinted an eye at me as he tried to take in the overall sign.

"Do you know what it means or was meant to mean?" he asked.

"Actually, I was just about to ask you the same question... you are the one who has to run through it tonight."

"One can't be entirely sure... could you maybe slide over a bit so I can see the entire display?" The hint of sarcasm remained in his voice, as did the smile that grew larger as I looked down and cleared my throat, not enthusiastic about moving.

"I would love to, but I believe that to be an impossible task this very moment." Adrian stepped delicately across the painted sign toward me and held out his hand.

"It's ah... cold isn't it." He squashed his large smile.

"Yes. Very." I admitted my defeat, put my hand out and let him hoist me up as I felt the wet paint smear all over the back of my leg. We both looked down at the spot where my bottom had smeared the paint. Our heads tilted, then we walked backward to look... "Do you think they meant parliament? Or paramount? Is that the word they meant to write instead of government misspelled?" I asked. Adrian still had my hand. He lifted it at the wrist and motioned toward ducking behind me to look at what was missing from the illustration. He took a half step back behind me.

"No... they definitely meant to misspell government." I punched him playfully in the arm and took my hand back.

"Darn it. I'm afraid this one's a do over."

"Well, look at it this way, if you run out of paint..." He peeked behind me one more time.

"Well, aren't you just about as clever as this sign was meant to be."

He stepped closer to me, and I did feel heat between us, but I just assumed it was from my uncertainty of not knowing what he wanted or the flirting, or... wait, were we flirting?

"You know, we have a golden opportunity here. You being the painter of the sign, and me being one of the individuals running through it. It's our very first home game, you know?"

"I see. Would you like me to write your jersey number across the top in bold? Or, are you here to check my work and make sure there are no further spelling mistakes?"

"Wow. You don't make this easy, do you?"

"What? Making spirit signs with finger paint and foam brushes?" He moved even closer. I looked down to make sure neither one of us was stepping on the wet paint part, and he smiled confidently at my nervous fidgeting. When I looked back up his face was looking down on mine. That's the first time I think I realized how tall he was or that he had gotten taller since junior high. There was something different about him, I couldn't figure him out.

When our eyes met, his charming smile transitioned into a nervous one. His eyes transfixed on mine as the rest of him seemed to stammer. Now, he was the one fidgeting. He took a half step back to look away, and I gained confidence, taking a full step forward.

"Careful." I pointed at the paint without looking down. "You wouldn't want to step in wet paint." He froze where he stood. Closed his eyes and he bit his bottom lip until he could counter back with his confident smile.

He cleared his throat. "Umm, I was just going to suggest before that—I don't know—maybe you could make one for me or make this one for me." He shrugged kind of sheepishly. "...Not my number or anything, but maybe a private, spelled correctly inside joke."

"Um hmm." I smiled wickedly back at him. We were flirting. "What makes you think I can spell?"

He laughed immediately; a bit harder than he meant to. "Well, statistically... since none of you can draw or paint well, and someone else misspelled government, I'd say it's a safe bet that one of you can."

He began backing up from me without taking his eyes off mine. "I should probably..." He motioned toward exiting in general. "I'll ... see you there?"

"I'll be the one with the paint all over her..." I motioned to my backside he had become so acquainted with during the last three minutes that felt like twenty. Then he jogged off toward the locker rooms. I guess I didn't realize. Or, damn it, maybe I did...

That night at our first JV home game, my first game as a freshman cheerleader, we started our walk across the track to introduce ourselves to the other team's cheerleaders, and I knew what was coming. I think I had just forgotten about it with that little sign episode on my mind, but I had been warned. When the JV cheerleaders meet the other squad there is a game we all played. It's an introducing game to build camaraderie with the others, but it has a fun little trick to it that was a Pure Pine's tradition. Every year, the freshman cheerleaders on the squad, 'the fresh bate,' would declare the guy they liked within the cheer while introducing themselves.

If you'd already moved as quickly as two of the girls there that night, you already had a boyfriend and an obvious name to say. To be fair, one of the two mentioned was actually dating their long-term boyfriend from our class, but the other, let's just say she was calling a senior's name out and he didn't mind at all. That was the crux of it. You had to say someone, and the hope was you were hot, so that someone who caught your eye would be glad you said their name. If you said someone that had no interest in you, then I'm told it felt the equivalent of being in third grade and the entire elementary saying you had a crush on a boy who didn't like you back.

The worst part was the other cheerleaders, each having their own agenda for someone, were the biggest threat to expose or destroy you if you messed this up for them or yourself.

I had no idea who to say. I hadn't had a boyfriend yet, much less set my sights on an upper classman. The other cheerleaders were quick to coach us on going for an upper classman being the thing to do. It was a way to exercise your power and get who you wanted to ask you out. The game was in full swing by the time we started our walk to the other side. It was a secluded end of the track you would assume was out of ear shot of our team or own crowd in the stands. They set it up that way, so you would feel as if you were making that declaration to the other team's crowd. How this immature game became a tradition and still existed was beyond me.

I racked my brain thinking of someone safe to say. Some guy friend who wouldn't care that I used his name, and we could laugh about it later. That was the thing about Pure Pines, I didn't have a guy friend high enough on the social ladder to use. The options were to link yourself purposely to someone uncool and that was just suicide if you ever hoped to get asked out, or take a chance and say a name that may not say yes back.

The first option that came to mind was Adrian, but not because of our little moment in the hallway, just because he was the first thing on my mind after it. I hadn't had time or the wits about me to overanalyze the situation into a possibility that the whole encounter happened because he potentially wanted me to say his name. That was the furthest thing from my mind.

