I was the cheerleader. Todd the captain of the football team. And Henry the stud dressed in black who cared nothing of football, yet still went to every game, watching beneath the bleachers looking for a reason, with a cigarette in his hand that he didn't like to smoke but was his escape. Except I didn't choose this. I didn't choose to be with the football player. The stud told me I didn't belong in his world and I was stupid enough to believe him. Stupid enough not to see that I held his gaze through the stands, through the smoke—unable to see that he was daring me to choose him. Only, I didn't know it was a dare. I mistook his waiting, for refusal; carelessness. Not realizing, he cared the whole time.