The only bad thing that happened all week was that Doug started pressing my buttons about my mother. At least, I thought so. The first two weeks of school, he'd come to swim practice on time like everybody else. Since we practiced the last period of school, he had no reason to be late. All he had to do was cross the courtyard from the liberal arts wing. But every day this week, he had been tardy. We were supposed to arrive on time, change into our swimsuits, get in the water, and warm up while Coach wrapped things up with the junior varsity team that practiced before us. As varsity team captain, I was in charge of turning in anyone who didn't comply.

This terrified me. I hadn't heard any rumors about my mom, so I assumed Doug was keeping mum. He hadn't tried to talk to me about it. Whatever he'd been so desperate to yell at me at the party on Monday night, he'd decided it could wait. But I didn't want to press my luck by turning him in and angering him. Each day I gently reprimanded him about being late. He snapped back at me and was late again the next day.

The swim team forced my hand. Keke and Lila asked why I showed favoritism to Doug. The boys called Doug a diva and demanded that I turn his ass in. In the end I hoped Doug would realize I had no choice, and he would not retaliate in kind.

That's when my luck ran out. 3 "Thanks a lot, Zoey."

I was shocked to hear Doug's voice. I looked up at him before I could stop myself. I'd been afraid he'd have words with me tonight, after I turned him in and Coach talked with him behind closed doors in the office. That would never have prevented me from coming to the football game to cheer Brandon on and hang with the rest of the swim team in the crowded stadium. Still, I'd felt relieved when Doug didn't show up quarter after quarter. And now here he was in the fourth, typically late, typically wandering in for free after the booster club abandoned taking tickets at the gate.

"Coach didn't kick you off the team, did he?" I hoped I sounded surprised Doug was upset. He was the best swimmer we had, too good for Coach to kick off for minor infractions. He wasn't in any real trouble, and I hoped by pointing this out, I would take the edge off his anger at me.

Avoiding his gaze, I turned back to the game far below us on the spotlit field. I looked for Brandon's white 24 on his red Bulldogs jersey. He nabbed the ball and plowed his way upfield. "Go, Brandon!" I screamed. "Go, go, go--ouch!" He slammed into an enemy player even bigger than him and stopped short. Whistles blew, the refs gestured toward a penalty somewhere downfield, and the game paused. The marching band broke into "Who Let the Dogs Out?" for the third time in the fourth quarter. My excuse was gone to ignore Doug.

He stared down at me, waiting for me to give him my full attention before he answered my question with an insult. "No, Coach didn't kick me off," he sneered. "But that's what you wanted, Zoey. Y can pull that sweetheart act with anyone but me."

The sneering made me uneasy. I hoped my mother's secret was still secret. And I found it hard to remember what I'd planned to say next with Doug glaring at me.

Finally I managed, "I have nothing against you, Doug. Nothing except you've been late for practice every day this week. It's my job to mark you tardy."

"And point it out to Coach? He never would have noticed I was late if you hadn't told him." Doug's voice rose as he spoke. Mike and Ian, standing on the row below us, heard him even with "Who Let the Dogs Out?" still blasting through the stadium. They turned around to look at us. Mike blushed red --which wasn't unusual for Mike, but indicated he could hear Doug clearly. Ian, with sandy brown hair, stayed sand colored, as if he were trying to blend into his beach surroundings. But his eyes met mine for the briefest moment. This argument between Doug and me was bound to stir up talk again that something had happened between us.

My heart sped up. I could feel it knocking against my chest and hear the blood pumping in my ears. I said, clearly and reasonably, so maybe he'd think twice about raising his voice to me again, "I have to point things out to Coach. Nothing would get done otherwise. If I didn't remind him, he'd show up late to swim practice himself."

"Exactly," Doug said just as clearly, imitating me. "And now Coach is watching me. Y ou've got him thinking he shouldn't give me special favors--"

"But he shouldn't give you special favors," I protested.

"--which is not for you to decide. He was going to recommend me for a swim scholarship to Florida State. Do you understand? This is not about your stupid team."

Mike and Ian looked at each other. They were both on the stupid team too.

