Chandler showed up in the flannel.
The dark green and navy one, washed so many times the plaid had gone fuzzy and the cuffs had frayed white. In ninth grade, after a freezing scrimmage, he’d tossed it at me when my teeth were chattering, and I’d said without thinking, “This is the best shirt you own. Don’t ever get rid of it.” He’d laughed at me. Then he’d worn it every week for a month.
I hadn’t seen it since spring. That didn’t mean anything. He’d probably grabbed it off his bedroom floor without looking.
I’d answered his bonfire text that morning with one word, sure, which was all the talking I could manage. Then I’d spent forty-five minutes curling my hair sitting down, because my left leg had quit on me at the bathroom sink. I’d moved everything to the vanity in my bedroom, the way I did before games, redone my mascara twice when my hands wouldn’t stay still, put in my gold hoops, pulled on my black leggings and my gray Bighorns crewneck, and studied my reflection until I looked enough like the girl in the team photo on my wall.
The insurance company still hadn’t approved the MRI. Pops had spent most of his lunch break on hold and gotten nowhere. He’d only agreed to the bonfire because Chandler was driving and I’d promised to sit down whenever I could.
When his headlights swept across my ceiling, my phone buzzed on the vanity.
Chandler: Here.
I’d typed two min, grabbed the edge of the vanity, and pushed myself up, then waited for the worst of the pain in my thigh to pass before making my way downstairs. And there he was, leaning against his Jeep in the flannel.
He held the passenger door while I climbed in, right foot first, then rounded the hood and slid behind the wheel. I was still trying to decide whether to mention the flannel when he backed out of the driveway and asked if I wanted the heat on. I said yes, even though the air coming through the vents made my face feel warmer than it already was.
“Did you get in trouble for being late yesterday?” I asked once we were on the road. I’d been wondering since he pulled out of the cul-de-sac.
“A little.” Chandler stopped at a red light and drummed two fingers on the steering wheel. “My supervisor gave me a warning. Somebody had to cover until I got there, and he wasn’t happy about it.”
I looked at the glowing numbers on the dashboard instead of at him. “You should’ve left the park earlier. I would’ve been fine.”
“I should’ve called ahead.” He glanced at me before the light changed. “You could barely walk. I wasn’t leaving you there.”
“Chandler, we were walking a trail, not scaling a mountain.” I tucked my chin into the collar of my crewneck while the streetlights slid over the windshield. “You didn’t have to stay.”
“I know.” He let that sit between us, then turned onto the school road. “Next time I’ll pay attention to the clock.”
There wasn’t a good answer to that, so I looked out the window and pretended the subject was closed.
The gravel lot behind the school was already packed when we pulled in. The closest spot Chandler could find was at the far end of the fence, under the only streetlight. Everyone else was waiting by Maekynzie’s car near the gate.
Maekynzie was leaning against the hood. She’d picked up Stetson and Noelle on the way, and my brother was standing beside Noelle, talking while she smiled down at her phone. Tinsley stood a few feet away in an oversized black hoodie, her hands shoved into the front pocket. She, Stetson, and Maekynzie had all traded shifts weeks ago to get the night off. Emory had gone ahead an hour earlier to set up with the band.
Noelle looked up when she saw me. “Your hair looks so good. How long did that take?”
“Forever.” I tucked a curl behind my ear while Maekynzie locked her car. Stetson waited for Noelle to put her phone away, then they headed through the gate together. Chandler and I followed.
The air smelled like cedar smoke, spiced cider, and way too much body spray. Noelle’s tan platform slippers kept catching in the grass, and she grabbed Stetson’s sleeve when she stumbled. He slowed down, glancing at her before looking straight ahead again.
“Don’t let me fall,” she told him, still holding on.
“I’ve got you.” He sounded so serious about it that I had to look away before he caught me smiling.
Behind us, Maekynzie was arguing with Tinsley about whether a hot dog counted as a sandwich, as if they hadn’t had this exact argument before. Tinsley answered in single words, which only made Maekynzie more determined.
