I think we all know by now that Griffin King is the only reason we have hope for this football season. One question down, but so many left to go. Why would he transfer to Nouveau for football when Kingston are the reigning state champions?

yours truly,
Queen B.

***

          When Becca told me Griffin was good at football, she wasn't exaggerating. The syllables of his name were all I heard through the speakers as I climbed the staircase leading up to the stadium, following the bustling crowd. Colors and themes distinguished one school from the other. Friday night football games established a unity between the students that couldn't be found in the competitive environment of the classroom.

"First and ten Nouveau!" the announcer informed the progress of the game to the crowd.

I handed my ticket to the school officials at the top before making my way to the away side. The theme for tonight's football game was a white out, leaving the entire student population appearing like a blanket of snow. We were versing Eastwood, a public school driving in from the city. They were dressed almost exclusively in orange, the bright color a sharp contrast to our jerseys on the field.

Somehow, we always managed to fill up the stadium on Friday nights. Anything was better in comparison to being locked up in our rooms back on campus tossing around stories we'd all heard a thousand times. Starting the season with a winning streak was only the cherry on top of the ice cream.

The stadium was filled to maximum occupancy, bodies unaware of personal space. There were no seats left on the bleachers, not that anyone was actually sitting. Nouveau's overwhelming school spirit took up any available seat with face painted bodies and cardboard cutouts of the star players.

Glancing over the hype squad, I noticed Tessa and Molly standing in the front row. White streaks of paint were slashed across their faces, handprints splattered on their arms and legs. I realized then that this was the first time I had seen Molly outside of English all week, our one class together. She was holding onto Erik's cutout, his face swaying from side to side in the air.

Instead of using my elbows to ascend the overcrowded bleachers, I wandered over to Alden who was standing on the track in front of the fence. A thick camera strap hung from his neck. He was adjusting the lens, his gaze switching back and forth between the game and the camera.

When he saw me coming from the corner of his eye, he turned around and flashed a boyish grin. "I thought you said you weren't coming to the football game tonight, Ken."

"That wouldn't be very American of me now, would it?" I laughed, twirling the length of my blue lanyard a couple times around my pointer finger.

"Says the girl who didn't even know what a touchdown was until freshman year." He rolled his dark brown eyes, unable to prevent his lips from curling upward. "You're a disgrace to America, you know that?"

"You're one to talk," I responded with a subtle shake of the head. The gentle autumn breeze pulled my ponytail in front of my shoulders. "What about you? You're half Japanese and the taste of sushi makes you queasy."

"That's not true," he denied, "I can handle California rolls."

"That doesn't count. Remember when you didn't know what a boutonnière was freshman year and Jenna Lisicki was nearly two seconds away from castrating—"

"Flowers are flowers," Alden groaned, letting out an exasperated sigh. "I don't see why can't they just be called men corsages. What's with the formality?"

"Alden," I placed my hand on his shoulder, "that's like trying to call a muffin a cupcake."

"A cupcake is a muffin," he raised an eyebrow, "just a prettier one. Think of the icing as a layer of makeup. Without it, the cupcake would just look naked. Without the icing, it looks like a muffin."

"Are you saying that muffins are ugly?"

He shrugged in light of the truth, raising the camera up before snapping a picture of Connor Deacon sprinting from the 20 yard line to the goal. Eastwood's defense failed to tackle him. Alden was one of the three photographers for the newspaper and yearbook. Even though Nouveau wasn't athletically driven, the sports section still managed to take up more than a third of the yearbook in coverage.

The bleachers on our side erupted into a series of cheers as we heard, "Touchdown Nouveau!"

On the edge of the track, the scoreboard read 13-6. We were leading, a sensation almost completely foreign until the start of this school year.

"It's a shame really because muffins taste better than cupcakes," Alden leaned to the side and whispered after he reviewed his shots. "You know it's true, Kennedy."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing. You're the disgrace here, Alden." I laughed, pushing him away with the palm of my hand. "You don't even know how to brush your hair properly."

"What are you talking about? Girls totally dig this."

He cracked a wider smile as he ran his fingers through his tousled brown hair that had the perfect look of carelessness. It suited him and was the only thing that prevented Alden Belinsky from looking like a male model as he walked down the halls of Nouveau.

"Is that so?" I challenged. "Would you care to list some names?"

"I'm sure Becca approves of my hair."

"Where is Becca anyways?" I turned around, scanning the bleachers for her signature silky brown hair. "I thought she was committed to attending every football game possible this year."

"She and Nate decided to skip. They're heading into the city for dinner or something. At least that's what she wanted me to tell you."

I leaned against the fence, curling my fingers around the black railing. Cheerleaders sauntered back and forth with pom poms in their hands and practiced grins plastered on their face. Standing front and center was Elspeth Rhee, the captain of the cheer squad.

It wasn't long before Griffin's name was mentioned again. "Interception complete by number 17 Griffin King!"

