It's been two days since the horrible party. We're all back at school though some of us are still obviously getting over insane hangovers, judging from the bloodshot eyes and pale faces. Lots of the guys are walking around stoned and the girls are just as bad and even the teachers are staying away from us as best as they can, ignoring everybody and wrinkling noses at quite a few. Bethany Russo has been ignoring me personally, along with her minions, meaning that she either remembered enough of our fight to know not to talk to me, or someone caught her up and she's avoiding me because of it. I can't help but feel victorious. I've won. Either way, there are no slandering terms towards me. No "freaks" and "skanks" are being thrown at me all day long.

And the best—or possibly worst—part of it all: I'm suddenly popular.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, is talking about me. The people who were there at the party are telling all of their friends and spreading rumors about what happened. There have been outrageous things said about me, like I was cheating on Luka with Jake and Bethany was mad, or that Bethany had been secretly harboring a crush on me. The people who weren't at the party listen eagerly to the stories and then do their own work to pass it on to their friends, mixing facts and mincing words. Everyone knows at least part of what happened, more or less. The people who adore Bethany Russo hate me and send evil glances towards me, and the people who hate Bethany revere me, sending me awestruck or thankful glances.

I dread the cafeteria where I will be faced with all of the stares and whispers.

My one consolation: At least I have Luka.

At lunch, I head to my usual table with Luka, Jake, Clare, and Shaw, who lately have been talking a lot more. I can't help but sense something happening there though I'm deciding to keep out of it. I take my seat next to Luka amidst the stares and gossip and Luka leans over to kiss me, which only makes the volume of the chatter rise to impossible limits. I sigh. Being "popular" sucks just as much as I thought it would.

Jake looks at me sympathetically. He clears his throat. "Megan, are you going to the football game this Thursday?" he asks.

I'm called to attention, my head popping up at his words. "What?"

Jake grins, "I mean, it's the last game before the championships. You should come. See how your boyfriend and your best guy friend play." He winks. "It'll be fun. A little violent because, I mean, it's football, but that's okay, right?"

I look at Jake and then I look at Luka. "Do you want me to come?" I ask my boyfriend. He's never asked me to one of his games before.

He holds his hands up. "Of course I want my girlfriend there to watch me and cheer for me when I make the final touchdown. But I don't want to push you to do anything. Honestly, you don't seem like the girl to watch high school football." I swat at him.

"Just for that, I'm going, Luka." He laughs.

"I knew you would." He grins and I realize the words were just a trick to get me to come.

I swat at him again and then I turn to Clare and Shaw, who are talking energetically about some sort of math project they are doing together. Sensing a pause in their conversation in which both of them take several deep breaths, I interject, "Do you guys want to come? I mean, Shaw, you're on the team, but Clare, do you want to come to the football game?"

She looks at me with a grimace. "Football? Sweaty boys and tackles and stuff football?"

"Yeah." I cross my fingers, hoping that she'll say yes.

"I guess," she says begrudgingly and I smile victoriously. "But you owe me so bad after this. I'm only going because I feel bad for you and I don't want my best friend to go alone." She smiles at me and I'm grateful to have such a great friend like Clare.

"We haven't hung out in a while, Clare. Come on, this'll be fun," I say.

"I said I'd go!" she says, smiling a bit.

I turn to the boys. "Then it's set. We're coming. And I promise to cheer you on," I say, smiling at Jake and Luka and Shaw. Clare pledges as well and it's a done deal.

We're going to our first high school football game.

*****

Thursday soon rolls around and I drive over to Clare's house to get ready. This is something we do relatively often before going out—driving to each other's houses and borrowing clothes from their closets. Since neither of us has been to a high school football game, we have no idea what to wear although the boys told us earlier that day to "dress warmly" because the weatherman has forecasted a cold windy day. I ring Clare's doorbell and she opens the door, ushering me inside.

