I look for her bike when I pull in, but of course, it’s not there. Like I really expected her to be riding around this late on a Friday night?

Crazy, wishful thinking. There’s no way I could be so lucky as to catch two breaks tonight.

I go inside to get a slushie, and as I turn the corner, there she is, Bugles and a soda in hand, waiting in line to pay at the register.

I freeze.

What do I do?

What do I say?

Lauren raises the bag, as if to say, no surprise, right?

Stasia comes up behind her, holding a tray of nachos. This is so awkward. I’m about to turn toward the slushie machine, where I can hide for a second and collect my thoughts, when I see Lauren hand Stasia her stuff and whisper something to her.

Then Lauren walks toward me.

“I can’t believe I actually found you here,” I say.

She looks surprised. “You were looking for me?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah. I was. I, uh, I saw you at the game. When Coach pulled me out.”

She nods. “You made a touchdown. After that, I mean.”

“I did.” I motion toward the door. “Could we talk outside for a minute?”

“Sure.”

I go to the door and hold it open while she steps out. I follow her down to the far corner of the store, where it’s kind of private. And dark.

She has her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you cold?” I ask. “We can sit in my truck, if you want.”

She smiles. “No. I’m okay.”

I stick my hands in my pockets, in case they start shaking. “Look, I owe you an apology. I’ve had a lot going on, and, uh, I think I probably gave you the wrong impression.”

“Oh,” she says, her smile gone. “Well, you don’t have to apologize. I mean, it was just one day and it was probably wrong to think —”

“Wait,” I say. “No, that’s not it. I meant, I think I’ve given you the wrong impression recently. Like, made you think I don’t want anything to do with you, but it’s not that at all. It’s just, this whole thing with Benny . . .”

I think I see relief on her face. I hope I see relief on her face. “Oh, right. No, I get it. I mean, it’s gotta be hard.”

“Yeah. It is. I wish you could have met him. He’s a great guy.”

“Well, hopefully, someday I can. He can recover from this, can’t he?”

“Absolutely. It could take a while, but yeah.”

“That’s good.”

“Anyway, I’m sorry. If it seemed like I was ignoring you or whatever.”

Before she can respond, the door opens, and we both turn. Stasia looks around, and when she spots us, she calls out, “I’ll be in the car.”

Oh God. I can’t make the same mistake twice. It’s now or never. “Before you go,” I say, the words tumbling out like a

ball off a bad kick, “would you want to go out with me? Maybe tomorrow night? Or, you know, whenever you’re free, I guess.”

Lauren shakes her head, like she doesn’t understand. “Wait. So what about that cheerleader?”

“What about her?”

“I saw her, waiting for you at school. You’re not . . . together?”

“Oh, no. No way.”

She gives me a little grin. “Well, that’s a relief.”

I nudge her with my elbow. “You weren’t jealous, were you?”

I think she’s trying to play it cool. “What? No. I just didn’t know what was going on, that’s all.”

“Okay, good. Because I promise, there’s nothing to worry about. So, are you free tomorrow night?”

“Yeah. I work tomorrow afternoon, until six. Can you pick me up at seven?”

“Where are you working?”

“King’s Doughnuts.”

“Oh, man, I love their doughnuts. That is a sweet job, Lauren.”

She chuckles at my bad pun. “Real funny.” She points toward Stasia’s car. “I should probably get going. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Yeah. Seven o’clock. Don’t eat dinner, okay? I want to take you to my favorite restaurant.”

She points at the store. “If you bring me here for corn dogs, I’m going to be totally insulted.”

I laugh and raise my right hand. “No corn dogs. I swear.”

“Okay, then. See ya later.”

I watch as she hurries off to Stasia’s car. Then I lean against the building and exhale. I’m finally on a winning streak.

Dad’s still up when I get home, watching TV and drinking a beer.

“Hey, Dad,” I say. “Everything all right?”

He narrows his eyes as he looks up at me. “If you think playing a pathetic, sloppy football game is acceptable, sure. Everything’s fine.”

I set my bag down and take a seat in the recliner, where Grandpa usually sits.

“Yeah, I had a rough start. Just couldn’t stop thinking about —”

“Colby, three quarters is not a start. There are no excuses for how you played. None.”

I look down at my lap. There’s nothing to do now but sit here and take it.

“I think if I were your coach, I’d ask you to hang up your jersey and let some other kid take your spot. Hell, a sixth grader could’ve played better than you did tonight.”

Shame fills me. “I told Coach I was sorry.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he didn’t want my apology. That what he wants is my dedication and commitment.”

“Of course he does. The question is whether you want to give that to him.”

I rub my face in my hands. “At least I made the play that mattered the most. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Yes. But come on, every play matters when you’re out there this year. Every. Single. Play. What if scouts were watching tonight? Do you think any of them are going to want to have anything to do with you now?”