Becca was right. Griffin was more than good on the field. He was the best player on the team, and it was obvious from the way he gravitated toward the spiraling leather ball. No matter where he was on the field, he always managed to stay at least one stride ahead of the other players as he raced down to the end zone.

Other players angled their bodies and tried to tackle him from the side, but he found corners and routes out of these encounters like second nature. The ground only knew the soles of his shoes. Defense became offense when Griffin King got ahold of the ball. He singlehandedly changed the dynamic of the entire team, and I could see the effects in the captains.

Ever since the end of junior year, Connor and Erik had been treading on thin ice. Everyone knew that a girl had gotten in between their friendship. To this day, the girl still remained in question, but I had my bets on Tessa. With Griffin on the field with them, they actually started to acknowledge each other again.

Referees followed the progress of the game, jogging behind the players with penalties ready on the corner of their lips. I watched Erik continuously throw the football to Griffin who somehow always found it in his arms, completing the pass as the team's wide receiver.

"I'm gonna get some close ups. I'll see you back at school," Alden told me at halftime before he started walking down the straightaway on the track.

I was about to head up to the bleachers when I saw number 17 running straight toward me. Eastwood's band had just started marching by the time he made his way to the fence. For some reason, I couldn't stop a small grin from spreading across my face.

"Is that who I think it is?" Griffin pulled off his helmet after jogging over to me, his blonde hair curling around the tip of his ears. "Did Kennedy Marx just smile at me? I think I've just been graced by the gods."

"Did you hit your head out there or something, King? It's just a smile."

"Well I'm honored to be on the other side of that smile." He smiled back at me, his ocean eyes curving in their sockets. "For some reason, I didn't peg you as the type of girl who gave up her Friday nights for football games."

"That's because I'm not," I told him.

He nodded slowly, dragging the pad of his thumb along his bottom lip. "Then why are you here?"

"King, would you stop flirting with the girls?" Coach Roy yelled, waving his gray clipboard in the air. Sheets of paper crackled against the sky. He was known notoriously for the volume of his booming voice.

"It's just one girl." Griffin shifted his glance over to Coach Roy briefly before looking back at me.

"We need you back over here now!"

Before Griffin sprinted back to the sideline, he turned around and shouted, "I expect an answer when I come back at the end of the game, Kennedy."

"I—"

"Wait for me."

As the game continued, the momentum on the field switched. Eastwood increased their strategy, their coach aware of the evident dominance on our side: Griffin. Players avoided Griffin at all costs, tackling those who were supposed to shield him instead. As a result, Erik had to resort to the alternative plays.

"Pass attempt to number 3 Connor Deacon incomplete. Fourth and eight Nouveau!" The announcer's voice blared through the speakers. For the first time all night, we had failed to convert while the ball was ours.

In the last quarter, Griffin managed to score one last touchdown for the team fifty seconds before the time dropped to 00:00. The scoreboard read 27-15 as students rushed down the bleachers to their cars waiting in the parking lot below. The stadium emptied out a lot faster than it filled with the night looming in the distance and stars dancing in the sky.

I was contemplating leaving with the crowd when Alden walked up behind me and tapped on my shoulder. "What are you standing around for?"

Before I could answer, I saw Griffin walking over to us from the corner of my field of vision. He had his football bag strung over his shoulder, helmet in hand.

Alden narrowed his eyes at me and wiggled his eyebrows. "Ooh, I see what's going on here, and you thought you were being sly."

"It's not what you think—"

"Now, what should your ship name be?" Alden started humming as Griffin made his way over. "Don't think we're done talking about this just because Lover Boy's here. I can't wait to see what Becca says."

Griffin stopped on the other side of the fence, dropping the bag to his feet. There was a smug smile on his face as he said, "You actually waited for me, Marx."

"You're lucky," I responded, dropping my gaze down to my white sneakers. "A couple more seconds and I would've been gone."

"You don't actually mean that, do you?" he asked. "I'm still waiting for an answer to that question I asked earlier."

"What question?"

He pressed his lips together firmly and chuckled, the sound reverberating in the back of his throat. "Why'd you come out here tonight?"

"I was curious."

We walked alongside each other down to the parking lot, the railing on the stairs separating us. I could hear his keys jangling around against the helmet in his hands. He glanced over at me, a small grin playing with his lips.

"Did coming out here answer any of your questions?"

"I'm not sure," I said, pursing my lips. I unlocked my car from afar, the lights flashing in our direction."Well, this is me."

Griffin stopped in his tracks, locking his eyes with mine. "And I was hoping I would be able to offer you a ride home."

"I'll see you at formal tomorrow," I said with a flimsy smile, opening my car door.

As he walked away, he said, "I like how you assumed I was going to formal."

"You're not going to formal? Why not?" I couldn't hide the surprise in my face.

"You weren't kidding when you said you were curious, were you?" He turned around right before he got to his car, a sleek black Porsche. "I'm just adding another question to your list. Goodnight, Kennedy."