"What are we going to wear? Do you have any idea? I mean, like, what do girls even wear to a football game? Are we supposed to look cute or casual or what?" she asks me as soon as we're in her walk-in closet that I've always been highly jealous of. I stare at the rows and rows of color-coded clothing and shoes that line the sides of her closet.

I shrug. "Um, I was thinking maybe just sweaters and jeans. And maybe scarves. But like the cutesy ones." She grins at me, nodding excitedly.

"Yeah, I can see that!" She runs to one of her walls and reveals a line of sweaters, all different styles and colors and sizes. "Now... what color?"

"We shouldn't be matching because that would be really weird. We should do something artsy though, so we can still Instagram it after." She smiles at me. "Yeah, I have a photography thing... Don't judge," I say, though my mouth transforms into a smile too. I'm hoping to get some good shots of the game to put into a collage I'm making for Luka's birthday.

"I'll do blue. You should do gray. It'll be cute in pics." I nod and walk over to the sweaters and grab a gray one that's fuzzy and sprinkled with silver dots. It's cute and I remember the exact day when Clare bought it—a Black Friday sale two years ago at Forever 21. It was cheap and a good bargain and I insisted that she get it, knowing that I could borrow sometime in the future.

Now is that time and I walk over to the long drawers of perfectly folded jeans that Clare has labelled with little handwritten titles like "jeggings" or "super skinny". I grab a pair of light blue skinny jeans with small "rips" in them. Then I walk over to the tiny cabinet of scarves that Clare has, though there aren't many, seeing as Clare is always complaining that scarves make her neck itch. I grab a white one that doesn't clash with the rest of my outfit.

I put the outfit on quickly and then survey myself in the mirror. Clare stands beside me in a blue sweater, white jeggings, and a dark navy blue scarf. I'm wearing navy blue Converse while Clare has on white Adidas Superstars. The look is pretty aesthetic and I have to admit that I did a good job.

"Makeup!" Clare shouts, excited and getting into the groove. We quickly apply bronzer, concealer, foundation, eye shadow, mascara, eyeliner, lipstick, and eyebrow filler. It's a little much for a football game but we got lost in the moment and let ourselves go crazy. Then Clare takes out a pot of red face paint from a drawer in her vanity and with two quick swipes of her fingers, she has red lines going across her face to get into the school spirit and represent our school's team. I grab the red as soon as she sets it down and paint on a bright scarlet '42'—Luka's jersey number—across my face, with the '4' on one side and the '2' on the other. Clare looks at me with regret, as if she's wishing she had done that as well but there's no time to fix that because removing it will remove the rest of our makeup and the game starts in twenty minutes.

Clare quickly gathers her thick hair into a high ponytail and fastens it with a light blue scrunchie. I like the look but I choose to leave mine down. It makes the whole outfit look better, in my opinion, though Clare wants me to put it up. Finally, her nagging gets to me and I braid it to the side and fasten it with a tiny elastic rubber band.

Finally, we head out, driving to the school. The football field bleachers are already crowded and I groan. The head cheerleader, Heather Springfield, ushers everyone in. She smiles widely when she sees my face.

"Number 42? Hmmm... that's Laurence, right?" At my nod, she continues to talk. "Okay... honorary girlfriend should sit somewhere she can see her boyfriend and he can see her... how about there?" She points to a seat right in the front that is surprisingly empty and I look at Clare.

"Can my friend sit there too?" I ask, hoping we'll get lucky.

"Hmm..." She eyes Clare, clearly undecided. "Does she have a boyfriend on the team?"

I look at Clare, hesitant. She, to my surprise, nods. "Shaw Dennis? Number 81?"

"Oh, Dennis! Of course you can sit up there. I'm so glad to have met not one, but two honorary girlfriends today!" We smile and leave but I'm left feeling weirded out and I turn to Clare.

"In all of the books I've read and the movies I've watched, there's never been something called an 'honorary girlfriend' and there's also never been an usher at a football game." Clare shrugs.

"That just proves my point: our school is so weird." I laugh along with her and we take our seats.

