Samuel sat high on the metal bleachers, the aluminum cold against his jeans, watching the scrimmage. It wasn’t a real game—the season was over, and the stakes were gone—but that just made it look like more fun. They were laughing as they tackled each other, the thud of bodies and the shout of plays drifting up to him like a language he used to speak but had forgotten.

  ?"Hey!"

  ?Samuel jumped slightly. Tom, the tall black quarterback who seemed to be the center of gravity for the whole school, was jogging toward the sideline, looking up at him.

  ?"You wanna play?" Tom called out, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun.

  ?Samuel felt a phantom twitch in his legs. God, he wanted to run. He wanted to hit someone and have it just be a game. "No, I'm good. Sorry."

  ?Tom didn't shrug it off. He jogged up the steps, his cleats clacking loudly on the metal. He had changed recently—ever since the... incident. He was less of a statue and more of a person.

  ?"Come on, man," Tom said, leaning on the railing. He wasn't aggressive, just easygoing. "You watch us play like every day. It’s cool. But it’s less weird if you join us."

  ?Samuel felt a flush of embarrassment, but under it, a desperate flare of excitement. To be included.

  ?"I'm sorry, man," Samuel said, forcing a smile that felt tight on his face. "I love the game. I just… I have a health thing."

  ?It was the lie he always used. It covered everything.

  ?Tom studied him for a second, then nodded. "Alright, man. I get it." He slapped the railing and sat down next to him. "But hey, you don't have to be the weird guy in the bleachers. Come hang."

  ?Before Samuel could find a way to say no, Jane and Lisa appeared. They seemed to appear out of nowhere, as if serving some kind of penance for their years of being "The Plastics." They climbed up with bags of chips and sodas, followed by a handful of other players and students.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  ?They surrounded Samuel, not with judgment, but with chips.

  ?"Here," Jane said, tossing a bag of Lay's into his lap. "You look hungry."

  "Chips after playing is a tradition." Tom explained.

  ?They were just… talking. Eating food. Including him. It wasn't long before one of them, out of nowhere, howled loudly.

  ?Samuel looked toward the parking lot and saw a blur. A small blonde girl was sprinting toward them at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a varsity track star, let alone a kid in jeans.

  ?"Dude, you think we could get her on Junior Varsity?" The boy who howled asked Tom who just laughed, watching her go.

  ?Behind the blur came the most beautiful girl Samuel had ever seen.

  ?She was walking, wearing oversized grey sweats and her hair tied back in a messy mop that somehow made her look regal. She walked across the field like she owned the grass, the dirt, and the air above it. The little blonde girl stopped to howl loudly back at the group.

  ?Tom slapped Samuel’s back. "You're in for a treat."

  ?Sarah hit the bleachers like a tornado, hugging everyone in reach.

  ?"Sar-ah!" Tom yelled, laughing. "Get over here."

  ?The girl behind her approached less dramatically. She was happy to join them, taking food when Jane offered it. She sat down, smiling at Sarah—who Samuel assumed was her younger sister—as the blonde girl talked endlessly to the football players.

  ?Then, she turned her head.

  ?She looked at Samuel.

  ?His heart leaped, and so did the rest of him. The noise of the group dropped away.

  ?She smiled at him. A real, genuine smile that reached her eyes.

  ?"Sorry guys, I have to get home," Samuel blurted out.

  ?The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He stood up so fast he almost knocked over his soda.

  ?The girl in grey blinked, her smile faltering just a little. "Oh. Bye?"

  ?"Yeah," Samuel choked out. He managed a jagged, awkward smile in return.

  ?And in that second, something like electricity arced between them. It wasn't just attraction. It felt like recognition. Like she was seeing the bruised ribs and the secrets under his jacket and didn't care.

  ?That was the problem.

  ?He turned and practically ran down the bleachers, clutching his jacket to his chest. He could feel her eyes on his back as he fled.

  ?He had to go. He had loved a girl before. He knew the risks. Monsters don't get the girl. Monsters eat the girl. And Samuel wasn't going to let that happen again.