Page 69 of Catching Feelings

My eyes burn unexpectedly. Of course that was his instinct. Tyler, who was out the door after one phone call from me—who defuses my stress as soon as he clocks it.

I can’t picture Tyler fighting, but I think I get it. His eyes are still fixed on my face, searching for any sign of—what, disgust? Fear? But all I feel is sadness as I imagine where this story is going. I nod.

A muscle clenches in Tyler’s jaw as he continues. “But John was seeing red, so then he took a swing at me—”

I can’t help it: I gasp. “Did he hurt you? If he did, I’m about to march straight over to beat up John What’s-His-Name myself—” My phone’s halfway out of my pocket to map the distance, but I frown. “Forgot my car’s out of commission. What’re the buses like between here and Brownsville?”

Tyler shakes his head, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Stand down, blondie. I swung back to defend myself. And…” Tyler’s expression turns distant, and I know he’s replaying the moment like a movie in his mind. “John fell. I didn’t even swing that hard, but he must have been off-balance. That’s all I can guess, every time I try to figure it out. But he got hurt pretty bad, and Dylan and I walked away with barely a few scrapes and bruises. I’ve been in worse shape after a game.”

His jaw is gritted and his expression resolved. I know how hard it is for him to share so vulnerably, unsure if he’ll be believed.

“I took the most blame,” he says in one breath. “Coach told me he knew it probably wasn’t my fault—I had a clean record, never fought in my life, lived and died for that team—but the athletic department’s code of conduct is really strict about fighting. And it was all so messy, and John was insisting Dylan came at him unprovoked, so it was kinda he said, he said. The whole school was talking about it, and this season’s team was going to be jeopardized because of it, and… well, I’ve been regretting taking that swing ever since.”

His voice almost breaks on the last word, and I reach out to cover his hand with one of mine, no longer able to hold back the urge. What torture that must have been for Tyler, the guy who always looks out for everyone around him, who wouldn’t hurt a fly. He didn’t need to be punished—he was already punishing himself enough.

After a moment, he swallows hard and continues. “Coach had no choice. I was supposed to be expelled, but he made a few calls to help me transfer instead. I was just grateful for anything that gave me a chance of a semi-normal senior year. So my aunt and uncle offered to put me up, and the Hamilton Lakes team took me in, and…” He spreads his hands. “Here I am. Full, ugly truth.”

“Not that ugly,” I say.

His eyes are locked on mine, and I try to beam whatever reassurance I can into him. Reassurance that facing the ugly stuff is worth it. That I’m still here on the other side of it. That maybe getting it all out can bring us closer together than ever.

“Thank you for telling me,” I say.

“I just wish I’d shared the whole story the last time we were here. Then we could’ve avoided all of this.” He grimaces.

I shrug. “Me too. But honestly? I understand why you didn’t. No one believed you before. Why would I be any different?” I lean forward over the counter and press a soft, impulsive kiss to his cheek. And then I whisper in his ear, “But I do. I am.”

Before I can draw back, Tyler’s hand goes to my neck, holding my cheek gently against his. And then he turns to brush his nose against mine in the most unexpected, tender alternative to a kiss. While I’m frozen, heart fluttering, he breathes, “I know you are.”

After a moment pressed together, just like that, I draw back and settle myself on my stool again. Warmth fills my chest as we smile at each other, and I know with total certainty: Everything is going to be just fine.

“So…” He clears his throat. “How’re things going with homecoming?”

I groan, plopping unceremoniously back down to Earth. “Horrible. There aren’t any venues in town that are big enough to take us and fit our budget. Lindsey offered the diner, which is very sweet, but people are expecting a dance. Lights! Music! A dance floor! Decorations!” I shake my head, the same feeling of failure dropping back into my stomach. “I’m going to be the first Spirit Committee president to not deliver a dance. That will be my Hamilton Lakes legacy.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” A smile stretches across Tyler’s face, and I feel my first glimmer of hope in a long time.

31. TYLER

The furor in the hallways leading up to the homecoming game is bigger than anything I’ve ever experienced, even at Hamilton Lakes. Everywhere I turn, I see blue—banners and pom-poms and face paint. I have to avert my eyes from the posters lining the main hallway, because every other one features my own face.

It’s not so easy to avoid the cheering of everyone around me, though. “Tyler! Good luck tonight!” one of the trumpeters from jazz band (Miguel?) says as they pass me in the halls. I hold out my hand for a fist bump, and they dap me up much more elaborately than I’m prepared for.

In history, the lecture is somehow even homecoming themed—Mr. Chase has pulled a bunch of primary sources so we can evaluate which school was the real originator of the tradition. Apparently, it’s hotly contested, and Mr. Chase has a conspiracy theory or two of his own, but the group work mostly turns into whispered conversations about who they think will be awarded MVP tonight. (He doesn’t seem to mind.)

And when I step into the cafeteria for lunch, the mascot swoops down upon me, flapping its feathery wings in my face with a shrill ca-caw! A little creepy, that thing.

But in the wake of my conversation with Sabrina, all of it puts a smile on my face again. She listened. She believed me. And she wants to stay by my side.

I don’t know for sure that she shut down any burgeoning rumors in Hamilton Lakes, but it’s easy to picture her shooting a sharp glare at anyone who dares open their mouth about me. The image puts a dumb grin on my face.

Whatever the explanation, no one seems to care what rumors might be flying in Brownsville. Right now, I’m a Hamilton Lakes Hawk, and that’s all that matters.

The vibes in the locker room are raucous that afternoon, everyone letting off their nerves by being as loud and full of bravado as possible. “I hear their quarterback doesn’t know the alphabet well enough to remember his own plays,” Kai shouts, casually draping a towel around his neck. “And their defensive line is as full of holes as the underwear I just Marie-Kondo’d!”

Gabe points at me. “Holloway could take any of them in his sleep, couldn’t he?”

I wince. “I mean, I didn’t do so hot in practice this week…”