Falling Into You

Rory

“Don’t you just love the fall bake sale?”

High School’s main parking lot had been turned into a veritable autumn wonderland, with stands selling everything from cinnamon

scones to chocolate-chip-walnut cookies to apple cider doughnuts. Kids decked out in the Woodmont High red and gold greeted

customers and circulated among the other tables to check out the competition, but there was a general sense of camaraderie

in the air. That certain back-to-school, filled-with-possibilities, and also laced-with-sugar vibe.

Each of the fall and winter sports teams had its own stand at the sale, and each team had decorated its space to maximize the seasonal aesthetic.

Rory and her teammates on the varsity cheer squad had gone all out, as always, with pyramids of carved pumpkins fronting their table and a colorful canopy of paper leaves overhead.

It had taken the entire varsity squad ten extra post-practice hours over the past two weeks to get the canopy just right, requiring plenty of Rory’s masterful scheduling ingenuity, but it had been worth it.

Rory had already heard at least half a dozen customers comment on how beautiful the booth was.

The next person who mocked her for carrying around a hardcover planner with color-coded Post-its could suck it.

“Your pumpkin spice muffins are selling like hotcakes,” Gwen said, jumping excitedly and making her dangling skeleton earrings

dance. With her high blond ponytail and tiny physique, Gwen was often mistaken for much younger than her sixteen years. It

didn’t help that her wardrobe was almost entirely made up of ruffles, sparkles, and lace. Today she had paired her black-and-red

cheer hoodie with polka-dot leggings and gold fingerless gloves covered in rhinestones.

“Maybe the saying should be that hotcakes are selling like Rory’s pumpkin spice muffins,” said Layla wryly, not looking up

from her phone behind the table. Gwen’s brow furrowed as she tried to work out the joke. Finally, she shrugged and went back

to trying to lure the clientele to their table.

“Stop confusing Gwen,” Rory admonished.

“It’s not my fault if all that hair spray has rotted her brain.”

Layla was the deadpan to Gwen’s liveliness. She dressed almost exclusively in black, dyed her brown hair black, and favored

heavy—you guessed it—black eyeliner. Except when she was on cheer duty, of course. As the first junior to ever be elected

captain of the varsity squad (which had been item #4 on Rory’s list of Things to Accomplish During High School), Rory had

rules about makeup, and all of them involved the word minimal. It had been Layla’s idea for the entire team to wear their black cheer sweatshirts for this event. Rory thought it worked.

They looked uniform, yet cozy.

“This booth is just stunning!” said an elderly woman approaching their table.

“Thank you!” Rory said. The older woman’s blue eyes were wide behind her giant glasses, and she lifted her phone to snap a

photo, for which Rory automatically smiled as she asked, “Would you like a sample?” They had cut up a few muffins into slices

for just this purpose, and she held out the plate.

“No need. I buy from you girls every year. I’ll take four.”

“A repeat customer! I love it!” Rory gushed. She took the woman’s cash as Layla placed four muffins in a wax bag donated by

the local bakery, Cakes N’ Stuff, along with a coupon for the shop. “The cheerleading squad appreciates your support.”

Rory rang the bell hidden under the canopy’s corner, and all the cheerleaders behind the table and around the parking lot shouted, “Goooo, Lumberjacks!”

“Oh, nice touch!” the woman said. “Good luck at regionals, dear. I hope you destroy those hacks from Shrewsbury.” Then she winked at Rory and moved on to the next booth. Layla and Rory locked eyes and cracked

up.

But the mere mention of regionals sent a nervous zing down Rory’s spine. Her team had come in second the past three years

in a row—even before she’d been in high school, they’d been runners-up. That was all going to change this year, if she had

anything to say about it. (“Win at regionals” was #5 on her list, followed by #6, “Win at nationals.”) But it wasn’t going

to be easy. She still had to finish choreographing the end of their routine, and the squad had yet to nail the pyramid in

practice.

“It’s a travesty that they planned homecoming for the day before regionals,” said Dahlia, walking over with her little sister,

Maya. Both were on the squad—Dahlia a senior gymnastics specialist and Maya an alternate flyer and the only sophomore on the

varsity team. They wore their curly brown hair in matching low ponytails and had both applied sparkly red star stickers at

the corners of their brown eyes. “Are they trying to suck all the fun out of our lives?”

“I know. It’s awful,” Rory replied, reaching around Dahlia to ring up another customer. “But I was thinking, I should probably

impose a curfew for the dance. We want to be fresh-faced the next day.”

And not hungover, she added silently.