"Do you want anything to eat?" I ask Clare before the game starts.

"No... well, maybe some candy. Everyone around us is eating candy and it's making me die for some!" I look around and I see that she's right: people are biting off licorice, chewing on Sour Patch, sucking on Warheads. This must be what you do at a football game. I stand up and go to the concessions stand and buy a pack of Sour Patch, a couple of Snickers bars, and some chewing gum and I head back. Clare takes the goodies eagerly and starts munching right away. I grab some of the candy before she eats it all and then all of a sudden, the cheerleading team comes out and everyone starts to roar as they flip and cartwheel and roll until finally, they end with a huge pyramid in which Heather is on top, smiling her widest. I clap along with everyone else but I can't wait to see Luka.

Finally, the whole football team comes running out and if I thought that the cheerleading roars were loud, the football roars are stupendously earsplitting. I scream along with everyone else and then I see Luka. He's smiling and he's scanning the bleachers and then his eyes meet mine and he smiles at me...

blows me a kiss...

...and gets hit in the head with a football that comes flying out of nowhere.

My eyes aren't registering what happened for a moment. Then it hits me like a truck. I gasp along with the crowd as I watch my boyfriend recover from what looked like a hard hit to me. I stand up, craning my neck to see the outcome and there he is... he's standing... he's picking up the ball... and he chucks the ball as far as he can to the screaming and cheering of the crowd. He stares up at everyone with a big smile as if he's trying to convey the message that he really is okay and I gasp in relief as he looks at me, winks, and lines up in the formation that I've seen so many times on TV but never thought to pay attention to. I curse myself for not noticing what happens in a football game because I will be spending this next hour or so really confused.

Clare rubs my shoulder and I sit back down, grateful that my boyfriend is all right, he's okay, everything is great. For the first quarter of the game, both sides—the opposing team is some sort of a private school from two counties away—score exactly one touchdown and by the time the first quarter ends, we're at a tie. The football players all run to the coach to get notes on what they did wrong and what to improve on and take a break. Jake, our quarterback, takes a large gulp of water from a cup handed to him by Bethany Russo, a water girl who smiles widely at him. I can't help but grimace. I'm happy to see that Jake ignores her and drowns himself with the water instead. Clare nudges me and I look at her.

"We should be water girls next season! In the spring!" She has her idea face on and I think about it along with her. It would be a great idea.

I nod along with her. "Oh my God we should! We could be so close to the players and... that would be amazing."

Our school's football team has two seasons per year—one in the fall and one in the spring. Like Clare said, our school is weird.

"Let's sign up as soon as possible!" Clare says excitedly. Her eyes are shining and she looks so elated at the idea of helping the football team that I can't help but smile. She looks at me for an affirmative.

I nod. I'm about to respond when the second quarter suddenly starts and I'm riveted to the game all over again. The players line up in the same formation as before and Jake, the quarterback, throws the ball to Luka, the running back, who catches it easily and takes off down the field. From somewhere distant, I can hear the commentator, someone from the school newspaper, talking excitedly about the plays and I get an awful feeling; I know something is going to happen, I just know it. So I crane my neck to see over the stands and I watch as Luka continues to run and the other players from the other team try to catch him. He keeps running and then he passes it to Shaw who runs a couple of yards and throws it back to Luka, who continues to run. And then it happens:

"TOUCHDOWN!" the commentator yells and the crowd stands up as one as everyone starts to scream and cheer and yell. People raise signs in support of our team as we start a chant: "Luka. Laurence! Luka. Laurence!" Over and over and over again, I yell along with the crowd, cheering for my boyfriend and losing my vocal cords in the process. I can't believe it.

And the game is back in play.

It continues on and on and on and for once, I'm not bored by the football. I find myself cheering and groaning and sighing along with the crowd for their respective reasons. Finally, it's the last minute of the last quarter and I'm standing along with everyone else as Shaw Dennis runs with the ball. Jake is running as well, and he soon catches up to where Shaw is at and shouts for the ball. Shaw tosses the ball lightly to Jake and he catches it easily, running for the last touchdown that will win the game. It's at a tie at the moment and whoever gets the next touchdown will move on to the championships.