"Okay. Spill. Who are you saying?" Devin Scott halted the group just to get me to tell them ahead of time. I stammered. "I..."

"Come on, July, we've talked about this. We already know who everyone else is going to say, so just tell us already."

"You know, I was thinking I could just say..." Come on, I told myself, just say him! Say Adrian. If it comes out and backfires and he's pissed, you could just say that was your little inside joke, he probably even meant it to be. The conversation continued in my head well past Devin's patience.

"Just set her up," Brooke said.

"Yeah, Devin, you already said we were going to." Hanna, the other minion broke out."

"Set me up?" I was horrified.

"Trust us, it's for your own good," Brooke added. Devin stood thoughtfully for a moment. "I know, I said we would fix her up, I just was curious who she'd say first."

There it was, that trap she all but set off in front of me.

"Look, why don't you just say, Corey Bower. He just broke up with Lyndsey Moore, and everyone is looking to see who he'll go out with next. It's the perfect set up. He's a newly single sophomore in line for varsity quarterback, you're a cheerleader. Trust us, he's waiting to see if someone says his name tonight. This works."

I couldn't help but notice Brooke, Dane and Hanna exchanging looks when Devin offered Corey Bower. He was a sophomore, so it was age appropriate, but he was on the more popular end as in, Lyndsey Moore whom he just broke up with was a junior at the time. All of this felt out of my league. I wasn't used to their antics yet, and I wasn't about to come this far just to set myself up, literally or figuratively. No way did I trust Devin Scott.

As soon as greetings were exchanged with the other team, they did a cheer to introduce us to their crowd, and it was time for us to run out and start the cheer that would have us stepping out, one by one. I couldn't help but notice the water boy from our side suddenly in ear shot, as well as the football manager. Holly shit! This was a thing. They were all listening!

'"H" CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, "E" CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, "L" "L" "O." "HANNA IS MY NAME AND CHEERING IS MY GAME, I'VE GOT ELLIOT ON MY MIND, AND OHH, HE'S SO FINE!

"SHE'S A FRESHMAN" We all chimed in on cue after Hanna went first. My brain was still reeling to find a way out of this, I would just say Adrian's name. That's what I made my mind up to do. With Devin and Brooke still to go ahead of me I calmed myself practicing his name in my head. And then I heard it out loud with the crowd roar from our side.

"Adrian Reed off the twenty-yard line, and that's—OH, HE SCORES!!! Ladies and gentlemen that's a touchdown for Pure Pines at the hands of number 44, freshman ADRIAN REED!"

The announcer's voice ricocheted over the loudspeaker, and we turned and cheered toward the field before we composed ourselves to continue with introductions to the visiting team. I don't know what happened to me at that moment. I could ask myself to this day why hearing his name over the loudspeaker suddenly made me feel insignificant or less than I already did, but somehow, hearing them say it out loud, like I was about to in the cheer felt so revealing.

I didn't know Corey Bower, and I didn't care what he thought of me. I did know Adrian, and I couldn't set myself up for that kind of rejection should I have misread earlier that day. Plus, look what he just accomplished, he may have girls flocking at his feet and want to take whatever that was back. I was up... I didn't know Lyndsey Moore very well either, I had to hope she was happy with the breakup.

"JULY IS MY NAME AND CHEERING IS MY GAME, I'VE GOT COREY ON MY MIND..." and that's where it landed.

By the time we walked back to our home side, people were still screaming Adrian's number out of excitement. The band was playing our fight song, and on a quick time out, the couple of guys that made it to the water cooler were high fiving each other and looking our way. Corey was one of them. Brooke pushed me forward as we passed, and he shot me a wink. Okay, so that didn't backfire yet. Our torn sign over by the far corner of the track reminded me of the moment with Adrian again, that and everyone chanting his name from our stands. I did a herkey clapping toward the crowd, then turned to look toward the field.

Adrian was sifting through a succession of high fives from the team, and just as I looked for his face to see his crowning moment, I saw him cut a glance toward Corey, then back at me. His brow furrowed as if he had just heard. Then a whistle blew from the ref and his helmet was back in place leading him out onto the field. My heart sank into my stomach. I tried to tell myself it was a look about something else or even if it was over that, he may have just been surprised I said Corey. I couldn't think it was that he anticipated me saying his name, especially after the success he achieved. He had to be on cloud nine.

I, however, had bigger worries and should have been in complete fear of Corey Bower's wink, or one Lyndsey Moore watching from the stands. Brooke and Hanna congratulated me and looked excited that their little set up played well. Devin, however, did not look so excited. She kept looking at me then Corey, as if she was watching to see if he checked me out again after the initial reveal.

I never figured out the Adrian moment, but the Corey situation was found out that Saturday night at the infamous Tomlin Twins' party. I was automatically invited that freshman year as a JV cheerleader. I received some pretty telling intel, probably inadvertently down the pipeline from Devin herself so I would know... hands off!

Basically, Devin was interested in Corey, but she didn't want to be the rebound or put herself out there if he was still hung up on Lyndsey. Only time would really tell if he intended to get back with her. Devin thought she'd use me as bait. If Corey was curious or the least bit interested when I called his name, then she would know the coast was clear to start moving forward to pursue him. She certainly had my number from the beginning.

No way would I compete with her over I guy that was practically a stranger to me. However, she didn't have Corey's... by the time we arrived at the party that year, Corey and Lyndsey were lip locked and mugging down in a historically memorable make out session. I guess neither Devin nor I got the name we wanted that year.