Doug didn't glance at them or slow down. "I'd have zero chance of getting a scholarship to FSU if I got kicked off the team and I didn't have Coach to help me. It's not like I'm coming from a long line of Olympic athletes here, Zoey. My dad is a freaking fisherman."

Oh. For the first time I realized what I'd almost done to him. A bigger town would have had a swim club that we all could have joined in elementary school and competed in ever since. When Doug started to show real potential last year, different parents might have moved to a bigger town with a swim club just so he could train with Olympic-caliber coaches. But Doug lived in this town with this father. The team was all he had, and I'd nearly taken even that away from him. I hadn't been thinking of him. I'd been thinking of the team breathing down my neck.

I put my hand on his forearm. The heat of his skin surprised me. It shouldn't have. Mid-September in Florida was still summer. Though my palm started to sweat, I kept my hand on his arm, hoping my touch would help me connect with him.

"Y ou're not the only one trying for a scholarship to FSU," I pointed out. "If I keep my grades up and my extracurriculars loaded, I'll get an academic scholarship." Of course, no one cared about my good grades in comparison to an arrogant boy's athletic scholarship, but I was trying to call Doug off here. I nodded at the field. "And Brandon's trying for a football scholarship. The difference is, Brandon's doing what the football coach tells him. If your scholarship is so important to you, why don't you come to swim practice on time?"

Doug smiled. Maybe I should have smiled too, and laughed like I thought we'd come to an understanding. But I knew my laugh would come out nervous. So I continued to gaze earnestly up at him.

He held my gaze. I had every subject except math with him because we were both in AP, but in most classes he sat across the room. In English he sat right in front of me, so I was familiar with the deeply tanned back of his neck and the way his black hair quirked into curls. I'd never been this close to the front of him, though, without his hair tucked into a swim cap and his eyes blurry behind goggles. Funny how he could avoid me since the ninth grade, but the instant I got him in trouble, he was in my face. I could see every black hair in the day-old stubble on his chin.

His voice was so honeyed, I would have thought he was complimenting me, except for his words, and the subtlest sarcasm in his tone that I'd come to know well in the past year on the varsity team with him. "No, Zoey. The difference is that I actually need a scholarship, and you're a spoiled brat." He twisted his arm out of my hand and rubbed it like I'd hurt him, though I was sure I'd hardly touched him. "And I'm worried about your academic scholarship if you're dense enough to think Brandon Moore gives a shit about you."

Then I was staring at Doug's back. He bounced down the stands, stepping over the seats to join some other guys at the edge of the swim team. He said something to them and they laughed. People complained to me privately about Doug, but when he was around, he was the life of the party. Now the huddle looked so conspiratorial that Ian walked along the bench below me to join it. Even Mike, who hated Doug, edged closer. I hoped they weren't talking about me. Or if they were, I hoped they were only talking about my argument with Doug, and not about my mom.

And then in my mind I was back in my mother's bedroom at our apartment, trying to fix everything. I held my phone to my ear with one hand, whispering to the 911 dispatcher. With the other hand, I straightened her bottles of expensive perfume on the cheap rental dresser. I rubbed imaginary dust from the glass stoppers decorated with glass jewels and glass ribbons.

I jumped and forgot the bottles as the marching band blared "Who Let the Dogs Out?" for the fourth time. In the end zone, the refs held their hands up, and Brandon's teammates slapped his helmet. My whole purpose in coming to the game was to watch Brandon play. Now Brandon had scored, and I had no idea how it had happened.

And now Keke and Lila trudged back up the stairs. Their hands were full of Cokes and popcorn and cotton candy, junk they shouldn't be eating with a swim meet tomorrow. If they'd stayed with me instead of going to the concession stand, Doug wouldn't have attacked me like a lion on the savanna targeting the vulnerable gazelle at the edge of the herd. Or . . . the species that bounced hysterically instead of running. I confused the deerlike animals with each other. Impala. "What?"

"I said, are you seeing Brandon after the game?" Keke asked through a mouthful of popcorn.

"Zoey loves Brandon. It's perfect and dreamy," Lila said in a voice from TV commercials about princess dolls. She was a princess herself, with her gauzy top flowing around her in the breeze, and her red curls pinned up and cascading into ringlets around her shoulders. "Brandon's going to a party tonight with the football team at the city beach park," I told them. "Male bonding."

