“You’re here!” Ava was startled to see her dad the next morning standing by the kitchen counter in his rumpled orange coach’s shirt.
“I live here,” Mike Sackett said, plunging a tea bag into a mug of hot water. “Remember?”
“Kind of.” Ava grinned. “But it’s Friday morning. You’re always at school super early on game day. Don’t you have to nail down some last-minute strategies?”
“I’m trying something new.” He took a deep breath. “Relaxation. Meditation. All that Zen stuff your mom talks about.”
Ava raised her eyebrows skeptically. “How’s that working for you?”
Coach took a sip of the tea and made a sour face. “Totally stressing me out.” He tossed the remaining tea into the sink. “I need coffee.”
Ava grabbed a blueberry muffin and sat at the table next to Alex, who had already finished her yogurt and was now rapidly flipping through what looked to be vocabulary flash cards. Ava couldn’t imagine a worse way to start the day.
“Morning, Mom,” Ava called.
Mrs. Sackett raised her arm in greeting from the small kitchen desk, then continued to type furiously on her laptop. Ava wondered if her mom had even gone to bed. When she’d said good night, Mrs. Sackett had been sitting at the computer and wearing the same gray sweatpants. Her long, wavy hair was still gathered in a loose ponytail. Moxy, the family’s Australian shepherd, lay under the desk and across the toes of her fuzzy green socks.
“Morning.” Tommy wandered in with his hair wet from the shower. He poured a large glass of orange juice, which he chugged in a single gulp. He grunted before pouring a second glass of juice. Tommy wasn’t a morning person.
“Let’s talk game-day football, Coach,” Ava suggested. Mike Sackett’s ruddy face brightened. Nothing made him come alive more than football. “What’s the deal with the Ravens?”
“Michael, I thought you were going to take a break from football this morning—” her mother started.
“The Ravens are going to be a challenge.” The Ashland High Tigers were on the road tonight against the Ridgefield Ravens. Her dad’s green eyes sparkled. Mrs. Sackett sighed.
“Strong offense or defense?” Ava asked.
“Strong checkbook,” he answered.
“What does that mean?” Alex looked up from her cards.
“Big money,” Tommy explained. He slathered toast with what seemed like half a jar of peanut butter. As sophomore third-string quarterback, Tommy was trying to bulk up, but the massive quantities of food he shoveled in never seemed to stick.
“The Ravens are the wealthiest school we play,” their dad explained. “These kids have it all. Fancy uniforms, amazing weight room, high-class trainers, private lessons.”
“What about talent? You can’t buy talent,” Alex observed.
“Or determination,” Ava added.
“True,” he agreed. “Our team has heart and focus—”
“And mad skills,” Tommy finished.
“Indeed.” Coach sipped his coffee. “A new weight room would be nice, though.”
“The middle school is getting a high-tech scoreboard,” Alex said proudly. “Isn’t that great of the student council? The scoreboard is digital and does all these cool things.”
“What was wrong with the old one?” Mrs. Sackett asked.
“It was old and, uh . . .” Alex hesitated.
“It just told the score.” Ava jumped in to help Alex. “The new one will display everything—the number of time-outs, possessions, and stats on all the players.”
“But isn’t the score all that matters?” Mrs. Sackett asked.
“Always,” Coach agreed. “That’s what I’ve been telling my boys. Bells and whistles and shiny new toys don’t win games.”
“You’ll win tonight,” Alex said confidently. She stood and tucked her note cards into her school bag.
Ava shook her head. Sometimes Alex acted as if it were so simple to win a football game. Alex had never been on the field. Plus, Ava had heard that the Ravens had a punishing defense.
“I hope so.” Coach drained his coffee. “Got to go. Hey, Laur, should we keep the ice cream thing to the players or invite parents, too?”
Her mom continued to scroll through different web pages. “Huh? Ice cream?”
“The annual Ice Cream Chow-Down,” her dad repeated.
“What’s that?” Ava asked. Ashland had so many football traditions, it was impossible to keep them straight.
“Next Friday after the game, all the players have an ice cream chow-down at the coach’s house,” Coach Sackett explained.
“Thirty boys who eat like Tommy are coming here to stuff themselves with ice cream?” Alex wrinkled her nose. “Seriously? We’ll need a truckload of ice cream.”
“And hot fudge and whipped cream,” Tommy added. “Rainbow sprinkles, too.”
Their mom groaned. “A chow-down? Hon, you know I’m trying to start up my ceramics business. It’s hard to find the time to make the pottery, package and send it, advertise, plus—”
“It’s for the team, Laur,” their dad interrupted. “They’re a big part of our lives now.”
“That’s just it—” their mom began.
“We’ll help,” Ava broke in. “Al and I excel at ice cream.”
“You know, Daddy, just because you, Tommy, Ava, and this whole town live and breathe football doesn’t mean Mom has to twenty-four/seven too,” Alex said. In the short time they’d been here, they’d quickly learned that the team expected more than just coaching from their dad. They also expected a lot more from the family—barbecues, fund-raisers, and apparently, ice cream chow-downs.