Jake keeps running and he's almost there and it's amazing and everyone is hushed and waiting and watching and then...

The other team's quarterback tackles him and his head hits the ground. Hard. 

I gasp along with the crowd, who all stand up, blocking my view, and almost instantly, I'm on my feet, searching desperately for Jake...

He's on the grass, and I'm searching, searching, searching until I see him. He's on the floor, dead-still and my heart quickens and my breaths become shallow as the dread consumes me slowly from the inside out.

"Jake!" I try to scream but my voice cracks and suddenly, I'm scared. He isn't moving. Clare stares at me worriedly and I can't help but panic.

The emergency staff runs out onto the field, pausing the game with 41 seconds left, carrying a stretcher and picking Jake up delicately onto the stretcher. They wheel him out into some secluded area, maybe to the locker rooms; I don't think even our school has a complete hospital, weird as it is. He's gone. I suddenly can't stand it anymore and I break out of the crowds and onto the field, ignoring Clare's desperate cries and grabbing hands trying to pull me back. I have to make sure he's okay. He's my best guy friend, as he's dubbed himself, and he has to be okay, despite the sickening crunch I heard along with everyone else.

Suddenly, I feel a pair of arms grab me and I kick and scream, trying to get out of the stranger's grasp. Finally, I hear his voice and I stop struggling.

"Hey, Megan, stop it! It's me!" I start breathing normally again and he whispers slowly, "It's me."

"Luka, what about Jake?" I turn to him, searching his eyes and face desperately for an answer that I know he doesn't have.

He shakes his head slowly. "I don't know. This is football and we always get tackled obviously but that one was a lot harder than the others we suffer through. And he already had an injury before." This is news to me. I can't believe he would do something as stupid as to play football with an injury that he got from playing said game. "I think he may have broken something."

Suddenly, there's this wild anger inside of me and I break away from Luka and stomp towards the other team, searching for the player who had hurt my best friend. Finally, I see his number, 64, and I rage over, ready to punch him in the face, though I'll probably end up hurting myself more than hurting him. But before I can get any farther, Luka stops me again, pulling me from behind.

"Hey..." he breathes into my ear. "You have to stop. He's sorry. He told me he's sorry already." I start to cry and I turn around and hug Luka with all my might.

He comforts me, placing his strong arms around me and stroking my hair and patting my back in a not awkward way, and I gradually stop crying, the tears on my face suddenly drying. I whisper, "I'm sorry about this. For freaking out like this." He shakes his head.

"I'll always be here for you, Megan."

"When can I see him?" I sniffle.

He looks at me. "I don't know. Not now, I don't think." It makes sense but I can't help but feel angry that I can't go in to see him.

I sigh and take a quaky breath. "I need to see him as soon as possible."

Luka looks uncertain. "I mean, I can go in and check and see if he's all right..." I instinctively grab onto his arm. I care about Jake, I do. But somehow I don't want Luka to leave, not right now.

"Does this mean the game's over?" I ask.

"For now. Though it'll probably start back up again soon." He looks at the coach and then back at me. "I have to go. I promise I'll keep you updated."

I realize suddenly that I'm the only non-football player on the field and I walk back to the stands, ignoring Clare's frantic glance at me.

"THE GAME IS BACK ON!" the referee and the commentator yell as one and the crowd cheers, though I can sense a whisper of gloom lurking behind our screams.

How can someone be happy that a football game is back on when my friend is hurt? He could be in pain and I'm not there. I'm not there.

*****

It's been a week since the football game. Our school lost miserably after Jake's accident and all thoughts of the game itself have been forgotten. I only remember the final score when someone reminds me, which is quite often, seeing as how everyone is walking around in a dejected way.

