“How about we have an official celebratory lunch?” I ask, smiling.
Her face falls, and a slight pout forms on her lips. “I would love to, but I actually have a lunch meeting with Professor Cooper.”
I feel my shoulders deflate. “Do you really, or are you just trying to get out of lunch with me?” I joke, chuckling lightly, praying she really does have a meeting, instead of trying to use that excuse to ditch me like she did with Rat Boy.
“I promise you Idoactually have a meeting with Professor Cooper,” she says, laughing lightly, actually seeming disappointed. “How about dinner instead?” she asks hopefully.
I sigh, using my thumbs to rub circles into her palms. “Can’t. I have practice,” I say sadly.
She frowns, looking just as disappointed.
“Rain check?” I ask hopefully.
Her lips twitch upward. “Sure.”
“All right.” I sigh dramatically, causing her to laugh, then reluctantly let go of her hands. “Have fun at your lunch meeting.”
“Loads,” she says sarcastically, giving me an apologetic smile. “I’ll see you in English.”
She gives me a small wave goodbye before walking away, heading toward Professor Cooper’s office.
“Finch, wait!” I call, reaching into my backpack.
She spins around, looking at me expectantly.
“For Saturday,” I inform her, throwing a maroon article of fabric at her.
She fumbles to catch it, caught off guard, the fabric nearly slipping from her fingers and falling to the floor. I watch as she unfolds it and holds it out in front of her at arm’s length to inspect, my last name and number staring back at her.
“You’re going to look really good in it,” I tell her, grinning.
She laughs, and shakes her head in disbelief before draping my jersey over her arm and heading back down the hallway, smiling at me over her shoulder.
Fifteen
Homecoming
The sound of lockers slamming echoes off the walls as Coach calls us in for a group huddle. Everyone gathers around to form a circle, all eyes on him.
“Boys, I don’t have to remind you how important this game is,” he says, his eyes, almost hidden by the brim of his cap, sweeping over every single one of our faces. “We’ve been busting our asses for weeks to prepare for this. Now let’s go out there and win this thing!”
Cheers erupt throughout the room, everyone getting pumped up and putting their game faces on. Shortly after we all file out of the locker room and into the tunnel that leads to the field.
Coach stops me just at the door, gripping my shoulder.
“Kick ass, Miller,” he tells me quietly, his eyes stern and proud.
“You got it, Coach.”
He slaps me on the shoulder and follows me out to the tunnel, where I find my teammates jumping up and down or restlessly moving around on their feet, getting hyped up for the homecoming game, which just so happens to be against our biggest rivals.
I scan the group for Chase, finding him toward the front of the pack. His arm healed just in time for the big game but Coach is still going to ease him back into it, not giving him much field time. I know Chase is bummed about it, but it’s a miracle he’s getting to play at all.
I lock eyes with him. He stares back at me with intensity and gives me a nod, determination written on his face.
I make my way to him, smacking hands and bumping helmets before heading to the front of the line, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I crack my knuckles, stretching a bit while I anxiously wait for the announcer to call us. As soon as he does, the crowd erupts and we run onto the field, busting through a banner to hype up the crowd.
