Page 7 of Catching Feelings

But when Coach Herman puts me in against our scout D team to try some of the plays we’ll use against Northview in a few weeks, I’m as hesitant as a rookie. Scared to hit all over again. I can’t stop thinking about the last time my own strength got away from me. And I don’t know these guys yet—don’t know what they’re capable of, what they can take. My chest tightens at the way I miss Santi and Avery and Jared.

“Holloway!” Will calls from across the field, after I phone in a first play. “We all know you can do better than that!”

Gabe nods, hopping from one foot to the other—constantly in motion, and it shows in his wiry frame. “All that muscle can’t be for nothing!”

And Kai pulls off his helmet to run a hand through his hair, fixing me with a challenging grin. “Come on, now. I’ve been on a beach in Hawaii with my auntie for the last two months, and even I’m not that relaxed.”

I can’t quite muster a laugh at their good-natured ribbing. Because they’re right—I can do better than this.

So, I take a deep breath and remind myself: This is a fresh start, a new team. You’re the same player you always were, and you have another chance.

And I bend my knees, sink my hips, keep my head up—and I hit.

Kai whoops. “Attaboy, Holloway! Cap’n Crunch was right about you!”

When Coach Herman blows his whistle for us to set up for scrimmage, Will—Cap’n Crunch?—jogs past and claps me on the shoulder. “I never misjudge talent. Let’s do it again.”

I can’t help smiling as we take our positions.

Hamilton Lakes is a big team—at least forty students, which is the first way I know this school is serious. Its students aren’t just kids who play football; they’re football players. They’re prepared for injuries and alternates, have guys to swap out to keep their players fresh. They went eleven and two last year, and from the serious looks on everyone’s faces, this year they’re trying for an undefeated record.

From what I’m seeing, it seems feasible.

Gabe is one of the fastest running backs I’ve ever seen: nimble and quick on his feet, finding cracks in the pocket no one else seems to spot. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why the team nicknamed him Legs. Will’s just as talented as I thought, and he’s a QB who knows he holds the team’s careers in his hands, throwing to everyone to give them a chance for some ball time. And Kai’s as good a wide receiver as Jared, which is saying something.

I’m working harder than ever to keep up, both mentally and physically, so when Coach blows his whistle to signal the end of practice, I grab my water bottle immediately. I’m cooked, and dying to loosen up my muscles in one of those recently renovated showers (a far cry from Brownsville’s mildewy tiles). No interest in staying late today.

Besides, doing that on Monday had… unexpected consequences.

I flush all over again as I remember that tiny blonde nearly colliding with me, eyes wide in shock, hands flying up to fend me off—which resulted in them hovering an inch from my bare chest. It was enough to make a guy want to take another step forward.

Not smart. I shake my head at myself and the memory, following the rest of the guys.

“Tyler!”

I turn to see Coach watching me, and my stomach drops. Am I in trouble? Did he… hear something?

Just like that, I imagine having to leave another team. This time, just as I’m getting started. I’m not even surprised—I just feel the heavy weight of finality deep in my bones.

I stop in my tracks, then slowly reverse my steps. Hands clasped respectfully in front of me, head bowed despite my deep desire to get out of here and just go home already. “Coach?”

“Somebody wants to talk to you before you leave, if you can spare a few minutes?”

My head jerks up. And standing there beaming, like I conjured her from my very own imagination, is the tiny blonde.

Beside her is a tall, lanky guy with a Canon around his neck, but I barely nod a hello. I’m too distracted by the wattage of this girl’s smile.

“Sabrina!” Gabe calls, holding out his fist. She pounds it casually, like she hangs out with the team all the time. “Long time no see! How are we supposed to win without our Spirit Committee president? Where’ve you been?”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on, you can’t blame any losses on me yet.”

I don’t miss the way she dodges his question. But maybe she does hang out with the team all the time. Now that I get a proper look at her, I realize she’s the same girl I saw in front of the diner the other day too: small, perky, hair in that high ponytail. Monday she was more casual—and she definitely looked cute then, too—but today she’s dressed in a blue-and-white floral sundress that makes her skin glow gold.

As I stare, a blush rises to her cheeks. It looks pretty on her—the pink matches whatever gloss she has on her lips.

She lifts her chin determinedly. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Sabrina.” The glint in her eye says, We will not talk about our real first meeting, and I take the hint.

“Tyler.” I hold out my hand to shake, and she grasps it without a moment’s hesitation.