Hefty

“Everyone is still talking about who is going to ask who to the homecoming dance,” I say to him, despite my self-directed command not to word vomit in front of Zach. “Heavy speculation on the wrestling team going in one big bro herd. Their girlfriends are not pleased. They might even ask other guys, so extra chaperones have been hired in case homecoming turns into like, one big, jealousy-fueled wrestle match for honor? Have you…what about you? Are you going? Have you asked anyone?” I suck down oxygen at the end of all that because I have once again forgotten to breathe.

It’s the Zach Effect.

How come the other girls seem immune?

Don’t they have eyes?

“I’m skipping it,” Zach says, still watching me closely. Probably because I’m pale from lack of oxygen. “Have you been asked yet?”

I laugh and playfully bat his perfect, perfect arm. “Your question implies that I will definitely be asked.”

“Yeah, I know. You will.”

“Will I?”

His dark brows draw together slightly. And Zach is so stoic, that shift of his features is the equivalent of him looking at me like I’m insane.

“I mean…” I adjust my backpack and he automatically takes it from me, throwing it over his giant shoulder. “Thank you. Um. There might be a-a few people who could potentially ask, but I don’t know. Maybe I’ll skip it, too.”

Those brows draw a fraction of a centimeter closer together. “You’re the head cheerleader. Of course you’re going to the homecoming dance.”

Ask me. Ask me, please.

I’ll never wish for anything ever again.

I shrug, casually. As if my whole world isn’t hanging in the balance. “It’s not like the squad is performing at the dance. It’s not mandatory.”

“You know what I mean. You’re…”

Silly.

Frivolous.

Girly.

The kind of chick who has been planning her ensemble since middle school.

Ugh. I totally am all of those things, aren’t I?

Zach would probably rather gnaw his legs off than have to listen to me all night. He’s not just the best defensive lineman in the county, he’s also super smart. Studious. I’m a B student with good hair who luckily happens to have a flawless toe touch. Zach has never had a girlfriend, but if he did, I bet they would go to an art exhibit on the night of homecoming and never give all the pomp and circumstance a second thought. Zach is meant for amazing things. Things way beyond high school glory.

Maybe he recognizes that I’m not?

I have to work really hard for those Bs. Especially in math.

I’m only the head cheerleader for one more year…and then what?

Whatever Zach was going to say is interrupted when Harper slides her arm through mine. “Ready to go, Z-man?”

He stares at me for another couple seconds, then grunts.

Turns and stalks toward the parking lot.

Harper snickers at her brother’s back and hauls me along, though my legs feel like they’re stuck in mud. If Zach was ever going to ask me, I just gave him a huge opening and he didn’t walk through it. Time to face facts. I’m not going to homecoming with Zach O’Meara. And that means…I’m not going to homecoming at all. Maybe it’s dramatic, but I don’t want to sacrifice my dream or substitute it in my head for something else. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere to wear my strapless emerald green gown. Like a ball. Or a costume party.

Harper hips bumps me. “Chin up, Harding.”

“It’s up,” I say, forcing a smile.

We pile into the front cab of Zach’s truck, Harper in the middle, me crammed up against the passenger door. On the ride home, I pretend to stare out the window at the farmland spread out for miles, but I’m busy inhaling his scent of oatmeal soap and fresh grass.

As has been our routine since Zach got his driver’s license and used five years of paper route money to buy this truck, I’m dropped off outside of my house first.

“See you tomorrow, Harps,” I say, as cheerfully as possible, though for some reason Zach is frowning at me from the driver’s seat. “Night, Zach.”

He makes a sound in his throat.

“I’ll text you,” Harper sings, scrolling through her phone.

I wait for Zach to give me his speech. The same one he gives me every time he drops me off. The one that makes me feel safe and cared for, even if he’s just being polite.

“Lock the door,” he says. “Stay inside until your parents get home.”

My heart lifts. “’kay.”

I close the passenger door and jog up the driveway, kneeling down on the porch to take the key from my backpack, before letting myself in. When I have a foot over the threshold, the truck still doesn’t pull away. He always waits until I’m inside with the door closed.

Just being polite.

2

Zach

I could pick her voice out of a million others.

It’s with me now on the field as she cheers from the sideline.