Jake's leg muscle was torn and his arm broken. He also is suffering from a severe concussion. He had landed hard on the grass and the player who had tackled him—CURSE HIM—was about a hundred and fifty pounds heavier than Jake, so it was quite a fall. Apparently, injuries like this are common in the football—and the rest of the sports—world and I don't understand why anyone would willingly play such a thing.

Jake was checked in to the hospital that day and he's still not out. The concussion was "major", according to the doctors and they need to monitor him.

Today is the day that I can finally go to visit.

The last bell rings and I rush outside, desperate for my car to get to the hospital, sickening as it sounds. I drive as quickly as I can without surpassing the speed limit and reach the hospital with minutes to spare. I told Jake over the phone that I would meet him at a certain time and I'm three minutes early. I walk into the hospital, trying not to breathe in the horrible scent of sickness masked by cleaner and air freshener as I walk to the front desk.

"Hello, Miss. Who are you here to see? Or are you checking in?" the lady at the front desk asks. She's wearing spectacles and is playing solitaire on the computer, though I only know that because I can see the reflection in the glass of her eyeglasses. She doesn't look up at me as she speaks.

"I'm here to see Jake Lloyd?" I ask, almost as if I'm unsure of my should-have-been statement.

"Ah, yes. He's had quite a lot of visitors lately. Though no girls. Are you his... one?" she asks, squinting at me through her glasses, taking the time to stare up at me and analyze my face. I take a step back and blush. It's strange that she would assume this.

"No, not at all. We're just friends. I'm dating his best friend, actually." I laugh a nervous thing, and it's almost as if it escaped without my meaning to.

"Ah. Stuck in the friend zone, are we?" She looks at me with a knowing glance that makes me feel uncomfortable.

"No! It's not like that at all! Actually, he's the one stuck in the friend zone. Though we're fine now." I don't know why I'm telling an absolute stranger about my love life and my relationship with Jake Lloyd.

"You can go in. It's Room 481. Down that hallway to the right. Oh, and before you go, I see how it is." She winks at me and I walk away feeling unnerved. She's confusing but I'm sure she means no harm.

I walk to the room marked with a 481 and I knock softly. I hear a tiny masculine voice say, "Come on in."

I walk inside the room, making sure to shut the door behind me, though it's really to have something to do. I'm not sure if I can face him.

Finally, I turn around and Jake's face spreads into a wide grin. His arm is in a cast, as well as his leg, and he has several little orange bottles of painkillers by his bedside.

"Megan!" he says in his normal voice, though it is quieter than usual.

"Jake," I say, walking forward. He pats the bed as if it's an invitation and I sit.

"It's so good to see you. I'm so sick of annoying football players and random kids from school that I barely know but who claim that I'm their hero coming in to visit me, bringing with them fake flowers, trashy novels, and faux smiles." He grins at me and I hold my hands up.

"No flowers or books," I say, though now I'm regretting not bringing him anything. I was in so much of a rush that I completely forgot to go out and buy some get-well gift.

"No smile either, I see," he responds, frowning a little at my dour expression. "Why so sad?"

I can't believe him. "Are you kidding me right now? You got hurt and I was so scared and I thought that something really bad had happened and I missed you so much and texting and phone calls aren't enough, are never going to be enough—"

"Meg." I look up at him because I'm drawn to his voice. The way he said my name... it was low and soft and different.

"Jake?" I ask cautiously. I inch forward.

"I promise I'm okay," he says quietly. I shake my head, tears brimming in my eyes already.

"But you're not. You're hurt. How come you didn't tell me you were hurt before?" I ask.

His eyebrows furrow. "What?" Then the confusion clears. "Luka." It's one word but in that single syllable it's laced with contempt and even a little malice.

"Yeah." Is he mad at him? I'm completely confused. "Is something wrong? Did Luka do something?" I ask.

"Megan. No. You really don't know?"

I shake my head. Am I supposed to know?

"You know. He took you from me." I shake my head again. 

