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Friday evening, I head over to Ryan's house half an hour earlier than planned. I tried to get most of my calculus problems and English paper done, but after several stressful hours I needed to clear my head. Ryan's room on the second floor has the lights on and the curtains are drawn. There are two silhouettes visible, almost one on top of the other.

Ryan's mother opens the door before I can ring the doorbell and immediately grabs my wrist to pull me inside. She flutters her hand like dragonfly wings, as if trying to calm herself down or maybe hype me up. Then she points me upstairs, her smile and gestures animated bigger than life.

Maybe she's in on this whole situation too. She practically qualifies as the fourth member of our friend group.

I nod and then swallow the buildup of dry saliva in the back of my throat. I climb the first stair and hear Olivia's giggle sound down the steps. Ryan, Olivia, and I have been a trio since middle school. But for the past few weeks, it seems like the two of them have detached and formed their own pea pod. Our conversations at lunch have been off and quiet; not the usual three-way banter. They ditch me to go I-don't-where before the bell rings and in the few classes we have together I spend more time watching them whisper instead of actually talking to them.

My footsteps are light as I ascend the staircase. Immediately I feel guilty and betrayed. I am trying to catch them off guard. What has been going on between them and why couldn't they tell me?

At the top of the stairs, light pries out of the open sliver of Ryan's door. I can make out two pairs of feet on the floor around a chair. When I step through the doorway, Olivia and Ryan whip to look at me. Their eyes are ping pong balls. Ryan sits in the chair with red lipstick smudged around his mouth while Olivia is on the dresser in front of him.

My heart sinks. Them being together isn't what upsets me, it's that they didn't feel like I deserved to know.

"Maddie, you're early!" Olivia says, leaping off the dresser.

Ryan is silent.

For a fraction of a second, I think of running down the stairs and outside. I must be interrupting something and I feel unwanted. But how could they not tell me anything? Suddenly, the roots of a rift are sprouting in my mind. Me, alone, on one side, and Ryan and Olivia on the other. If I don't confront them now and let everything just build up, the rift will widen into an uncrossable black hole.

"What's going on between you two?" I demand.

Olivia chews on her bottom lip and Ryan stares at the floor. He lets out a gasp and brings his hand up to wipe the red-stained corner of his mouth, as if just remembering it is there.

"No," Olivia catches his hand and says to him. The two of them share a long look.

Ryan leaves the evidence on his lips. He pulls his hand back and uses it to brush his bangs out of his eyes. "Maddie, the truth is... I think I'm into guys."

What?!

I hadn't meant to say that outloud.

"I like dick," he elaborates.

"No, I heard you but what?" My brain is malfunctioning. This is not what I was expecting. "You mean you two aren't-" I extend my arms out and lock my fingers together.

They shake their heads solemnly.

"Ryan, your my best friend and I love you. I don't care that you're gay. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Well, I think I'm Bi. I wanted to but you're always so preoccupied with sports and speeches and planning tbat trip to Mexico. I figured you didn't need the extra stress of my sexuality crisis."

Olivia flops down on Ryan's bed, a box of double-stuffed Oreos in her thin arms. Cookies are the best calm-downers and so I join her. I've been hit with a stinging ray of shock. Normally, there are signs for this. Ryan is tall, deep-voiced, wears baseball hats, and likes basketball. I'd never have guessed.

"I'm obsessed with makeup now. I always wanted to play dress up when I was younger. My dad always bought me power rangers and toy monster trucks. I mean, they weren't not fun. I just think I missed out, " Ryan proclaims. He sits in front of his mirror with litters of Olivia's eyeshadows and foundations on his dresser. He takes out a wipe and murmurs, "I don't think this one is my color."

"Keep it, you look hot," I tell him.

I watch Ryan as he model walks the length of his room. For the next two hours we are world-class makeup artists who also happen to simultaneously be Gucci models.

"Tyra Banks better pay me to be on ANTM," Olivia says and we all laugh.

There's a moment when we all flop on Ryan's bed and watch the light shimmer off the silver glass beads on his ceiling fan. Ryan speaks.

"I liked Kacie on the swim team last year. She has these huge fucking curls I don't know how she fits that in her swim cap. I felt like it was magic every time I watched her put her cap on, it turned me on. But then fa-"

My phone alarm trills and the time pops on screen. I jump up. I was having a good time and didn't notice that the sun had completely dipped behind the curve of the Earth.

"Shoot, I gotta go. Guys, I'm really sorry I have to finish up the English analysis packet and we have the first playoffs tomorrow for..." My voice trails off. I feel like I'm sputtering excuses. I should be here with my friends not stuck worrying about schoolwork. But I've done so much, I just need to get a little more done.

"Girl you are hustling for your future," Olivia encourages me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

Ryan sits up with a small smile. "Don't worry, we'll catch up later. For now, let's get you home."

。。。。。

Our first match was an easy win. We conquered the first two sets under our feet and moved up the bracket. Our opponent now is New Mount High, a public school from the inner city, yet they are Division I nonetheless.

I can hear Ryan and Olivia roaring my name in the stands. A pink and green poster with my name in bubble letters makes me smile. Mom and Eamon couldn't take time off work today, so I know they won't be coming. My eyes travel over the crowd, searching for a familiar mop of black hair. Disappointment sinks my stomach as I can't find him. I never directly asked him to come so it's not fair to get mad. His handsome face lingers in my thoughts and my heartbeat quickens in a pace faster than game anxiety. The thump of blood rushes in forbidden lanes and restricted canals of my veins.

I shake my head, my ponytail wagging behind me like a dog's tail.

Focus. Focus. I can't let a boy distract me.

