But tonight there’s a good chance any nerves she has aren’t about that. Hannah knows I’m not out to Kristen. I reminded her when I invited her to the game. I think it hurt her feelings to realize I didn’t even tell Kristen about what happened over the summer, like truly not tellinganyonesomehow makes us a little less real.
“I’m fine,” Hannah says, smiling. Her voice lacks some of its usual warmth.
We head into the stadium and I send up a tiny prayer that tonight will be worth it, that this is Hannah’s wayin. Kristen will get to know her, and we will all be able to hang out more regularly moving forward.
We make our way to the bleachers, and people can’t stop looking at Hannah. Any hope of lying low tonight is dashed. Our classmates give her props and high fives, and a few equally decked-out parents whoop and wave when we walk by. Kristen even spots us before I spot her and Vincent. I don’t figure out where her shouts are coming from until she steps up onto the bleacher behind her and, through cupped hands, shouts, “Clarity, get your butt up here! The game is about to start!”
The timer on the scoreboard counts down the last few minutes before kickoff, so Hannah and I beeline toward them. Kristen hugs me and motions for Vincent to scoot down, mercifully offering Hannah and me the end of the bench.
“Hey, Vincent,” I say, lifting my hand in one of those awkwardtoo close to really be necessarywaves. Knowing how much Kristen resents Hannah, I’m hoping my efforts will earn me some much-needed brownie points.
“Sup, Clarity.” He nods at me, then at Hannah, adding, “And Clarity’s friend.”
“This is Hannah,” I say, glancing back at her. “Hannah, this is Kristen and her boyfriend, Vincent.”
“Nice to meet you guys,” Hannah says. She smiles at them, and it’s so genuine and open that I can’t help the slice of guilt that tears at my chest. I didn’t exactly tell Hannah that my bestfriend already doesn’t like her. I figured tonight would be awkward enough without piling on any more pressure.
Kristen’s smile falters, but she thrusts out a hand anyway. “You’re on the festival committee, right?”
“She’s my copresident,” I remind her. They shake hands. It’s quick and firm and I’m relieved when it ends.
All conversation comes to a halt for the national anthem, and then everyone’s attention turns to the kickoff. Vincent is leaning forward, breathing from his freaking mouth, watching the game like a zombie. If I wasn’t navigating the complicated social politics playing out on either side of me tonight, I might have called him out on his previously mentioned lack of sports interest.
“Are you into football?” Hannah asks, leaning forward a bit so that she can look past me at Kristen.
Kristen pretends to keep her focus on the game, and I have half a mind to elbow her in the ribs. But I can’t appear to caretoomuch, at least not enough to draw attention.
“I don’t come for the game. I come for the snacks,” she says.
“Did you want to get some? We passed the concession stand on the way over, and the popcorn smells amazing.” Hannah keeps her focus on Kristen, even though Kristen is fighting not to look at her. I can practically see the muscles in Kristen’s eyes straining to just do the right thing and be flipping polite.
Kristen takes a breath, not a deep one, but the dramatic rise and fall of her shoulders isn’t lost on me. Only then does she look at Hannah, slowly, as if it’s taking a lot for her to pull herself awayfrom the game—which hasbarelystarted. “I figure I’ll go in a minute; I’m actually waiting for someone—”
“Who?” I interrupt, a little unintentionally. “I mean, we’re all here.”
When Kristen turns her eyes to me, the way they light up is so obvious that I’m less surprised and more ashamed. Hannah tenses beside me. If she didn’t know it before, then it’s obvious now: Kristen isn’t shy. She’s being standoffish.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she coos, bopping me on the nose even though she knows Ihatebeing bopped on the nose.
A few plays and still no touchdowns later, Vincent hops up and says he’ll be right back. I envy the way he gives Kristen a quick kiss on the lips, how second nature public affection can be to them.
“Did you invite someone?” I ask. “Chisom? Are you guys working on a photography project this semester?” Chisom is the only other student in our grade as passionate about photography as Kristen.
“I didn’t invite Chisom. Clarity, just relax.”
Kristen was so bent about me inviting Hannah in the first place, even when doing so balanced out what would’ve certainly been an awkward third-wheeling situation. Does she really dislike Hannah so much that she had to invite some secondarybuffer?
“Do you want to get snacks?” I ask Hannah. I need a moment to vent and to acquire a hot dog with mustard, ketchup, relish, and—most importantly—sauerkraut, so I can eat my conflicted feelings. And, of course, a cherry cola to wash it all down.
“Sure—”
“Wait, no,” Kristen cuts in, reaching across me with her arm. “Just wait, we can get snacks in a minute.”
“Why are you being so weird?” I ask.
Her eyes quickly dart past me, and then her face melts into a smile. “Because,” she says, grinning like a cat who caught a mouse, “I want to introduce you to someone.”
Hannah and I turn to find Vincent returning to our row with a boy I’ve never seen before.