“Even if the redhead was pretty hot,” Ollie added, which earned him a slap on the head from Mr. Kent. “Holy cow, I was just saying he’s loyal. That’s all.”
This seemed to satisfy the parents, and Mrs. Kent went back to talking with my mom, who shot me a wink and gave Hooker an approving nod.
My return smile was part grimace.
Sitting there in my Gryffindor jersey, I felt like the lowest of the low, a fraud, a scoundrel.
A Slytherin.
After all, only a Slytherin would tell lies for their own gain. Only a Slytherin would take advantage of a friend and ask them to do something so dishonest. And nobody but a Slytherin would keep this thing going simply because they were too scared, too much of a coward, to call it off. Even when it meant keeping her friend from doing what he wanted, seeing who he wanted.
Like the hot redhead who’d just given him an open invitation.
I wasn’t sure why this was hitting me now. Becks and I had been lying for weeks. We’d convinced everyone that we were a couple, soul mates, made for each other. With Becks doing such a spectacular job on the F.B.F. front and me falling for him more each day, it hadn’t been hard. But here in the stands, watching Becks singlehandedly knock out the competition, hearing an endless supply of girls call his name, listening to Hooker claim Becks as mine, I couldn’t stand myself.
It was that poem, had to be. The words, beautiful and heartfelt, were also guilt-inducing. If I really loved Becks, how could I do this to him? Wouldn’t the right thing be to let him go?
The attack on my conscience was so great it made me want to confess everything. I could do it. It’d make a lot of people mad, and I’d probably be condemning myself to a lifetime of matchmaking hell, but I could do it. Becks would be angry at first, but he’d get over it. Like he’d said, there were girls who wanted to date him for real. I was holding him back. Maybe it’d be best to come clean before he started to resent me—or worse, before I did something stupid and gave myself away. I didn’t want him feeling sorry for me. Becks was my best friend and I loved him, but I’d jump off a skyscraper before I let him tie himself to me out of pity.
I’ve got to do it, I thought. Confess everything, fess up for Becks’s sake. For mine.
It was what any good Gryffindor would do.
Taking a deep breath, I opened my mouth and…
“Sally?”
The interruption startled me, the words trapped in my throat.
“I think that boy’s calling you,” Mrs. Kent whispered.
Oh my God.
A whistle blew. The game restarted.
My throat closed up tight. Sense returned with a vengeance, piercing my flimsy shield of courage and replacing it with dread. All the reasons why I shouldn’t confess slapped me in the face, one after the other, leaving me dazed. Lord, what was I thinking?
“Sally Spitz?”
“Slytherin,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that?” Hooker asked, but I stayed quiet.
Forget Gryffindor. My middle name wasn’t Sue; it was Chicken. My favorite color wasn’t blue but green. I was nothing but a big old, shaking-in-my-boots snake in the grass. I sighed. When in the world had I become such a first-class coward?
“Sally?” The voice was much closer now.
“Uh oh,” Hooker said, “it’s Mr. Sexy Surfer in his Chinos. Want me to get rid of him?”
I followed her gaze and saw Austin Harris, Mr. Sexy Surfer as Hooker called him, standing at the end of our row, smiling at me. Our first (and only) date had been short but memorable. It’s not every day you see a guy declare his undying love to a girl. Especially when you’re the girl. And the guy’s only known you for three hours. I fondly remembered Austin as a wackadoo with a heart. That night seemed like it happened ages ago, to someone else.
“Hey,” he said, “I thought it was you. Love the shirt by the way.”
“Thanks,” I said, making my way over. I tried not to feel like too much of an impostor. When I reached him, I gestured to his chest. “Where’s your tie?”
“Left it at home,” he said. “So, how are you?”
Was that a trick question? “I’m good, and you?”
“Oh, I’m great. Actually I—”
Just then, the crowd erupted.
Thad jumped up, thrusting his hand out to encompass the field. “Are you blind? That was a flagrant. Call something ref!”
“Do your damn job,” Ollie yelled.
This time Mrs. Kent tagged him with a hard pinch to the ear. Judging by the sounds he was making, that had to hurt.
Austin tilted his head toward the game. “Is that your boyfriend down there? He’s killing us.”