The closer we got to the field, the denser the crowd became. Every time somebody jostled past, a freshman walking backward or a guy balancing three foam cups, Chandler shifted half a step, just enough to put his shoulder between me and the crush. He never looked down or made a show of it, and I pretended not to notice.
Student council had stacked wooden pallets in the center of the soccer field, and the blaze popped and crackled, sending ribbons of orange sparks into the black Colorado sky. Past the far goal, the mountains were only a darker line against the stars. Bass thumped through the grass from two competing tailgates while people shouted across the circle and posed for flash photos with the flames behind their heads.
Right at the front edge of the heat stood Tahni in her cheer hoodie and white bow, phone held high as she filmed herself, Kleo, and Gemma doing a routine for the squad account. She spun in a slow circle to catch the fire in the frame, and her eyes slid across me without stopping.
I found a spot ten or so feet back from the circle, planted my right foot to carry my weight, and stayed there. Sitting would have been a relief. There were hay bales scattered around the grass, but if I sat, someone would come sit with me. They’d watch how stiffly I lowered myself, and they’d ask questions. Standing meant I could keep pretending there wasn’t anything to ask about.
The feverish feeling had returned after dinner, stronger than it had been earlier in the week. Heat rolled under my skin in slow waves, followed by chills that made me pull my sleeves over my hands. The field tilted a few degrees off level, the fire and the far goal leaning left. After a while, I couldn’t tell how much of the heat was coming from the flames and how much was coming from me.
I held my cup of cider in both hands to give my fingers something to do. My phone vibrated in my back pocket.
Pops: having fun, Sunshine?? 🔥
Pops: home by 11. text me when you leave
Pops: and actually eat something. i’m serious 💛
I sent Pops a thumbs-up and a flame. He answered instantly with a string of yellow hearts, and I locked the screen before he could think of another question.
Noelle appeared at my side with an apple cider donut and bumped her shoulder against mine. “Want some? They’re actually good.”
“I’m okay.”
“You sure?” She held it out, and I tore off a piece. She stayed beside me while I ate it, brushing sugar off her sweater.
At the far end of the field, Emory climbed onto the bed of an old Chevy truck with the rest of Static Honey. The second the drummer clicked his sticks, Maekynzie cupped her hands around her mouth and shrieked, “That is my best friend!”
Emory caught it over the microphone, grinning, and for a second before he hit the opening chord, he wasn’t looking at the crowd. He was looking at her.
It was the biggest night of the fall, and everyone I cared about was out there in the noise and the warmth. I smiled when I was supposed to and laughed when Stetson did his dead-on impression of Mr. Grzywacz. I kept track of the nearest hay bale in case my leg gave out, and whenever someone bumped into me, I tightened my grip on the cup until the cider stopped sloshing.
Around nine, Stetson drifted back over with his hands buried in his hoodie pocket. He checked my face before he even glanced at Noelle, his eyes dropping to the tremor in my hands.
“You good, Sloaney?” he asked quietly. “You look kind of pale.”
“Stetson.” I jerked my chin toward Noelle. “Focus on your mission.”
His ears went bright red. He turned to Noelle and rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, do you wanna walk for a minute?”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.” He gestured toward the other end of the field. “Over there?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Noelle handed me her empty cup and tucked her hair behind her ear.
My brother could argue with a referee in front of an entire stadium, but asking Noelle to walk twenty feet had taken everything he had. They headed off, his hand brushing hers once before he shoved it into his pocket.
“Finally,” Chandler said beside me.
“He hasn’t asked her yet.”
“Give him a minute.”
I smiled and bent to set Noelle’s cup beside the trash bag at my feet. Pain caught in my thigh when I straightened, and I shifted my weight to my right leg before Chandler could notice.
Standing still was making my knee stiff, so I made the slow ten-foot walk to the s’mores table. Chandler drifted after me, hands in his pockets. Tinsley stood by the metal fire dish, charring a marshmallow on a wire skewer while Maekynzie tried to talk two sophomores into trading their last peanut butter cups for her plain chocolate. Neither was buying it.
