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“Not much. Ashley has hijacked my friend here. Figured if I wanted to hang out with him, I needed to be over here.”
She shrugs. “Good reason.”
It’s my turn to nudge her, but my nudge comes off more as a kick under the table. Instead of sayingowor making a big deal that I hurt her, she laughs—hard.
“What’s so funny?” Ashley asks.
“Oh, nothing.” Susie stares at me, causing me to get even more frustrated.
I’m alone in the FFA area after school, trying to clean up … or busying myself so I don’t think of Dalton—no difference really.
I hum to the sounds of “Tennessee Orange” by Megan Moroney that starts to play through my AirPods, and it hits me so hard.
The entire song is about going against your family’s wishes for a guy.
Talk about perfect timing for this one.
Yes, the song is about cheering for Tennessee football instead of Georgia, but I feel like it’s talking about my own situation here. People in the South take their college football seriously—obviously, if there’s an entire song that starts off with, “Don’t ya tell daddy, he’ll blow a fuse.”
Ain’t that the truth?
If my dad even knew that I was hanging out with Dalton, I don’t know what he’d do. I’m afraid to find out.
I can’t find out.
That’s why I need to just stop whatever is goingon and go back to my life before him, before this little project we were forced to work on.
I close my eyes and sing, “But I’m wearing Tennessee orange for him,” feeling it deep in my soul.
“You’d wear it for me, wouldn’t you?” I hear behind me and almost completely jump out of my shoes.
I turn to see Dalton standing a few feet behind me, staring at me intensely. He’s dressed in his football pads and carrying his helmet.
He slowly steps closer to me. “Would you go against your father’s wishes and wear Tennessee orange if I played there?”
“What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
He’s right next to me now, towering over me. I have to tilt my head up just to be able to see him.
“No, I wouldn’t,” I state, hoping I sound as secure as I’m trying to play off.
“Liar.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” I change the subject and turn it back on him.
He raises his eyebrows like he didn’t know I’d asked one, so I say it again. “What are you doing here?”
“I told Coach I had to get something out of my truck.” He places his hand on my hair, moving down slowly to remove the AirPod I have in my ear.
I try to act unfazed by his presence, his touch.
“Your truck isn’t back here anymore.”
“I know.”
He doesn’t elaborate as we stare in silence, only inches away from each other.