“Ice cream is not football,” Tommy protested.
“It’s better than football,” Alex quipped.
“Whoa there!” Coach clutched his hands to his heart, pretending to be horrified.
Mrs. Sackett let out a shriek. “Look at this! Look at this!” She jabbed her finger at the computer screen.
Ava hurried over, followed by the rest of the family. “That aqua bowl is yours, right?”
Mrs. Sackett nodded. “It’s featured on my website, but this isn’t my site. On this site people post crafts and art that they like. It’s called pinning. Check out how many times my vase has been pinned!”
“Wow! Four hundred forty-six times,” Alex said. “Impressive.”
“Is that a lot?” Ava asked. She pretty much only watched movies and checked sports scores on the computer. Alex was the social media goddess. She knew everything about every site.
“Huge,” Alex said. “And every pin links back to Mom’s site. Mom is famous.” She reached over and clicked the screen to the web page she’d helped their mom set up. “Check this out. Orders are pouring in!”
Mrs. Sackett squealed. “Oh my God. I am famous! And busy! This is crazy!”
Ava was proud of her mom. She used to teach art in their old town, but since they’d moved, she was focusing on her old love, ceramics. Ava couldn’t believe how talented she was. Ava could barely draw stick figures.
Mrs. Sackett stood. “Time to get the show on the road. I need to get working—you saw how much work it took to fill my last big order, and that was just for one person! You all need to go to school. And your dad needs to win a football game.”
In minutes, their family had scattered.
“So, Sackett, you understand how this tackle thing works, right?” Jack Valdeavano perched on the corner of Ava’s desk, waiting for Mrs. Vargas to start math class.
“Tackle thing? What are you talking about?” Ava twirled her pencil between her fingers. Jack was one of her good friends, but talking to him when they weren’t shooting hoops made her strangely jittery.
“You need to wait for the tackle to hit you before you land on your butt.” Jack gave her a crooked grin.
Ava sucked in her breath. “How’d you hear about that?”
“Everyone knows. There’s even a video up.”
“No!” She lowered her voice. “Really?”
“No, not really. Got you!” Jack pushed back the unruly hair that always flopped into his eyes. “Corey told me.”
“Well, it’s not funny. Our practices have been horrible this week.” She glanced across the room. Owen sat at a desk by the window. He was reading a paperback book, but she couldn’t see the cover. “Anyway, what do you know about tackling? You play wimpy sports that don’t need pads,” she teased.
“Soccer and basketball require skill. We are athletes, not barbarians.” Jack smirked. They had a running joke, debating which was better—soccer or football.
“A trained monkey can kick a ball into a goal,” Ava scoffed.
“At least it’s trained!” Jack said, before Mrs. Vargas called the class to order.
Ava tried her hardest to concentrate on the different triangles Mrs. Vargas drew on the board. The teacher was explaining how to find the third angle when you knew the other two.
Right triangles were easy. The other ones confused her. Obtuse. Acute.
Acute was smaller. How can I remember that? she wondered. She thought of her last session with Mrs. Hyde, the learning specialist at the school. Ava had been meeting with Mrs. Hyde ever since she’d been diagnosed with ADHD, to help figure out the best ways for her to study. Mrs. Hyde taught her to make up rhymes or come up with a picture that went with the word.
Acute. A cute. Cute.
Immediately her gaze drifted toward Jack.
Jack was cute. Very cute.
She loved his caramel skin and his shaggy, jet-black hair. She loved how thick his eyelashes were. They made his dark eyes look huge.
She shook her head. They’d tried going out on a sort-of date, but it was way weird. Neither of them knew how to act. Afterward they seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement to just be friends. Shoot hoops at the park, watch sports on TV together, that kind of thing.
Ava was glad.
But she still thought he was cute. No, she thought he was acute!
Jack listened to Mrs. Vargas and had no idea Ava was staring at him. It figured! Boys were so clueless.
She tried to listen too. Then she felt it.
At first she wasn’t sure what exactly. Just a feeling. A sense.
She blinked rapidly and kept her gaze on the board. Mrs. Hyde had warned her about allowing her mind to wander in class. She couldn’t let it happen. Focus!
Mrs. Vargas called up Megan Schiller to solve a problem. Megan’s green marker squeaked on the whiteboard, as she furiously crossed out several false starts. Ava was proud of herself. She knew the answer. She tapped her pencil impatiently, watching Megan fumble her way through.
The feeling was still there.
The feeling of being watched.
Ava dropped her pencil. Then she swiveled in her seat, pretending to search for it. Her eyes darted around the classroom, and she spotted him.
Owen.
He was staring right at her!
Ava quickly snatched her pencil and turned forward. She shook her head. He wasn’t staring. He was probably just spacing out, because watching Megan cross out number after number is torture, she reasoned.
