No Place to Fall by Jaye Robin Brown

stutters. “I, um, football’s not my thing.”
    She slugs him. “Not for the football, silly. For the dance. They’re actually kind of fun.” Her eyes go wide. “ I know. You two could go together.”
    â€œUm,” I sputter. I’ve thought more than once about C.A.’s suggestion, but I’m still not sure I’m ready to make a move. Or that it’s the right one.
    â€œYou never come to any dances, Amber.” C.A. taps her foot. “And I want you both there.”
    â€œI usually go to Devon’s on Fridays.”
    Devon reappears with Kush right before the bell and sticks his head into our little conversation. “What are y’all talking about?”
    â€œFriday night,” I answer—and then I think of a plan, for me, and for Devon. “C.A., can you drive me home on Friday?”
    â€œWell, I have to get ready before the game, but yeah, I can come over for a little while.”
    â€œGreat. I need you to help me. You know, with the thing.”
    She clasps her hands and nods. “Oh.” She draws it out. “The thing .”
    â€œThe thing ?” Devon asks.
    I know what he’s asking—is the thing the kiss . The thing is actually C.A. helping me convince my mom to let me audition. But I say, “Yes, the thing,” because Friday after school will be as good a time as any to talk to C.A. about Devon’s favor.
    Devon flushes.
    â€œThen we’ll come to your house, Devon. We can have a pre-party before the football game and the dance.” Daddy has a stash of apple brandy out in the barn I can bring. Kush won’t miss a chance to brag to his friends back in Atlanta that the country kids he’s hanging out with really do drink moonshine. And once that’s fired up Kush’ssystem, Devon might be able to find out what he’s dying to know.
    Will chooses that moment to walk over, sans Amber-o-zia, to ask us, “Did I hear party ?”
    â€œAt your house,” C.A. answers, swiping the baseball cap off his head and handing it to him with a flourish. “Before the game.”
    Will looks to Devon. “What say you, bro?”
    Devon pumps his fist. “I say par- ty , yo!”
    The bell sounds in agreement.
    At the end of the school day, I head to chorus, still riding the high of my plan from this morning. Mrs. Early greets me with a clap of her hands. “Amber, so nice to see you!”
    The list of audition song options is tucked inside my book bag, but I figure I’ll wait to talk to Mrs. Early about them until Mama’s on board.
    She points me to a chair in the soprano section. A motley assortment of students filters in. Chorus seems to be a combination of the devout, church-singing crowd and fringe kids who play in bands or want to.
    Then, Will McKinney walks through the door. His dark hair flops over his forehead and now that it’s afternoon, I can tell he didn’t shave this morning. I watch him walk across the room in his faded Levi’s, a vintage plaid shirt, andred Converse. All that’s missing is his banjo.
    He sees me and pauses before walking toward the bass section. As he passes me, he whispers, “How’s it going, oh Forceful one?”
    A slice of hot lightning bolts straight to a point below my belly button. I shift in my chair. I can’t let him see how he gets to me. “It’s going nowhere, Will.”
    He ducks his head, but not before I see a flash of color on his cheeks. “Too bad. I’d be more than happy to give you another ride home.”
    But I can’t find the words for a snappy comeback, because when I look up at him, his eyes look open and sincere.
    Mrs. Early claps twice and I’m startled out of my thoughts. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s get started. As you can see, we have a couple of new additions to the chorus.” She gestures toward me, then Will.
    I lean over my book bag as an excuse to sneak a