Tinsley didn’t lift her eyes from the coals. “There’s an empty bale right behind you.”
“I like standing.”
“You haven’t moved two feet since eight.”
“I’m fine here.”
“Sure.” She gave the skewer a quarter turn, then glanced at me. “The bale’s not going anywhere if you change your mind.”
I looked toward the fire, hoping she’d get distracted by something else. Tinsley didn’t push. She held out the blackened marshmallow, and when I shook my head, she ate it herself and reached for another.
Tahni stood on the other side of the folding table with an unopened chocolate bar, Kleo and Gemma flanking her in matching team jackets. Her gaze dropped to the paper plate in front of me, where one plain marshmallow sat on the white rim. No graham crackers, no chocolate. I’d only taken it so nobody would ask why I wasn’t eating.
Tahni lifted her phone sideways, already recording.
“Sloane, are you okay?” she asked, loud enough for the people beside us to hear. “You’ve barely eaten anything.”
Kleo glanced at my plate. I wanted to throw it away, but that would only give Tahni something else to comment on.
“Put your phone down,” Tinsley said.
“I’m filming the bonfire.”
“Then point it at the bonfire.”
Tahni rolled her eyes, but she turned the phone away. I stared at the marshmallow, my face hot, trying to think of something to say. Then the ground seemed to shift beneath my sneakers. I blinked, trying to bring the fire back into focus, but the lights blurred together. My cup slipped from my fingers and splashed cider across the dirt and the toes of my shoes.
People looked down at the puddle. Chandler caught my elbow as my knees dipped, and I stumbled against his side instead of falling.
“Come on,” he said, steady and quiet near my ear. “Walk with me.”
“I’m fine, Chandler.”
“Just for a minute.”
Underneath the home bleachers, the air was cold and dark. Firelight filtered through the gaps between the metal seats above us in narrow bars of orange that shifted across the concrete whenever people walked overhead. The crowd faded to a dull, hollow rumble, and the place smelled like damp grass and old metal.
Chandler kept his hand on my arm until my back was braced against one of the steel support beams. The cold metal pressed through my crewneck, and I took slow breaths until the concrete stopped moving beneath my feet.
“Do you want some water?” he asked, leaning against the opposite post with his hands in his pockets.
“In a minute.”
“Okay.” He looked down at my shoes. “Sorry about your sneakers.”
“It’s fine. That cider was gross anyway.”
He smiled a little. Out on the field, Static Honey hit a chord so sour that somebody in the bleachers above us shouted, “What was that?”
“Yeah, we heard it too,” Emory said into the microphone.
I laughed, and Chandler shook his head, smiling at the ground. For a little while, we were just the two of us under the bleachers, the way we used to be in eighth grade after summer league practices. When I looked up again, Chandler had stepped closer.
A stripe of amber light cut across the bridge of his nose. His thumb moved back and forth against the frayed cuff of his flannel, a habit he only had when he was thinking too hard. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
His eyes moved over my face, settling on my mouth before lifting to meet mine again.
I forgot what I’d been about to say. Chandler shifted closer, and I caught the faint smell of laundry detergent on his flannel beneath the bonfire smoke. People walked overhead, but none of their conversations made sense anymore.
For one second, I thought he was going to kiss me. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to.
Then he raised his hand and pressed the back of his fingers to my forehead. His skin was cool from the night air. I almost leaned into it before I caught myself, but then his expression changed.
“Sloane,” he said quietly. “You’re burning up.”
I pulled back too quickly, and my shoulder bumped the beam. “It’s just the bonfire.”
He glanced toward the field, then back at me. “You’re still hot. Have you told Uncle Zack you’re feeling sick?”
“I’m not sick. I’m hot.”
“Sloane, you’re shaking.”
“It’s cold under here.”
He took a breath, clearly trying to decide how to respond without starting another argument. I knew that look. He’d worn it yesterday at the park, right before I’d snapped at him to stop.
“Let me call Uncle Zack,” he said.
