"Max," Ms. Hardy called from a lab station near the front of the room, "that flame is much too high."

Liz glanced over. Ms. Hardy was right. The Bunsen burner's flame was inches above where it needed to be. And the tip of Max's finger was right in the middle of the fire!

The odor of cooking meat hit her nose, and her throat clenched in a dry gag. What was he doing? Couldn't he feel that he was burning himself? Liz shot out her hand and twisted off the gas. The flame disappeared.

"Max, are you okay?" Liz demanded. "Let me see your finger." She reached for his hand.

"It's fine," Max snapped. He jerked his hand away.

"It can't be fine," she shot back. "You were holding it in the fire. And your skin… Max, your skin was bubbling."

"I've got to go change for practice," Isabel said, but she didn't pull away from Alex. What he was doing just felt too good. Except that the way he was leaning into her was jamming her lower back against one of the bleacher's metal steps.

"I could help you," Alex mumbled against her ear, his warm breath sending spikes of pleasure through her body. He reached between them and started unbuttoning her blouse.

Isabel grabbed his hand. "Thanks, but I think I can handle it." Their position back alongside the bleachers would prevent most people from seeing them. But still.

Alex slowly rebuttoned the buttons. Then he smoothed down her collar and brushed a lock of her hair back in place. Sometimes he could be so tender. It made Isabel feel like she was turning all liquid inside.

"Is-a-bel!" Stacey Scheinin's high, baby-doll voice echoed through the gym. "Get a move on. You can't afford to miss one minute of practice. We're going to watch a video of our last halftime show before we start. You'll see what I mean."