No. From now on I was steering clear of Jake Graydon, in thoughts and deeds. Besides, if I so much as flirted with him, my friends would probably think I was trying to use him to get to them, and I wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction. No way, no how.

No matter how long my residual blush lasted.

ally

The first Backslappers meeting was held in the bleachers alongside the soccer field, where David, Jake, Hammond, and the rest of the team were huddled around the coach on the sidelines. This was my first time up at the field since I’d been back, and I suddenly flashed on a memory of a gorgeous fall day back in freshman year when Chloe, Shannen, Faith, and I had spent an hour jogging around the track after school, pretending we were exercising, when really we were checking out the hot junior and senior boys on the soccer team. Every time we caught one of them looking we’d up our speed and ridiculously overexaggerate our conversation to show them just how oblivious to them we were. In hindsight I’m sure they were all laughing at us. Faith had been totally in love with this junior named Mike Mancinelli at the time, so when practice was finished, I’d gone over and talked to him for her. I’d always found it easier to talk to guys when I was doing it for my friends rather than for myself. Mike had been kind of a jerk, giving me some line about how he’d take Faith out if I came along, so I’d told him off, much to the amusement of his friends, and then we’d all taken Faith to Scoops to drown her sorrows in peanut butter fudge ice cream.

The memory made me feel sad, so I trudged over to a bench near the back of the growing crowd and hunkered down. Chloe, Shannen, and Faith were already seated in the front row, chatting happily. Had they all forgotten about the stuff we used to do together—all the fun we used to have? Why did it mean so much to me and nothing to them?

It was a gray day and breezy, so I’d worn my Hancock East basketball sweatshirt from my school in Baltimore, which drew confused and irritated looks from every girl who settled in around me. Note to self: When joining a school-spirit club, it’s best not to baffle the natives with the name and colors of another school.

“All right, everyone! Let’s get this meeting started!”

The girl calling us to order was Trista Strickler, Crestie senior and major joiner. Even back when I was a freshman and she was a sophomore, she’d been either a member or president of at least half a dozen clubs. She had red curly hair held back by a Burberry headband, and a smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Her sweatshirt was the proper colors: maroon with her name embroidered in gold on the left breast. On the back was the Orchard Hill High tiger in midpounce.

“I have the sign-up sheet right here,” Trista said, holding up her clipboard. “The first thing we need to do is assign a player to each of you. Anyone have any special requests?”

Instantly two-dozen hands shot into the air. Trista laughed. “Okay, let’s start at the top left. Name?”

“Melissa Waner,” the brace-faced girl said. Her friends giggled.

“Melissa Waner, sophomore.” Trista checked her off. “Who do you like?”

“Jake Graydon,” Melissa said. More giggles. Much louder this time.

“No way. Jake’s mine,” Shannen said.

“But I wanted Jake!” Faith added with a pout. “There’s no way I’m getting stuck with someone with back hair. Oh God! Or backne!”

“Please. Jake’s my best friend. I call him,” Shannen said.

Was that true? Were Jake and Shannen best friends? Was she just BFF with whoever lived in that room? The thought made me smirk past a sudden slice of envy. But was I jealous of Jake because he got to hang with Shannen, or Shannen because she got to hang with Jake? I decided I didn’t want to think about it.

“He’s my friend too.” Faith’s bottom lip jutted out even farther.

“Wait a minute. I called him first,” Melissa Waner said bravely. “Jake’s mine.”

I rolled my eyes and leaned back on my elbows, waiting for the shrieking and hair pulling to start.

“All right, all right!” Trista shouted, holding up her hands. “I had a feeling something like this might happen, so I’ve come prepared.” She fished a plastic baggie with a bunch of pink paper scraps inside out of her backpack. “I’ve written each player’s name down on one piece of paper.”

“We’re going to draw names from a hat?” Chloe asked.

“Actually, we’re going to draw names from a bag,” Trista corrected. “Seniors first, then juniors, and so on. Everyone, please come down here and line up in class order.”

They all jumped up like someone had just offered free manicures. I trudged down the bleachers after them and slid into line behind Chloe, who inched forward as if my B.O. were offending her. I felt an almost physical need to talk to her—to pull her aside and explain—but now was not the time.

The three seniors picked their names, and it was now Faith’s turn. She chose Jeff Levitt, who was apparently backne free, because she gave an overly dramatic sigh of relief as she read his name.

Shannen was up. She unfolded her paper. “Hammond Ross!” She turned around and handed the slip to Chloe, who took it happily and slipped from line.

“Wait! No trading!” Trista said.

“But Trista! It’s Hammond,” Chloe said, her green eyes wide.

Trista’s brow knitted as she mentally debated whether to stick to her all-important rules or give Chloe what she wanted. “Okay, fine. Shannen can pick again.”

Chloe, as always, won. And no one even batted an eyelash. Shannen reached into the bag again, unfolded her paper, and sighed.

“Josh Schwartz.”

“Oooh. The captain. Big responsibility,” Trista trilled.

Shannen forced a smile but was clearly not happy. So much for David’s fantasy of having Shannen’s slaps all over his back.

“And you are?” Trista asked as I stepped forward.

“Nobody,” Faith said before I could answer, earning herself a few laughs. Shannen smirked. Chloe smoothed the front of her OHH polo shirt and looked away.

“Ally Ryan,” I answered.

Trista checked off my name. “Go ahead and pick.”

I reached into the bag, repeating “David Drake” over and over and over again in my mind. The team roster had been posted that morning and David had celebrated like a maniac when he found his name under VARSITY STARTERS. If he couldn’t have Shannen, I had to believe I was the next best option. I unfolded my scrap of paper and my vision actually blurred.

“Who is it?” Trista asked, her pen poised.

I swallowed hard. “Jake Graydon.”

Of course.

There were disappointed groans throughout the crowd. A couple of girls actually bailed from the line. Chloe, Shannen, and Faith looked as if they were about to shove me over the railing and onto the track. I took a seat a few rows behind them, slumped down, and looked out at the field, where the guys were lining up for a penalty-kick drill. Jake’s perfect calf muscles flexed as he moved his weight from foot to foot. I wondered what he would think about having me as his backslapper.

“Okay, ladies! Everyone has their man,” Trista said happily, once the line had dwindled. “Our first big event will be next Friday, the day of the opening game. You’ll be decorating your player’s locker and baking him a little something to leave inside. Feel free to leave him an inspirational note as well, or a poem or whatever moves you. Be creative. I know last year one of our girls left a mix of heart-pumping songs to listen to pregame, and the player really loved that.”

“That was me,” Chloe said, raising a hand to shoulder level and preening. A bunch of the girls looked at each other knowingly, like, Who else could it have been?

“We’ll meet here briefly on Thursday, when I’ll hand out locker numbers and combinations, and then we’ll have the run of the halls until six o’clock, so you’ll have plenty of time to decorate,” Trista continued. “It’s your first chance to really show your player what kind of backslapper you’re going to be, so do it up!”