What would she have said if I hadn’t cut her off? If you want to keep playing? If you want to stay healthy?

The whole fight had started because she thought this game wasn’t worth the risk, not because me and my dreams weren’t worth the risk to her.

For too long I connected her with Lina, but by that night, I knew just how different they were. How much more caring and kind and joyful Nell is. And yet when push came to shove, I lumped her right in with my ex, and I assumed that they were the same. That they felt the same way about me.

God, I couldn’t have been more stupid.

But I’m done with that. No more stupid mistakes. Not even for football.

As soon as the football falls into my hands, I grip it tight, and instead of chancing the run, instead of worrying about what it will mean for my spot on the team or my future in the game, I worry about how I’ll ever be able to convince Nell that I love her if I don’t even listen to her.

Then I take a knee instead of running it.

I toss the ball to the ref and sprint to Coach Cole on the sideline. I pull off my helmet and say, “I have a concussion.”

“What?”

“I got a concussion in practice Monday, but I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to chance not playing, but that was stupid. I’m sorry.”

His brow furrows and his mouth pulls into a straight line, but he doesn’t answer me right away. Instead, he pulls up one of the backup wide receivers to take my place on the field, and grabs McClain to fill him in. Then he starts barking orders to the other coaches and players, and I know he’s pissed.

He yells for the trainer and gestures me toward him, and I turn to go, swallowing down my unease, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder pad.

“I’m mad as hell right now, Torres. You should have told me as soon as it happened. You never should have been practicing. You sure as hell shouldn’t have been on my field. But I’m glad you came to your senses. You did the right thing. I want you on this team, but I want you healthy. You come first. Always. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you ever lie to me again, you’ll learn just how scary I can be, got it?”

Oh, I got it.

Chapter 27

Nell’s To-Do List

• Forget about Mateo. Or Torres. Or whatever the hell his name is.

• Maybe I should try getting drunk (even though I promised to never drink again).

Tell me honestly . . . was it seriously the best orgasm of your life? I need to know because . . . some reasons.”

Stella becomes the first person besides me to see the list in its entirety.

“It really was,” I say with a sigh as Stella and I walk aimlessly through section after section of the stadium parking lot. “Well, at that point anyway. The ones that came later were pretty fantastic too.”

NORMAL COLLEGE THINGS

1. Hook up with a jock.

2. Make New friends.

3. Go to a party (and actually stay more than half an hour).

4. Do something Wild.

5. Lose my virginity.

6. Drink alcohol (And not at church).

7. Get Drunk.

8. Do a Keg stand.

9. Play Beer Pong.

10. Go to a football game.

11. Go on a date.

12. Go skinny-dipping.

13. Pull an all-nighter.

14. Sing Karaoke.

15. Flash someone.

16. Cuss someone out (and mean it).

17. Kiss a stranger.

18. Invent an alcoholic beverage.

19. Explore the underground tunnels.

20. Take a picture with the Thomas Jefferson Rusk “Big Daddy Rusk” statue.

21. Have the best orgasm of my life.

22. Skip a class.

23. Fall in love.

24. Get my heart broken.

“Okay,” Stella says. “Well, first things first. We’re marking out this whole ‘Make New Friends’ thing. You’ve made them. Past tense. I officially declare us all friends.” I hand her a pen, and she draws a line through the words. “And I vote that tonight counts as going to a football game. You tailgated. You had tickets. You went inside. The game is currently happening, and we are close-ish to the action. That one gets marked off, too.”

She scans the list from beginning to end again and says, “Okay. It looks like all you have left is keg stand, beer pong, all-nighter, and karaoke. That’s pretty awesome, Nell. Look at this list. Look at all the stuff you’ve done. I guess I can’t claim to know you super well, but I still feel qualified enough to say, ‘Damn, you go, girl.’ ”

I laugh. “Thanks. It is kind of crazy. To be honest, I don’t think I ever really expected to finish it.”

“Oh, you’re gonna finish it, honey. In fact, you’re gonna finish it tonight. You and me. Karoake first. Then we’ll hit up a party and get your keg stand and beer pong out of the way. Then we’ll come up with a few more crazy things to do since we’re not going to bed until the sun is up.”

I laugh, but she’s serious. “I don’t know.”

I’m proud of the list. Silly and vapid though most of it is, it’s a testament to my determination. Proof that I am more than just my ability to study. More than just the things I’ve memorized and learned. I’m a person capable of fun and adventure and risk and . . . mistakes.

I can make mistakes, and they won’t break me. Not completely anyway.

“Okay,” I concede. “I’m in. Let’s do it.”

THE KARAOKE BAR Stella takes me to is largely empty. I don’t know whether that’s because most people don’t care to go to a bar that’s all karaoke all the time, or if it’s just because it’s still early. Either way, I’m glad for the relative emptiness of the bar when she drags me up to sing.

I’m not a singer.

Not at all.

I sound like I swallowed a frog and it had babies in my throat. (Honestly . . . that frog might even sound better than I do.) But karaoke is on my list, and I’m going to do it.

We start with a breakup song that I’m only vaguely familiar with. But it repeats the words “forget you,” oh, about a thousand times. So I let Stella handle the verses, and I chime in on the chorus.

After that we start singing older stuff. Spice Girls. TLC. Boy bands galore. We sing so long, so loud, and so badly that I’m surprised no one kicks us out. But the longer we sing, the less I care about how I sound. I’m having fun.