“Are you kidding? Last I checked, you were a lock for homecoming queen. You’re telling me you don’t want to go party in your

tiara?” Dahlia asked.

“First of all, I’m not a lock. The nominations haven’t even come out yet, and the court is almost always all seniors. Secondly,

we can party after we win regionals,” Rory said, handing the customer their change. “Thanks for your support!”

She rang the bell.

“Goooooo, Lumberjacks!”

It was definitely possible that Rory would make homecoming court, and if she did, then it was certainly possible she would

be elected homecoming queen (#8 on her list). Her boyfriend, Tucker, was a lock for king, and the voters rarely split up a

couple. But Rory was not going to count on it. If she was nothing else, she was realistic. And the crown usually went to a

senior.

“We’re kicking ass,” Layla said, glancing into the till before Rory closed it. Rory was grateful for the change of subject.

“There’s no way we don’t win this.”

Right. Focus. One challenge at a time, Rory told herself.

“Especially since our biggest competition hasn’t shown up,” she said, eyeing the empty square of duct tape where the Woodmont

varsity boys’ soccer team was supposed to have its table set up. A sad piece of paper taped to the ground flapped in the breeze

with the words VARSITY BOYS SOCCER printed on it.

“Have you texted Tucker?” Maya asked, snatching a sample muffin slice and tearing off a tiny chunk to pop into her mouth. Gwen returned and grabbed a sample for herself, too.

“Yes, and nothing!” Rory checked her phone again, threw her hands up, and let them slap down again. “Where are they? I gave them my snickerdoodle recipe and even walked them through making the first batch! I even made sure to text each

and every team member the full recipe in case Tucker lost the hard copy.”

“You coached the enemy?” Layla asked, looking up at Rory through her dark eyelashes.

They were interrupted by another sale. Rory rang the bell.

“Gooooo, Lumberjacks!”

“What?” she asked, picking up the conversation and trying not to sound defensive. “He’s my boyfriend. And all the money is

going to the same place.” Rory shrugged, pushing her thick hair back behind her shoulder. The bake sale raised money for the

sports scholarship fund, which applied to all the teams.

“Yeah, but we need to win those tickets for Stuart,” Gwen reminded her, clasping her hands together in a plea.

“I know, Gwen.” Rory sighed. The prize for raising the most money at the bake sale was a free pair of tickets to the homecoming dance in two weeks.

Rory’s base, Stuart, who had been throwing and catching her safely for the past two seasons, needed those tickets—so they needed to win.

His family had fallen on hard times, and his parents had said they all had to cut back on frivolous purchases.

If Stuart didn’t get the free tickets, he wasn’t going to go to homecoming, and as one of Rory’s best friends and a crucial member of the squad, he had to.

“Even if they get here right now and somehow get their booth set up in the next five minutes, there’s only an hour left in

the sale,” Rory pointed out. “There’s no way they can catch up with us.”

Rory breathed in the heady fall scent again and held it inside her lungs. Everything was going to be fine. She’d made a plan.

She’d executed the plan perfectly. Everything was going to be fine.

Just then, a blaring car horn interrupted them. Gwen yelped, and they all looked over to the road leading to the school. A

battered red pickup truck, its unbelievably loud engine rattling, swung into the student parking lot. Six boys were riding

illegally in the truck bed, cheering and waving.

Rory’s eyes narrowed. She knew that truck. That was Jacob Reilly’s truck. And that was her boyfriend grinning handsomely in

the front seat, his blond hair perfectly tousled. Tucker Panagopoulos’s teeth were so perfect and white, Rory would be able

to recognize that grin from space.

Jacob screeched his truck into a parking spot, and the boys jumped over the side of the truck’s flatbed.

Then they reached in, grabbing a folding table out of the back.

Two of them tucked it under their arms, toting it like a canoe as they jogged over to the bake sale.

Tucker and Jacob unloaded a dozen paper grocery bags filled with . . .

“Are those . . . Girl Scout cookies?” Layla asked.

Kai and Jax, the two juniors holding the table, approached the cheer team sweaty and out of breath. “Where’s our spot?” they

asked.

“It’s the one that says ‘varsity boys soccer’ on it?” Rory said, gesturing at the duct-taped square across from the cheerleaders’

table.

“Sweet! Thanks, Ror,” Kai said, proceeding to noisily open up the folding table and slam it down onto the blacktop. Cody Beckwidth,

the senior goalkeeper, slapped a sign to the front of the table that read BEST COOKIES EVER!!!!! in a messy blue scrawl. They hadn’t even used school colors. Finally, the rest of the guys dumped out dozens and dozens of