By the time I arrived at the football match on Saturday, I still wasn't sure if the whole thing was really a good idea.

Not too long ago, it had seemed like a good enough plan: tell Felicia and the others I'd pick them up after the match so I'd have a good excuse to be seen there, and then watch Brandon play and maybe, hopefully, get in a word with him or something. But that had been before I had dragged myself all the way here, on a weekend, all by myself and increasingly out of place.

What exactly had I been hoping for, seeing Brandon before the match? He was obviously with his team, getting ready and having a last-minute strategy discussion. And I was up here on the bleachers, surrounded by people I didn't know, much too far away for him to spot me in the crowd, if he even bothered to look for me in the first place. Sunday and Dan weren't with me; Dan had said he'd rather die than watch one of Brandon's games, and he had a game of his own anyway. And Sunday had gone to support him.

I should've gone with them, I thought miserably as the two teams walked onto the pitch. Squinting, I tried to spot Brandon, but under the uniforms and protective equipment I couldn't make out which distant figure he was. Maybe I could've known from the position he took if I'd known literally the first thing about football, but sports had never been my thing before.

I made a mental note to learn as soon as I made it back home.

Frustrated and bored, I let my eyes wander. Across the pitch the cheerleaders were doing their routine, cheering on the Valley Woods team with loud chants and enthusiasm. Unlike the footballers, I could recognize them from this distance: Felicia's bright hair, swaying from side to side in a long ponytail; Louie's beacon of orange-red; Chelsea's dark, lean form flanking the group to one side. Even from here I could tell that they knew what they were doing. Each of their movements was powerful, their kicks and jumps in such perfect sync that they seemed to possess one single mind in many bodies. Distracted from the game, I watched.

The match went on. I had, by now, a general idea of which player Brandon was, but I kept losing track of him on the field. Our school was winning, but I hadn't been here long enough to really care about that yet. All the same, I found myself cheering when the others cheered, shouting when they shouted. There were people on every side of me, taller people, larger people. Brandon would absolutely never spot me in the crowd.

But on the bright side, neither would Felicia and her squad.

The match went on. Our school's lead was expanding—probably Brandon, if what he had told me the other day was true. I cheered louder with the others. But still he didn't see me, and by the time the match ended with an inevitable victory, I didn't think he ever would.

I wasted my time coming here, huh.

Despite myself, I felt like an idiot. What should I have expected? Sure, Brandon had asked if I'd watch the match, but that had clearly been an offhanded comment he had already forgotten about. I shouldn't have come here with so many hopes.

Oh well. Time to pick up the girls, I supposed.

Felicia had told me to wait in the parking lot, so I did, wishing I'd at least brought a book with me to kill the time. Although, to be honest, I probably wouldn't have been able to focus on it anyway; I kept glancing up towards the exit every five seconds, and not because I was waiting for Felicia.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

I jumped. Seemingly out of nowhere, a guy had appeared next to me, tall and muscular, sandy blond hair falling into a friendly face.

"Sorry," he said, smiling and backing away a little. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"No—no, it's okay! I'm just waiting for, for my friends." I gestured towards the door from which Felicia and the others had to step out any minute now. "Were you also at the match?"

"Yep," said the guy, suddenly looking a little unhappy. "I'm part of the team too, but I couldn't play today." He tapped his thigh. "Leg injury."

"Oh…" I looked down at his leg. "I'm sorry."

He waved a dismissive hand. "It'll get better," he said with a good-natured laugh. "This team's clearly still winning without me, so no rush, huh?"

"Don't say that! I'm sure the team needs you," I replied at once. "Just because they're winning now doesn't mean they won't need you later!"

Laughing again, he sat down on the hood of the nearest car. "I like to think that too, but who knows," he said. "Let's see if they wanna talk to me when they get here. I'm trying to give everyone some feedback."

I looked at him with wide eyes. "Are you the team captain or something?"

"Who, me?" He looked genuinely startled, then snorted and smiled. "Nah, I'm just a pushover. I probably would've been quarterback if Brandon wasn't around, but—"

"Get away from her."

A shadow darted past me, grabbing the blond guy by the collar and yanking him forcibly off the car. "What did you do with Pearl?" he growled, his green eyes glowing with barely-restrained fury. "Don't touch her!"

"I didn't touch her?" the guy spluttered, laughing awkwardly as he tried to right himself. "What is wrong with you, dude, I was just talking to her!"

"You think I'm blind? I'm not an idiot, Jake." Still glaring, Brandon drove him backwards against the side of the rival team's bus. "She's off limits—got it?"

The blond guy—Jake—struggled against his grip. "Brandon, I wasn't creeping on her," he said, trying to stay calm. "I'm not interested in her—I have a girlfriend, remember?"