“Please don’t.” I studied the beam behind him. “He’ll make me leave.”
“Maybe you should leave.”
“Chandler.”
“I know you want to stay. But you almost fell over back there.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Stetson’s voice cut through the night from somewhere near midfield.
“Chandler! Get over here right now!”
We both looked toward the field.
“She said yes!” Stetson shouted, loud enough that several people turned. “We’re going to dinner!”
Chandler glanced toward the fire. He was still standing close, his eyes on my face.
“Go,” I said. “You know he won’t stop yelling until you go over there.”
“Sloane, you’re sick.”
“I’m fine. Stetson needs you.”
He didn’t move. I could practically see him weighing the two options, and I hated that I was one of them.
“Chandler!” Stetson called again. “Dude!”
Chandler pressed his lips together. “Stay right here. I’m going to tell him I’m driving you home, and then we’re leaving.”
“I can wait two minutes.”
“I’ll be right back.” He waited until I nodded, then jogged toward the firelight, looking back once before the crowd swallowed him. The moment he disappeared, I pushed away from the beam.
I wasn’t going back toward the fire. I wasn’t going to stand there while Chandler explained to my brother that I was sick and needed to go home, either. Stetson would ask questions, then he’d call Pops, and by the time Chandler got back, I’d have half my family treating me like I couldn’t manage a walk to the parking lot.
The Jeep sat under the single amber streetlight at the far end of the fence. If I made it to the passenger door, I could lean against it, text Chandler that I’d gotten cold, and let him drive me home without an audience.
It was a perfectly reasonable plan, provided my leg decided to participate.
I took the dark path around the back of the home stands toward the gravel lot. Behind me, the crowd roared as Emory’s band started a slower song, and sparks drifted above the far goal. Whenever I looked up, the green Jeep was still there under the streetlight at the far end of the parked cars.
I made it past the first row of vehicles before I had to stop. My thigh hurt enough that I couldn’t tell whether putting weight on it or lifting it was worse. I leaned against a pickup, watching a couple walk toward the field with their hands tucked into the same coat pocket.
I pushed off the pickup and tried again. Halfway between a silver Honda and a mud-spattered truck, my left leg buckled. I reached for the nearest car, but it was too far away. I went down onto the gravel, catching myself with my hands as pain shot through my thigh. For a moment I couldn’t do anything except stay where I was and wait for the dizziness to pass.
The music kept playing behind the school. Somebody laughed near the gate, and a car door slammed farther down the lot. Nobody seemed to have noticed me.
I looked toward Chandler’s Jeep. It was still several spaces away, close enough to see but much too far to reach without standing.
“Come on,” I whispered, although I wasn’t sure whether I was talking to my leg or the rest of me.
I shifted toward the Honda and braced a hand against its door. My palms stung from the gravel, and I had to stop twice before I could get my right foot underneath me. The first time I tried to stand, my leg wouldn’t cooperate. The second time, I managed to pull myself upright, leaning against the car until I could catch my breath.
I couldn’t make myself take another step. The Honda’s silver paint was cold against my shoulder. I stayed there, my weight balanced on my right leg, trying to figure out how I was supposed to get to Chandler’s Jeep without falling again.
My phone was in my back pocket. I fumbled it out and opened our messages, staring at the last thing he’d sent.
Chandler: Here.
That had been less than three hours ago. Back when getting into his Jeep had been the hardest part of my evening. I started typing.
Me: i’m by the silver honda. my leg gave out.
My thumb hovered over send. He’d asked me to wait under the bleachers, and I hadn’t even managed that. Now he’d go back and find me gone. I looked toward the gate, hoping to see his flannel coming through the crowd, but none of the people moving beneath the lights were him.
The screen dimmed, and I tapped it awake. Yesterday, I’d practically ordered him to stop helping me. I hated having to send that message, but he couldn’t find me if he didn’t know where I was.
I pressed send and leaned harder against the Honda, keeping my phone in my hand. I couldn’t make it to the Jeep. I just needed him to come around the corner.