All talking stopped when an unusual girl came into the high school cafeteria. Unusual, according to Nick, an all-American jock.

This was a typical small-town high school with all sorts of kids—the jocks, the cheerleaders, the student leaders (like his girlfriend, Emily, who was president of their Junior class), the band nerds, the computer geeks, and the cowboys, with a few oddballs thrown in. The girl dressed in a black leotard and neon-bright leggings would be in the oddball category. Laketon was a small rural town in western Michigan where they grew blueberries, apples, and cherries. A lot of the kids participated in the rodeo and 4-H. Kids wore blue jeans, flannel shirts, and cowboy boots here. But this girl, dressed in a black leotard, rushed into the middle of the cafeteria and twirled around on her toes, hair flying, pirouetting with the grace of a ballerina. It almost seemed as if she was auditioning for them. For what, he didn’t know.

Nick grimaced. Unfortunately he knew what pirouetting was because his mother dragged him to the Nutcracker ballet each Christmas until he was twelve—when he flat-out refused to go even with bribery. Nick may have known what a pirouette was, but he also knew a touchdown, a tackle, a sack, a punt, and other important things about football—no self-respecting male said “pirouetting” without getting laughed at or, worse, jumped and beaten up.

Still, the girl kept them spellbound as she continued to twirl. He looked over at his girlfriend, Emily. She had her chin in her palm and didn’t take her eyes off the girl’s performance. The girl’s stance changed as she bent at the waist while still moving in a circle. Her hair was in tiny braids, and as she twirled, they flew around her head like the blades of a helicopter. You could have heard a pin drop in the usually noisy cafeteria.

When the girl slowed and stopped, several people clapped, including Emily. Emily whispered, “She’s good.”

Nick looked over at Emily. That was one of the things he loved about her and made her a good class president: she was nice to everyone.

Nick also heard someone mutter, “What a freak.” The comment jarred him from thinking about Emily’s goodness.

Freak or not, the girl had held their attention with her grace and fluid movements.

The girl bowed ever so slightly, and then her eyes rested on his. Nick couldn’t look away. Her brown-eyed gaze held his, and an unspoken language passed between them. She whirled away and out the door. Her performance was only about five minutes but seemed longer.

Emily nudged him. “Did you see the way she looked at you?”

“No,” he lied.

“Yes! She looked like she knew you.”

He mumbled, “I don’t know her,” and he shrugged.

Time to change the subject.

“Do you think she’s a new student?” he asked, not because he was interested, but he didn’t want Emily commenting on the look that passed between them.

“Wait!” Emily slapped her hands lightly on the table. “I might know of her! She moved into our neighborhood! She didn’t look like that when I saw her by the mailbox. She wore jeans and an Oregon sweatshirt, but I think it’s her!”

Gary, Nick’s best friend, walked by wearing a Lions sweatshirt, and Nick’s attention turned to football and the Lions. Nick gave him a thumbs-up, and Gary gave him a low “tweet” whistle—his signature greeting.

The Lions’ first game of the season was tonight. Nick would be sitting side-by-side with his father—both of them wearing their Lion jerseys, pumping their fists and urging the team to win.

“I’ll ask Veronica about her,” Emily said.

“Whatever,” Nick said, forgetting all about the new girl. His eyes strayed to the clock. “Gotta go.” He took the last swallow of his protein drink, kissed Emily before tossing the carton in the trash, and headed for his first class.