But Brandon wasn't listening. His gaze still burning, he lifted a hand—

"Stop, stop, stop it!"

Grabbing him by the arm, I wedged myself in between Brandon and Jake. "Don't hit him, Brandon!" I pleaded. "He's already injured!"

Brandon's eyes met mine. For a long, slow, terrifying moment, I thought he was going to hit me instead.

Then he spat out a curse, lowered his hand, and turned away.

"Sorry," Jake told me in an undertone. "Thanks for the save."

I gave an awkward nod as he left to hurry towards the team. Brandon still wasn't looking at either of us. I wondered if I should say something—if he wanted me to say something.

"Are you free to leave now?" I asked at length, just to say anything.

Finally Brandon whipped around, fury still etched into every one of his features. "Why do you care?" he snapped. "Go and run after your precious Jake if you like him so much!"

I stared at him in a mixture of shock and complete incomprehension. "What are you talking about?"

Brandon scowled, then suddenly he was all up in my space, his shadow falling down on me, tall and looming. "Don't hit him, he's already injured!" he mocked my voice. "I didn't invite you here so you could go batting your pretty eyes at my damn teammates!"

I gulped. From the back of my mind, scenes came floating to me: moments from romance novels where the bad boy had done similar things. Reading them, I had always found them swoonworthy, proof of the love interest's dedication to the heroine. But when it was real and happening to me…

…it was actually quite scary.

"I'm…sorry?" I ventured, wishing I could back away somewhere, but behind me was the bus. "I really wasn't flirting with him, I promise—"

"You were being nice to him." Brandon narrowed his eyes. "Do you know what these guys think when a girl is nice to them?"

I didn't answer.

"They think you're flirting," Brandon answered his own question. His hands were pressed against the bus on either side of my head, trapping me in place with his whole body. His face was close, too close, his breath cold against my skin. I could barely see what was happening behind him, the world blocked out by his towering body.

"They think you're into them," he hissed. "You can't ever let them think that, got it? They're creeps."

Shrinking in on myself, I avoided his gaze. "Jake didn't seem so bad," I said faintly.

The hands framing me on either side balled up into fists. "You've never heard what these guys say in the locker room," he snapped. "I have. And I won't let them treat you how they treat their stupid popular Barbie clones."

I took a deep breath. Brandon wasn't hurting me, I realized. Brandon wouldn't hurt me. He was angry, and he was menacing, but he wouldn't hurt me. Brandon had only been worried about my safety. There was nothing to be scared of.

"Oh," I said and smiled. "I didn't realize that. Sorry."

Brandon's expression softened, and he pushed himself off the side of the bus. "You're too nice for your own good, staircase girl," he said quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of my face. "I need to keep an eye on you, or one of these days you're gonna end up in serious trouble."

My face heating up, I looked down, not sure what to say. It was hard to think with the butterflies dancing up a hurricane in my stomach, my skin still tingling where his long, calloused fingers had touched it.

"Oh my gosh, Pearl, I can't believe you've come all this way to pick us up!"

A flash of blond hair and pink tank top, and suddenly Felicia had pushed herself in between Brandon and me to sweep me up in a hug. "It's literally so sweet of you, you shouldn't have!" she said, casually but firmly leading me away from Brandon and towards the girls. "So sorry it took us so long, did we keep you waiting?"

I stumbled awkwardly, trying to keep up with her long strides. "No, not really!" I said, sending a helpless smile in Brandon's direction. "It's, um…I had company, so it's okay!"

Following my gaze, Felicia flashed an obviously fake smile towards Brandon. "Oh hi, Mr. Quarterback!" she chimed. "It's so sweet of you to help Pearl kill the time, but we're gonna take her back now. You mind?"

Brandon shot her a glare, and for a second he looked ready to explode again. Then he simply scowled and turned away. "Bitch," he muttered and walked away to rejoin his team.

The second he was out of sight, Felicia, Chelsea and Louie all crowded around me. "Are you okay?" Felicia asked, grabbing my shoulders and staring into my eyes like she was looking for signs of a concussion. "Did he do anything?"

I shifted slightly under her hands, and she let go in an instant. "Actually," she decided, "we can talk about that in the car. Let's go for a cold drink, I am literally parched."

She led us all across the parking lot and into a small, sleek silver convertible. Chelsea took the passenger seat while Louie and I squeezed into the backseats.

If only I hadn't agreed to meet them, I thought regretfully. Then I could've talked to Brandon for a little longer, maybe gone somewhere with him.

But another part, a strange, tense, anxious part, couldn't help feeling surprisingly…relieved.