"The swim team should crash the party," Keke declared.

"Y eah!" Lila skipped a few steps down the bleachers to discuss this idea with the junior girls on the swim team.

"No!" I caught Lila by the arm and dragged her back. She and Keke both waited for an explanation. I wished everyone would stop looking at me. Had I yelled no too loudly and yanked Lila back too hard? They must think I was crazy. "I was planning to go to his house tomorrow night after the swim meet and take him parking," I said as calmly and sanely as I could.

"Oooh," Lila said appreciatively.

"That's ridiculous," Keke said. "He can't ban you from coming to his beach party. It's not his damn beach."

"Good point." Lila escaped toward the junior girls again before I could grab her. She whispered to them and they squealed.

It was too easy, too good to be true. I hadn't planned it. I hadn't asked for it. I wouldn't look pitiful chasing Brandon around, because crashing the party was the swim team's idea, not mine. I'd fought resentment all day that Brandon was going out with the guys tonight instead of me, when I hadn't seen him since Monday night. I'd thought it was okay, I'd told him it was okay, but the longer I considered it, the less it was okay. Now suddenly the problem was solved without me doing a thing? It felt dangerous. I didn't trust it.

As if in agreement, the forest of pines and magnolias behind the guest bleachers bent in a gust of wind. A few puffs of popcorn escaped from the top of Keke's bag. My hair whipped into my eyes. "What about the hurricane?" I murmured, smoothing my hair back and knotting it into a heavy bun.

"It veered toward Mississippi," Keke said. "We'll only get thunderstorms late tonight. Goooooooo . . ." She cheered and circled her fist in the air like everyone else in the stadium but me as the Bulldogs kicked off. The ball lobbed through the air. The line of players ran forward and collided with the enemy team. Then Brandon jogged to the sidelines with the rest of the offense. I located his red helmet with the white 24 almost immediately because he was so tall.

And my stomach twisted with anticipation because he was mine, and I was about to have him again. Part of me didn't want to have sex with him anymore--the part of me that had felt nauseated and hadn't wanted to do it with him last weekend. I liked to keep everything in its place. Brandon Moore inside me seemed hopelessly out of place. But that was just nerves. I could overrule that part of me tonight, like I had before. Since we were going to see each other less often than I'd assumed, we needed to make the most of our time together whenever we had the chance.

And if the swim team crashed the football players' party, Doug would see me there with Brandon. Strange that I cared so much about this with everything else going on in my life, but after Doug's insult, I cared very deeply about looking desired and perfectly normal. He would see that Brandon did, in fact, give a shit about me. And as my mother had always told me, if I gave the appearance of keeping everything together, people like Doug would be less likely to attack me.

"Dee-fense! Good Lord!" Keke shouted through cupped hands, her popcorn bag in the crook of her arm. I looked past her at what Lila was up to. She'd finished with the junior girls and had moved on to the swim team boys. Then she stood on her tiptoes to see over their shoulders. She winked at me. The party was a go.

Her face lit up with laughter as a howl rose over the crowd noise. I knew from experience it was Mike singing his falsetto boy band imitation, which he'd started this season when Lila and Keke blasted their CDs in the swim team van. Normally Mike was painfully shy and turned beet red if you looked at him, which made this strange performance that much funnier to the other swim team boys. They beatboxed along with him. The girls on the team weren't as into the performance because whenever Mike howled and the other boys beatboxed in the van, we couldn't hear each other talking. We were imprisoned by Mike's falsetto until he coughed to a stop. It's hard to explain what many, many afternoons spent with the same seventeen people could do to you.

But this time, because we weren't stuck in the van with him and it wasn't so annoying, Lila laughed and fluttered her eyelashes at Mike. Keke said, "Oh my God," and pointed, grinning. The junior girls danced to the beat Mike had built with the swim team boys. Across the aisle from us, a few drummers in the marching band took up the beat, and the trumpets echoed the falsetto tune. The dancing spread to the majorettes. The drum major looked befuddled.