Mrs. Vargas finally came to Megan’s rescue, and then moved on to a different type of problem. More triangles. More mystery angle measurements.
Ava felt his eyes on her again. Was she imagining it? She tried to stay focused on Mrs. Vargas, but curiosity won out. She turned.
He was staring! Immediately Owen whipped his head down, knocking his chin against his chest.
Ava turned back. He looked angry. Was he angry at her? She hadn’t done anything.
“Okay. Do I have any volunteers to solve this problem?” Mrs. Vargas asked.
Ava barely glanced at the problem. Instead she remembered Coach K’s speech. The team needed Owen to be able to catch. Was she making him angry and causing his problems?
“No one?” Mrs. Vargas frowned. “Ava, why don’t you give it a try?”
“Me?” Ava gulped and stood shakily. The entire class now stared at her as she made her way to the front. She had no idea where to even start.
And then the bell rang. Saved! She hoped Mrs. Vargas didn’t hear her exhale in relief.
“Next time, you’re up, Ava,” Mrs. Vargas called, as Ava hurried back to her desk to scoop up her books.
Ava chased after Owen. If I can make him my friend, that’ll help the team.
“Hey.” She tapped his shoulder as she caught up with him in the doorway.
He flinched but stopped.
“Can you believe how harsh Coach K has been?” Ava asked, as the rest of the class streamed past. “You know, I don’t think it’s us. My sister Alex has him for homeroom, and she says he’s been really cranky all week.”
Soon they were the only ones in the doorway. Owen didn’t answer. He stared at her in surprise. Ava plunged ahead. “You know what drives me crazy? His mirrored sunglasses. I can’t see his eyes. I think eyes say a lot about what a person is truly thinking, don’t you?”
“I, uh . . .” Owen opened, then closed his mouth. The tips of his ears flamed, and he scowled. Then, without speaking, he turned and pushed his way into the crowd, disappearing down the hallway.
What is with him? Ava wondered.
“I don’t get it,” Ava confided to her friend Kylie McClaire at lunch. “What did I do? Owen acts so weird when I’m around.”
“What makes you think you did something?” Kylie asked. “How do you know he doesn’t act weird all the time?” Her dark eyes flashed mischievously. She liked sparking a debate. And Ava liked debating with her.
She was glad that she’d found Kylie in this big school. Kylie was cool without being a slave to the popular girls. Everything about her was unique: She wore metallic beads at the ends of the dozens of thin braids that cascaded down her back. Her fingers each sported a different silver ring. Today she wore red jeans and a cropped black jacket. Plus, she lived on a ranch on the outskirts of Ashland.
Last week, when she called Kylie her best friend, her dad was surprised. “Isn’t Alex your best friend?” he’d asked her. She’d explained that Alex was her other half, which was much more than a best friend. And totally different.
“Okay, so the boy is weird.” Ava bit into her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She’d eaten the same sandwich for lunch every day since kindergarten. She didn’t care that Alex had started bringing salads, because she thought they were more grown-up. She liked PB&Js with no crusts, so why change? “I wish he’d stop staring and glaring, though.”
“There’s nothing wrong with weird, you know,” Kylie pointed out. “You don’t know what Owen’s like at all.”
Ava glanced across the cafeteria to where Owen sat with Logan, Andy, Ryan, and bunch of the other football boys. “I do know he’s really fast and intense on the field.”
“What about off the field?” Kylie picked at her blue nail polish as she spoke. “Owen’s really smart.”
“He’d have to be to play wide receiver.”
Kylie gave an exasperated sigh. “Ava, he’s about so much more than football! Do you know he reads fantasy? And has smart insights on the plots and the characters?”
“No.” Ava scrunched up her nose. “How do you know that?”
“We read the same books. And we talk about them almost every night,” Kylie said.
“You two talk? How did I not know this?” Ava did a quick mental replay. Sure, she’d suspected Kylie had a little crush on Owen, but when did that turn into late-night book talks?
“Well, not talk talk,” Kylie admitted sheepishly. “Chat online. We both belong to the same fantasy forum. He uses the screen name OwenRooney. Boys are so literal. But he doesn’t know I’m me. He thinks he’s talking to ranchergirl722.”
“So tell him,” Ava encouraged.
Kyle shook her head and peeled a strip of polish from her thumb. “I can’t. I mean, what if I do and then he stops chatting with me?”
Ava stared at her best friend. She’d never seen confident Kylie so unnerved. She really likes him, Ava realized.
“I think he would be excited if he found out,” Ava said.
“I don’t want to risk it. Besides, I don’t think he even knows I go to this school,” Kylie moaned.
“I can talk to him about you,” Ava offered. “I see him at practice every day, and believe me, I’m searching for something to say. I’ll talk you up.”
“Really?” Kylie’s round face broke into a smile. “But you won’t tell him about ranchergirl, promise?”
“I promise. I’ll tell him how great you are. I’ll get him to notice you,” Ava pledged.
Kylie hugged her. “You are the best best friend ever!”