Page 3 of Catching Feelings

As if on cue, Luke Dawson sweeps in, hair slightly damp from a postpractice shower. He scans the diner, eyes locking on to Harper with the focus of a heat-seeking missile, and makes a beeline our way.

She turns just as he wraps his arms around her shoulders from behind, bending over her for a kiss. They keep it PG—Priya will be the first to holler at them to get a room if tongues come out—but her head tilts back, and his hand comes up to cup her chin, and even if it’s PG, I think it would make Disney kinda uncomfy.

I can’t help smiling proudly as I watch. Moments like this make it hard to remember Harper and Dawson used to hate each other’s guts. The memory of Harper being ostracized by the entire student body still stings—of course, I had to do my best to save her from that kind of drama. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost the safe space Hamilton Lakes High gives me, where things may be busy, but as long as I deliver, I’m met with smiles and gratitude.

Priya clears her throat, and they reluctantly break apart.

Harper looks at me sheepishly. “So, um…”

I wave a hand, laughing. “Yeah, meeting adjourned. Just get me those bracelets by the first day of school, okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” But her voice is distant, her smile turned up at Dawson.

He grimaces. “Sorry, Sabrina. But Harper has all year to help the Spirit Committee. I only have a few days to—”

“Go, go, get out of here!” I’m laughing harder now. “Spare me the details, please!”

He grins devilishly, already tugging her out of the booth. Harper waves a distracted goodbye, looking up at him with her face aglow as they head for the door.

Dawson’s leaving for the Chicago Steel later this week, and I don’t blame those two for enjoying every last minute together before they have to navigate long distance. And I can’t deny the warm flutter in my stomach at the way they smile at each other.

But I drag my eyes back to my phone and reality. Even if senior year were the time for love, that’s not the kind of thing I have with Ryan. I know better than anyone how rare those follow-you-to-the-ends-of-the-Earth feelings are, how quickly the weaker version fades away. I don’t have anyone inspiring that in me—and if it’s not going to last, why pursue it?

Not when I can still hear Mom asking Dad When did things change? in a tear-soaked voice.

My throat constricts, and I shake my head to clear out those thoughts. One thing’s for sure: I don’t need to take on the burden of another doomed relationship. I’d much rather focus on the things I can control this year—the things I can make a surefire success.

I tap the screen awake to update my list. I have plans to make, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

2. TYLER

My old coach always compared football to combat. Two opposing armies facing off; the language of downs and sacks; even the way it’s a fall game, when everything natural is dying. Football is about death, he’d say. About fighting for your life and giving it all up on the field. And what could be more noble than that?

I’d never seen it that way. Football was always about life for me—about blood pumping through your veins, and fresh air in your lungs, and teammates supporting you like family.

But this year, I get it. Everything in my life died last spring.

Hamilton Lakes’s field is way nicer than Brownsville’s, but the sweat pouring down my face is the same as ever. It feels cathartic—almost like a new beginning. So, I push myself even harder than usual. I need to prove myself to Coach Herman, and I need the burn in my muscles and salt stinging my eyes. I run ladder drills like it’s my favorite thing, press into push-up after push-up, and relish the chance to leave every thought behind.

It’s been a while since I felt this much peace. I ignore the Hamilton Lakes guys—many of whom are casting the potential new recruit curious glances—and focus only on my breathing, letting the rest fade away.

By the end of practice, I’m beat. The other guys have a leg up, thanks to summer two-a-days, but even they are panting around me. Coach Herman doesn’t mess around.

I don’t dare to hope he might let me join. I’m just grateful for the chance to play for at least one more day.

I’m ready to hit the showers and head home to sit on my ass for the foreseeable future when Coach Herman beckons to me. “Holloway!”

Gabe Flores, the guy I was running drills with most of the afternoon (and whose nonstop chatter I was doing my best to ignore) shoots me a double thumbs-up. Will Richards, the starting quarterback, claps me on the shoulder before following the rest of the guys to the locker room. My heart gives a little twinge of betrayal—he reminds me of my old QB, Santi, always checking in on everyone. But I shove the feeling aside, nodding back at them before jogging over to Coach, moving quickly despite my leaden legs.

The Hamilton Lakes team has been surprisingly welcoming so far, especially since it’s just a trial practice for me, but I’m not interested in more than a cordial relationship. Not this year. Gotta just keep my head down, figure out my future, and enjoy one more year on the field before college.

If Herman will let me. I gulp, trying to rein in my rising hope.

“That was a great practice.” Coach Herman looks me up and down. “You picked up on our plays faster than a typical new recruit, and your blocks are strong. We could use a guy with your size on our O-line.”

I shuffle from one foot to the other, eyes on the turf, not sure what to do with all that praise. I’ve been one of the tallest, broadest guys on the team since peewee, so I’m used to comments like that. But on a new team, after a summer without playing, after everything that went down last year… compliments about my game mean a lot. “Thank you, Coach.”

“And I got a call from your coach back in Brownsville.”