“We dare you to ask Maddie Miller on a date.”
I stare at my three friends, my hands gripping the sandwich on my lunch tray.
Theydareme?
To ask Maddie Miller on a date.
As if I would ever do that, in a million years.
Maddie. Miller.My dream girl.
My eyes slide across the courtyard to the table where she sits, basking in the limelight, surrounded by her friends. Long blond hair. Bronze skin. Short jean shorts and a crop top, despite the cooler temperatures. Maddie and her friends sit—untouchable—holding court while the students surrounding them eat lunch.
Maddie ignores everyone, phone in her face, and I can see that she’s taking selfies or making a video to post on social media, not eating lunch. She has a cute lavender lunch bag in front of her.
I swallow, shaking my head slowly.
No.
It’s never going to happen.
I’ve had a crush on Maddie Miller since seventh grade—she might not be thenicestgirl at school, but she’s one of the most popular. They want me to ask her on a date?
Have my friends lost their damn minds?
I sigh loudly, chewing my dry ham sandwich. It tastes like sandpaper and I pick up my carton of milk to force the wad of bread down my throat, which is suddenly an impossible task.
Ask Maddie Miller on a date.
Even if Iwantedto ask her out—I would have to have the cojones to do it. And if that were the case, I would have done it months ago. I wouldn’t be sitting at a lunch table surrounded by the idiots daring me to do it. I would be eating with her.
Over there.
“What are you, five? No one dares me to do anything,” I boast with confidence.
The idea of this particular dare has my nut sack shriveling three sizes and hasREJECTIONwritten all over it in fat neon letters. My buddies might as well take a Sharpie to my forehead and writeLOSERthere for Maddie to see.
Not that I’m an actual loser.
As a left winger for the school’s hockey team, I’m no schlub.
And all I have to do during the school year is keep my average from falling below a C—and “not do anything stupid that might fuck up my chances at getting recruited by a D1 college.” That is a literal quote from my father.
Or get injured.
But let’s get real here: Maddie isn’t interested in a guy who gets his face knocked around by other giant dudes or his teethalmost knocked out because of the sport he plays. My face will never be nearly as pretty as hers.
I gnaw on the edge of my bread, thinking. “What are my options besides asking Maddie Miller on a date?”
There has to be more to it than this. These assholes have a backup plan—they always do.
“Or.” Marcus takes a swig from his water bottle, then makes a show of screwing the cap back on. “Oryou’re the one who’ll have to pull the Impossible Senior Prank this year.”
I laugh, tipping my head back. “Say what, now?”
I could not have heard him right. They’re idiots, but they would never make me pull a prank—not when I have so much riding on my senior year.
“Sorry, dude. You drew the short straw.”