We take the first set against the New Mount girls 25-16. Now, the score is 20-19. Their team is tightening, their movements fast and aggressive, but sloppy. The pressure is mountainous. If we take this set, New Mount's season is over while we move on to States.

The whistle blows; Coach is calling her last time out. However, she doesn't move from the sidelines. Her eyes resemble coals in a leaping flame and they are arrowed straight into us. This is her technique to make our team strong: the players drive themselves.

We huddle tight on the court. The smell of sweat symbolizes our effort, our tolerance to it is our bond. Facing the net, all rivalries are forgotten and our connection is magnetized.

"They're falling apart, we just have to stay consistent," I say.

"Maddie's right," Georgia agrees with me and I'm a little shocked. Usually, she suggests an opposing game plan. "They want to win this set as badly as we do. And their number ten is trouble with her spikes. She's going crazy but her accuracy's going up so we need to strengthen the defense in the back."

The girls nod with large, absorbing pupils. The whistle blows again and we cheer before getting back to the court.

We serve the ball and it sails over the net into the back corner, untouched. I fear it's on the line or past it. The referee raises his arms. In. The coach on the other team shouts and the girls deepen their squatted postures. We serve again, the ball volleys back over the net before flying high into enemy court.

"Get back!"

Too late. Their number ten glides to the white mesh that divides us and slams the ball into our side.

21-20.

New Mount's number ten scores two more points, putting them in the lead. At this rate they might take the second set and push for the third. We can't let that happen.

I wipe away the sheen of sweat that drips from my forehead and behind my glasses. My gaze is fixed on ten. I know they will set the ball to her. The ball springs in her direction and I dash back. The leather ball digs into my forearms, stinging hot and red, but I have control and send the ball sailing up on our half court. In position, Georgia jumps and the ball thunders down. A perfect spike.

But the referee blows his whistle and shakes his head. It was outside the line.

I see Georgia roll her head back with a sigh.

"Great spike!" I tell her. She looks at me sympathetically, but her eyes are glazed with fear. Any shot of her getting a scholarship rides on every play she makes in her high school career.

The score is 22-23. If New Mount scores two more, they take the set. With that momentum, they would have a chance of winning the third as well. I exhale sharply. There is no space for losing within a single cell of my being.

My eyes track the ball's movements with ultra-hunter vision. On our team, Beth scores from the front. I guard the back like a hell-dog and all but one of New Mount's spikes touch the gym floor. Out. Our point.

It's game point. If we make the next score, victory is ours.

Lina is up to serve. She doesn't do well under high-pressure and I internally pray for her jitters to help her. They say anxiety makes you better. I hope in this moment, it's true for her.

Lina overhands the ball over the net. The serve is long and seems it might step out the line. My breath catches. A girl on the other team bumps it. The serve is in play. Back and forth the ball scurries over the net. No one is willing to give up.

I dig up a spike from number ten, my hand flat against the hardwood floor. The ball launches to the other side before hurdling back at us. Lina saves it, sending it high and golden into the air. This could be it, I think as the lights shimmer off the ball. I can make this.

Then I spot Georgia at the net. Her eyes are chained to mine and I can practically hear her thoughts.

She's wide and open as a deserted island in the middle of nowhere. Perfect placement for a grand slam.

I give up my spotlight and set the ball to her in a rainbow-like arc. At the highest point she strikes the ball and it jets down into enemy territory. One opposing girl is quick enough to touch it, but the ball is too powerful. It crunches into her arms before bouncing off out of bounds.

2-0. The match is ours.

。。。。。

Our team celebrates with high fives and laughter in the locker rooms. The air smells sweet and sour with victory sweat.

"Good game today, Maddie," Georgia says with one arm sticking out her shirt.

"Thanks, you too." I grab my bag and hurry out the room. She stops me on my way out, and I anticipate what she has to say.

"And, uh, thanks. For getting me Cole's number. We talk every day." She smiles, blushing.

Cole had texted me the same thing earlier. I guess they are good for each other.

"You two deserve each other." I mean it. "I'll see you at school later."

I exit the lockers in attempt to catch Olivia and Ryan. Instead, I turn the corner and run into a warm, solid chest. I know this scent. Hesitantly, I look up. And here he is, my date.

"You should've told me you were a volleyball goddess, shortstop." Jason says. He wraps his arms around my waist and hugs me, despite the fact that my body odor must be at high tide. Self-conscious, I push him away.

"I have to take a shower first."

"Why, are you going somewhere?" He raises an eyebrow in feigned ignorance. The nerve of this boy irritates me.

"Yes." I cross my arms over my chest.

"Where to?"

"A date."

"With who?"

"With you, dummy."

He smiles down at me, a boyish light in his dark eyes. "Wanna take a shower together then?"

My ears tingle red. I'm picturing him in his window again. The underwear incident. What he'd look like completely naked and up close.

A trickle of people enter the hall and I take this as a grateful attempt to shift the conversation.

"Stop talking. No English speak. Remember?"

He opens his mouth to say something, but then immediately shuts it. I grab his hand, leading him out the building into the back parking lot. The sun is bright and warm in the sky. Car engines sound in the distance and a nearby pizza shop peppers fresh tomatoes into the air.

"I'll drive you home," he says as we are alone. His hand dips into one pocket and he lifts the keys. A seductive car painted in a rare midnight blue beeps in response.

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THREE chapters this week? Let's gooo! I am so pumped to be continuing this story. I hope you are as entertained reading this as I am by writing it.

Also some of you may noticed, but I have changed the cover and name of this book to Strawberry Lips. I think it suits it better. Like always, please vote and share this book to anyone you think might enjoy it!