Rachel sat down without speaking.
I raised an eyebrow. “So. That was…”
“He brought upLewis Capaldilast week,” she said flatly. “It was already over.”
Coop slid into the seat beside her, grinning. “I consider that a public service.”
She sipped her tea. “You want a medal?”
He leaned in. “No, but I’ll take the leftover tiara if no one’s using it.”
By the end of the week, I’d turned down two hallway serenades, avoided one locker flash mob—thank you Rachel!—and received six more roses.
No one signed them.
No one claimed them.
No one asked.
But my heart? It was getting harder to keep still.
Because the longer I waited, the louder it whispered:
Who are you hoping asks you?
And why aren’t you sure?
The pep rally ended in a rain of glitter, sweat, and three sprained ankles.
Which, all things considered, was pretty mild.
I watched from the back row of the bleachers as the marching band blared something vaguely recognizable and the cheer squad tried not to kill each other with their own tumbling passes. My eyes kept darting toward the sidelines, toward the place where Jake usually stood—shoulders squared, face unreadable, adrenaline humming just beneath his skin.
Then, for the first time in days, he was there.
Back.
No fanfare. No entrance music. Just… Jake. In his jersey. Like nothing had happened.
He didn’t look around. Didn’t search the stands. But he was here. And that was enough to set my pulse fluttering like it didn’t know what to do.
I almost texted him. Almost.
But my phone was already blowing up—fromMom.
MOM: Dinner’s at 6:30. Don’t be late, Francesca.
MOM: There’s someone I want you to meet. This is important to me.
MOM: FRANKIE.
I stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply button. I could still make it if I left now. Put on the polite smile. Pretend everything wasn’t chaos. Let her steer the conversation toward colleges and posture and posture and posture…
Or.
I could go to the game.
Mathieu had plans with his host family that night—some dinner at a steakhouse with his host dad’s extended family—and he’d kissed my cheek before leaving the pep rally and said softly, “Text me if the glitter gets violent.”
