The air down by the creek was cool. I had goose bumps along my arm. My baby blue top was low, my breasts swelled, my breathing sped up. I pulled my jean jacket closed.

I didn't know what he expected. Our experience levels, they couldn't be the same. No way was he a virgin like me. Not with the way he and Kelsey Cooper hung all over each other in the hall our junior year.

Icleared my throat, grabbed a rock from the bridge surface. I used to skip rocks with my sister and father when I was a little girl. I was good at it, better than them, and they were the ones who taught me.

"How are you?" He picked up a rock, tried to mimic my throw. It was off. I was better at something than he was. Something other than English, poetry, and French.

"I'm okay." I wasn't okay. Homecoming was fast approaching. I was in love with the boy next to me, and he had made it clear to his friends he didn't even like me. Now I was alone with him and feeling warm, despite the weather. I had taken my first shot and found myself somewhere I never expected. "What do you need to talk to me about?"

He cleared his throat, gave up the rock skipping. His hands went to his pockets, and he rocked on his heels. "I'm sure you've heard some of my friends talking about homecoming. I know they have been going on about it in the halls, and we go to a small school, so, yeah." His voice was hurried, nervous. It was refreshing. To see him mirror me and my past behavior.

I skipped one more rock, then dusted my hands on my thighs.

“You mean you want to know if I've heard how they want you to slap my ass if I win?" It was juvenile, even for his crew. I was no longer bothered by it. Not that part. I looked at Bryan and he nodded, remaining silent. "And how exactly would you be my daddy?" I turned to him fully, half rolled my eyes. "That doesn't even make sense. I'm not surprised the idea came from Rodney. He's a prick, and he can't spell for shit." I hated Rodney. More now than ever.

"He's an idiot. And unoriginal.” Bryan smiled, his shoulders, once tense going slack.

"He bores me. So don't worry about it."

"But I have been."

"Why? Why are we here?" I wanted the point. I wanted something from him. I wanted to reach out, take his hand, press it to my lips. I was nothing but wanting and whining and wounds.

"I wanted you to know I absolutely won't do that if you win."

I laughed, walked to the edge of the bridge. I lowered myself down and swung my legs over the side. The water was down, so my feet would stay dry. I heard Bryan follow. "You and I both know I won't win. It would upset the delicate balance of the high school hierarchy." My tone was mocking, thick to hide my fears and insecurities.

"But isn't that exactly what you've done already? You and your friends?" He sounded impressed. I was sure his friends did not feel the same. Their dirty looks were proof enough. Someone had slipped little pieces of paper in all of our lockers. One word was written on them. Fakes.

"I guess we have. Does that bother you?" I wanted to know exactly how he felt. I could give two shits about his tired ass crew.

"No. It bothers my friends, though," he replied, confirming my suspicions.

"Are you a lemming?" I was forward. I blamed the shot. I blamed the night. I blamed the ticking in my head. The reminder that our time was winding down.

"No." He sounded sure, but I doubted his inner voice was confident in his defiance. Would he answer the same way if they were here? I knew the truth. It made me ashamed of my want for him.

"I'm glad you're nice enough to go with not humiliating me in front of the whole school. Five gold stars." I punched him in the arm, the way you would a sibling, or a friend. I wanted to slap myself across my own face. God. Sexy, Sev.

"Thanks." He laughed, rubbing his arm. "Are you nervous for next week?"

"You have no idea." I wanted it to be over. I wanted graduation to be here. I wanted out of here. We made senior year harder than it needed to be, adding these games to the mix. "I feel like I'm walking around, holding a breath, just floating or something. Do you ever feel that way?"

"Every day." His voice was melancholy and I had never heard him speak that way.

"But your life is perfect."

He blew out a breath at the last word. Shook his head.

My mind flashed through all the things he had. His beautiful smile and his friends and his family and their beautiful home.

"It's not. Not even close."

"You're the most popular guy in school. Your parents are perfect. Your grades aren't perfect, but that's fine. Everything is fine and not on fire in your life. You're like, floating on a cloud of fine." He laughed at my rambles.

"Don't you think there is someone at school, one of the really unpopular girls, maybe, or someone with no friends? Don't you think someone is looking at you, thinking she has it all when she sees you laughing with your friends? Because you four seem to always be laughing. And you have each other's backs. It's rare, right? To have that kind of group. To look at a group of friends and know they just get each other. I see more than you would guess."

"Honestly, that doesn't surprise me. You seeing things. You're taciturn. It's what made me notice you. But what does surprise me, is you noticing us at all."

"I noticed you, they're just part of the deal."

“Wow.” I don’t hide the words. I let him see me smile and blush. “What else do you see?”

“Sometimes I’ll watch you and your dad in church on Sundays.”

“What do you see there?”

“Something a lot of people don’t have.”

“Something you don’t have?” I don’t know much about his family. Just that they appear to be perfect. And I know nothing is perfect. His mother is tall, slender, beautiful. She is quiet, unlike her husband, whose voice pierces the church. It’s never been a voice I liked. The tone was unsettling. I thought maybe, if someone else were preaching, I would want to know more about God. I wasn’t sure if my father went to church before he met my mother. But one memory I do have of her is her hand in mine on Sundays. Of her voice when she sang in the pew next to me. My father would get out of church during football season. And when she was gone, he didn’t have anyone to butter up for the grace. We all stayed home in the fall. My father watched the games and I read on the couch. I would never have those moments again.

“Yeah. Something I don’t have,” Bryan replied.

“I didn’t notice,” I murmured. I had fallen for the ruse. The fantasy.

“I can hide things better than most. It’s part of the deal.”