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I remain in the library until it’s nearing seven, the start of the game. I try to do homework, but I mostly stare at the notebook.
Sydney texts me at quarter of seven, telling me she and Graham are going to the game and asking if I want a ride. I reply, telling her I’ll meet her there before I pack up my books and leave the library.
There’s a steady stream of people headed into the gym as I approach it. All the players are already out on the court, warming up.
I find Sydney and Graham easily. They’re sitting front and center. Both of them eye me curiously but say nothing about this morning’s announcements or anything Holden-related. I’m grateful, especially once I spot him on the court.
We’re close enough to the sideline that he looks larger than life. He walks across the court like he’s commanding its presence, the snug fit of his uniform impossible to ignore as he gestures and talks with his teammates.
My eyes trail him instead of focusing on anything else, absorbing every little detail.
Every now and then, Holden looks away from the court. It seems like he’s looking for something, but he doesn’t glance my way. Not until the very start of the game. He sees Sydney first and gives her a wave. Then spots me and freezes.
We stare at each other for what feels like far too long.
He gives me a nod of acknowledgment, and then the game begins. I barely pay attention to any of the plays taking place, too lost in the confusion of my own head. I came because I couldn’t not come, and I’m not sure that’s the right reasoning.
There’s some part of me that is used to capitulating to him, to taking what little he offers, and I don’t think that’s a healthy instinct. He’s too adept at pulling me in and then shutting his feelings down.
It’s devastating for my head. For my heart.
The final whistle is startling. I was watching the whole game and missed every moment. I know they won, but still have to glance at the scoreboard to confirm.
Sydney stretches and glances at me as other spectators start to file out of the gym. It was a sold-out game, the gym fuller than I’ve ever seen it. “Are you staying?”
I know my answer before I say it. “Yeah.”
Her smile eases any fears I had about her not accepting me and Holden, on the off chance that we became somethingtoaccept. “Okay.”
She wants to say more, I can tell, but she doesn’t, just giving me a hug before she and Graham depart.
I stay seated, watching everyone else filter out of the gymnasium. Through the lobby and outside into the parking lot.
Holden is the first player to walk out of the locker room, with wet hair and a serious expression. It seems like he rushed, and I suddenly can’t think of anything else besides the four words he scrawled on that last page. I don’t need to ask to know when he wrote them.
“Hey.” He stops at the edge of the bleachers, his grip tight on his gym bag.
“Good game,” I say.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He kicks the edge of the bleachers. Exhales. “You read it?”
“Yeah.” That’s all I say. I’m not sure what else to. I can’t keep up with how I feel about Holden.
I know there’s love—a lot of it. That’s why everything else is so amplified. Why, when he hurts me, it feels like my heart is being squeezed too tight. Why, when he kisses or touches me, it feels like the sweetest euphoria. He’s the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Only a masochist would willingly accept that exquisite torture.
But maybe I am one.
Maybe he made me one.
I stare at him, memorizing every detail. The letterman jacket he’s wearing with his jeans. The way his brown hair is mussed, like he’s been running a hand through it. The bob of his Adam’s apple.
“You hungry?” He sounds nervous and uncertain—two adjectives I’d never associate with Holden Adams normally.
“Starving,” I admit.
“We could go to Fellini’s?”
Fellini’s is whereeveryonewill be headed, and he knows it. The two of us showing up there—together—would be a statement. One I’m shocked he’s willing to make.