"What? Jake—"

"Megan. I still love you." The words interrupt whatever I was about to say. I stop moving towards him abruptly. I can't breathe right now. It's like the air has been sucked out of my lungs with a vacuum and I can't get any more air back. I struggle for breath and say the one word that comes to mind.

"Wh... what?" I ask quietly, not trusting my voice to talk, not now. How can he say something like this? Right now?

"I still love you, Megan." His voice cracks but I hear the words loud and clear. I cannot believe this is happening.

"Jake, please, I—" He can't do this now. He's hurt. To reject him will hurt him more.

"And you still love me too." I shake my head, again and again, trying to block his words from entering my brain.

My world is shattering. "Jake, no—I'm sorry but—"

He stops me. "Megan. Just stop. Stop lying to me and stop lying to yourself." His voice is almost angry and is laced with impatience and irritation.

"I'm not lying to anyone, I'm just—"

"Megan. Look me in the eyes and tell me you still don't love me. Just a little." He grabs my face and pulls me towards him with his good arm.

I can't stop shaking my head. I close my eyes, fingering a loose string from the bed sheet to have something, anything to do. 

"Look me in the eyes and say the words and I promise I'll never speak of this again." He pauses. "Please."

It's the please that gets me. It's so pitiful and longing I can't help but open my eyes and stare at him, deep into his blue eyes, eyes I've loved for so long.

"Tell me you don't love me," he whispers.

I stare at him and I steel my nerves and then I take a deep breath, ready to say the words, the words that will make his world shatter just as much as mine...

I stare at him, his eyes penetrating into me and I can see the casts and I can picture the scene of his injury and I can't breathe and I can't say it, I can't, I can't, I can't...

And then he grabs my face with his good arm and he leans in slowly and kisses me.

It's a light brush of the lips and instinctively I close my eyes, wanting this moment to last, and suddenly it becomes something more... a deep, powerful thing that I can't help but admit that I love...

And maybe if I hadn't closed my eyes, maybe if the kiss hadn't deepened, maybe if I had told him the words I should have, maybe if I hadn't come here in the first place...

Maybe I would have heard the door open, and heard the footsteps, and heard the harsh breathing behind me.

Jake pulls away, his eyes widening and then shutting closed like it's a nightmare and I slowly turn around to face...

Luka.

A cold, hard, pained Luka.

What did I just do?

I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

And then Jake starts to talk.

"Luka, it was all me, she had nothing to do with it, it was all my fault, please, don't be mad—"

"Shut. Up." Luka turns to me, his eyes cold and hard as he stares at me with a look he's never given me before, a look of horror, of hatred, of sadness and hurt and pain. I didn't mean it.

"I'm sorry..." There's nothing else I can say because it was my fault. Even if I hadn't initiated the kiss, I had still gone on with it, even liked it, as hard as that is to admit.

"Megan, please don't." His voice is pleading and tinged with anger and sadness all at once.

"I'm sorry," I say again. I run out of the room and I run and run and run down the hallway and I pass the lady at the front desk who gives me this knowing look, and I can't help but sob.

"Megan! Megan, wait, please!" Luka calls, his footsteps pounding the white linoleum floor, and I turn around, despite my better instincts. Tears are running down my face, streaking it with wet trails of sadness.

He catches up with me.

"I'm sorry for what I said back there." I shake my head. No, just stop, please. Don't be the amazing guy you are. Don't make me feel worse. I'm selfish and horrible. "But, Megan... how could you?" His voice has no trace of anger, no trace of anything but utter bewilderment and hurt like he honestly can't believe it.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what happened," I say, blinking quickly to try to stop the tears that won't stop running down my face as if my cheekbones are a track and my tears are racing.

"I don't know what to say," he says, avoiding my eyes. Tears stream down his face as everything suddenly hits him. 

"Then don't say anything." I can't listen to him speak anymore. I've hurt the boy I love. 

"Is this it? Are we over?" he asks me.

I don't know what to say. So I do the one thing I shouldn't:

I run.