It’s a simple choice.

Frannie or Hayden.

Frannie and I were best friends until around fifth grade, until she and I had a falling out when we got to middle school and she decided to befriend the popular girls instead of me.

Hayden and I briefly dated freshman year. He’s a good kisser, pretty hot if I do say so myself. He’s sweet, but we couldn’t be more than friends so I haven’t talked to him in a year and a half.

Frannie stands in the field, fidgeting with her hands. Her hair is in a messy ponytail and her right shoe is untied. Her expression is one of pure fear, as well as Hayden’s. His hair is still buzzed, which he somehow pulls off. He’s bouncing his leg and itching his head.

I’m making a pros and cons list when someone shouts: “Hurry up and choose already!”

“Frannie,” I say. “Frannie can be on my dodgeball team.”