Possess

Slope. Bridget was pretty sure she saw Chris wink at Matt. Ew.
    Matt ignored it. “Nice to meet you. And this is Bridget. Bridget, Chris and Chelsea.”
    Chris nodded at Bridget while Chelsea ignored her. That was about right.
    “So what are you doing here, man?” Chris asked.
    “I’m pretty sure there’s a dance tonight.”
    “A St. Michael’s dance. You crashing?”
    Matt looked sidelong at Bridget. “Dude, Bridget goes to school here.”
    Chris looked at Bridget again, squinting, trying to place her. “Oh,” he said at last, still not convinced. “Oh, yeah. Cool!”
    “Liu, is that you?” Brad bounded up and slapped her on the back like she was a teammate. “I didn’t know you were coming to the dance.”
    “Oh, I guess I forgot to mention it.” More like avoided mentioning it in front of Peter. Like death.
    “Hey,” Matt said. Again with the handshake–chest bump. “Bridge, you didn’t tell me you knew Brad.”
    “Yeah, man,” Brad said. “We totally hang out.”
    A look of confusion flashed across Matt’s face. Hang out. Right. She prayed he wouldn’t ask her about Brad later. How was she supposed to explain that gay men flocked to her like she was wearing a freaking disco ball as a hat without totally and completely outing Brad who, to be honest, might or might not be gay?
    Thankfully, Brad was unfazed. He turned and waved to a group of dudes—some with dates, some without—standing by an SUV in the parking lot. “Guys, look! Matt Quinn!”
    Then there was a dude-alanche as the entire St. Michael’s JV and varsity baseball teams piled on Matt. He chest-
and/or fist-bumped his way through them with a chorus of “Wussup?” and “Hey, man” until he had completed the gauntlet. Then Bridget found herself being introduced to a blur of people.
    “You’re in my fourth-period shop class,” said a freckled redhead baseball player.
    Um, no.
    “Hey, I think we had religion together freshman year,” said one of their dates.
    The girl was a senior, so Bridget doubted it.
    Bridget smiled and tried to remember names and faces, but it was totally hopeless. She wasn’t used to this new social thing, and she wasn’t sure she ever would be.
    “See you inside, guys.” Matt placed a hand on Bridget’s back and guided her toward the line of students outside the gym. Could he tell she was reaching social overload?
    “I think you know more people at my school than I do,” Bridget said. She wasn’t sure if she was amused or horrified.
    “You think?”
    Bridget scowled. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated.”
    Matt’s smile was playful. “Come on. You only hang out with, like, two people.” He glanced back at Brad. “Three, I guess. And you do it on purpose, so don’t throw that poor-me crap.”
    “Maybe I just don’t find them that interesting.”
    “Maybe,” he teased, “you’re afraid they might not find you that interesting.”
    Ouch. That hurt.
    They made it to the front of the line and were searched by a security guard. The school secretary, a frazzled woman who Bridget thought was named Mrs. Freeny, asked for Bridget’s ID and checked her off a list. Then her eyes rested on Matt.
    “Matthew Quinn!” she cried. Her whole face lit up. “It’s so good to see you.”
    “Hi, Mrs. Freely.” Freely, not Freeny. Oops. “How’s Jacob’s swing?”
    Mrs. Freely stamped Bridget’s hand without looking at her. “So much better since you worked with him. He still talks about you all the time. Are you coaching summer camp again this year?”
    “Yeah, I think so. Tell Jacob I say hi.”
    Mrs. Freely beamed at Matt while they walked to the bag check table. There was another round of “Hey, Matt” as they walked inside, accompanied by confused looks in Bridget’s direction.
    Matt literally knew half the people in the gym. At her school. Bridget stared at the floor. It was more than a little embarrassing.
    He slipped his hand around her waist. “You okay?”
    “Fine,” Bridget lied.
    He checked her purse, tucking the ticket inside his vest pocket, all while keeping one hand on her waist. Her gut instinct was to flinch away, but his hand was strong and confident resting there above her hip. It felt . . . nice?
    Matt guided her to the edge of the dance floor and glanced down at her feet. “No combat boots? But you promised.”
    “I threatened.”
    “Do you fight all the time with everyone you know, or is it just me?”
    Bridget’s witty comeback was interrupted by a