expected to be singing of for the next hundred years.
As soon as we arrived I checked the score: 5-0, Glen Lake. The visiting team was taking a free
throw. I've always loved watching players set up at the foul line. The way they dribble slowly,
stop, dribble again. They're like religious figures working themselves into a mystical trance. The
guy making this shot was nervous, and he held the ball for a long time before tossing it toward
the basket. Even before it left his hands you could tell it wouldn't go in, but I watched it fall short
of the net any-way, feeling the combination of sympathy and relief I always feel when an
opposing team misses a shot.
The gym, which could easily have held several
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thousand people, was about two-thirds full, and the crowd was enthusiastic enough for twice as
many people as were actually there. We climbed halfway up the crowded bleachers and sat down
with a group of sophomores I didn't know. While Madison and Jessica talked to their friends, I
looked down at the court and found Connor, who was yelling something to the guy who had the
ball. Even from this distance he was beautiful. Unlike a lot of tall guys, he wasn't gangly and
awkward, and his thick, dark hair fell just over his eyebrows. While I was watching, he shook it
out of his face and then ran his hand through it. I felt a little jolt of electricity tingle in my own
hand.
The score quickly got crazy close. In the fourth quarter Glen Lake had a short run of making one
basket after another, but then the other team caught up and we were tied for a long time. I was on
the edge of my seat, especially at this one really tense moment when Connor and the team's
shooting guard headed toward the basket like there was nothing that would stop them from
scoring. They passed the ball easily back and forth until the shooting guard, suddenly
surrounded, tried, and failed to get around the guys who were guarding him. I held my breath
while he dribbled in place, looking for an opening, then passed to the center, who, in a nearly
impossible shot from just outside the three-point circle, sank the ball. I pumped my fist in the air
and screamed, "YES!"
"What?" asked Jessica, who'd been talking to Madison.
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"You missed that?" I asked. Our whole side was cheering. Even though we were sitting right next to each other, I had to shout to be heard.
"What?" she asked, "What did I miss?" and suddenly Madison was staring at me, too.
"Number seventeen just scored," I explained. "We're up by two." I wondered if the reason they weren't exactly watching the game had something to do with the fact that Matt and Dave had yet
to get off the bench.
"Oh my god, that's Matt's brother," said Madison, slapping her cheeks with her hands so that she looked like The Scream. "I can't believe I missed it."
"Nice you," said Jessica. "Better hope Matt doesn't ask about it."
Madison flipped her hair out of her face. "Puh-leeze," she said. "What's he going to do, grill me about the game?" Then she laughed. "And if he does, Lucy can help me. Right Lucy?" She
dropped her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze, pressing her cheek into my back
for a second before letting go.
"Right," I said.
When Connor sank the final winning basket, even Jessica and Madison were on their feet. The
wave of pleasure that washed over me was something way more intense than any kind of school
spirit. All over the bleachers people were calling Connor's name. He smiled up at the fans and
even gave a little wave, which just
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made people yell louder. I knew he hadn't been waving at me, but still. Connor Pearson knows
who I am, I found myself thinking. He knows my name. Of course, my name was just about the only thing he did know about me, but it was something.
After all, what did Prince Charming know about Cinderella besides her shoe size?
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Chapter Seven
Piazzolla's is in the village of Glen Lake in an old wooden structure that used to be a working
mill and sits right on the river that runs through the center of town. It's actually a cool-looking
building, unlike the rest of Glen Lake, which has this whole faux "ye olde towne of Glenne
Loch" thing going. If you saw Piazzolla's from the outside you might think it's a fancy Italian
restaurant because it's all dark wood and dim lighting, but basically it's just a pizza place. When
we got inside, there was a long line made up almost entirely of people who had been at the game.
Jessica, Madison, and I had taken a cab over from school, and by the time Dave, Matt, and
Connor arrived, hair wet from the showers, there was only one group ahead of us waiting for a
table. Personally, I wouldn't have minded if there were fifty groups ahead of us, since
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I was a nervous wreck. How was I possibly going to swallow even a single bite of pizza? I was
on a date. I was on a date with the most popular guy in school. I was on a date with the most
popular guy in school and I had never been on a date in my life.
My anxiety wasn't exactly assuaged by the fact that as soon as the guys walked in, the two
couples started making out while Connor and I just stood there. His wet hair was shiny, and his
cheeks were flushed.
"Hey," he said, smiling. "You made it."
"I made it," I said. His eyes were impossibly blue, and as we looked at each other, he put his
hand on my shoulder, leaned in, and just barely grazed my cheek with his lips. I got the faintest
whiff of something musky and delicious--cologne or soap or shampoo, I wasn't sure. My heart
leaped into my throat and I couldn't catch my breath. I was positive I was going to pass out.
Luckily right then the couples stopped kissing and Connor took a step back.
"Dave, Matt, you know Lucy," said Jessica.
"Hey," said Dave.
"Hey," said Matt.
"Hey," I said. "Great game."
Matt and Dave both grunted their thanks; I wondered if they felt weird taking credit for a victory
they'd had nothing to do with. Then again, maybe they were just bitter about Chicago losing to
the Lakers last week. As I was trying to decide how I could broach the subject
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of the Bulls without sounding like I was gloating, the hostess came over to where we were
standing and called Jessica's name.
"That's us," said Jessica. "Table for six."
As we snaked through the restaurant behind the hostess, Connor draped his arm casually over my
shoulder, like it was something he'd done a million times before. We passed at least four or five
tables of Glen Lake students, and at each one someone waved and said, "Hey, Connor" or "Great game, Connor" or "How's it going, Connor?" and even, simply, "C-dawg!" Connor didn't stop to talk to anyone, but he smiled a lot and said, "Hey, man," a few times to people I didn't know.
Everyone who called out to Connor smiled at me, which was pretty cool, even if some of the
smiles felt like little question marks.
As soon as the waiter took our orders, Madison turned to Connor. "That was an incredible shot,"