Page 72 of Catching Feelings

I clatter down the bleachers, unable to stop grinning and shaking my head. When I rejoin the team, I’m still dazed, probably looking like a fool.

“You okay, Tyler?” Coach Herman frowns at me.

I snap to attention. “Yes, sir!”

He rests a hand on my shoulder, his frown softening into a half smile. “Good. Because we’re really glad you came to Hamilton Lakes this year, kid. I know you’ve had an unfair go of it, but the fact that it brought you here… well, maybe it all worked out in the end.”

That little ember of belief catches fire in my chest. Thanks to Ryan’s boundless, welcoming enthusiasm; Will and the team’s quiet loyalty; and Sabrina’s passion for community… “Yeah. Maybe it did.”

And then Coach Herman smiles for real, in a goofy, giddy way. Like a man who’s about to have a great time. “Now, get your head in the game. Your Michigan scout’s here, and more besides. This could be the start of something.”

The start, not the end. Life, not death. Blood pumping and muscles burning and sweat pouring down your face. Moving in tandem with your brothers on the field.

Will’s eyes have gone wide as he watches a man on the sidelines. A UCLA scout?

I straighten up and look as serious as I can manage. “Yes, sir. We’re going to play the best game of the season.” I meet Will’s eyes, raising an eyebrow. “Right? Show ’em what we’ve got?”

Will nods, some of his typical confidence stiffening his posture once again. “If someone doesn’t snatch you up, the world makes no damn sense at all.” Excitement fizzes in my chest as a slow smile overtakes Will’s face, and he leaves me to make the rounds. “Kai! How’s the arm? Loose? And Legs—you feeling fast today?”

That’s more like it. I relax, rejoining the O-line. Joining in on jokes, clapping shoulders, reminding guys of their best plays so far this season. I’m brimming with the support everyone else gave me, and the only thing to do is let it overflow.

It feels really good. Like I’m finally myself again.

Once I’m sure everyone’s feeling okay, I let my eyes drift to the merch table. Sabrina looks fucking stunning tonight in her simple blue Hamilton Lakes jersey and faded jeans. Even the streaks of blue paint on her cheekbones emphasize her eyes, make them seem even bigger and glowier than usual. Gabe nudges me, grinning. “You got a personal Spirit Committee president, number thirteen?”

I shake my head, but I can’t wipe the smile off my face. I should know it’ll take more than that to get Gabe to knock it off.

“Offensive lineman? More like offensive loveman.”

And then Sabrina performs a pretty little pirouette, pointing at the back of her jersey with both thumbs, and my stomach drops right to my cleats.

That’s my number on the back. Loud and proud.

The next thing I know, I’m tearing away from Gabe, ignoring his whistles and catcalls and apologies. (“Okay, I know the joke was bad—hey! Hey, I said I’m sorry!”) The brass of the marching band swells as I cover the distance between us in a few quick strides.

When I get close enough to see her pupils widen, I can also see the ribbons back in her hair. It’s ridiculous—but that detail, more than anything, fills me with the hope that everything is going to be okay.

So, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her. In front of everyone.

She doesn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around my neck, bending back as I dip her gently. Her vanilla perfume mingles with the scent of fall leaves and crisp air, and her mouth reminds me of strawberry shakes. I don’t know how long I kiss her—the band starts a drumroll, I hear distant cheering, and when I finally draw back, Sabrina’s grinning. Eyes fixed on me.

I grin back. We’re finally leaving it all on the field.

And as I jog backward, pointing at her as I rejoin my team, she blows me a final kiss. It flusters me so much I almost stumble. Only a girl like Sabrina, all unshakable confidence and unmatched flair, could get away with a move like that.

I somehow manage to tear my focus back to the field in front of me, ignoring the heckling of the rest of the team as I strap on my helmet.

I can feel it again: the optimism at the start of a game whose ending is a mystery. The reminder that the heart of football is what you learn about yourself—soul-searching and resilience and life lessons—and the sudden surety that I’ve learned more than I ever bargained for this fall. My old coach’s voice ringing in my ears: You’re only as good as your last play, and there’s always a chance to redeem yourself.

My last play’s looking pretty good right now.

I hustle to the fifty-yard line and crouch, still smiling like a fool around my mouthguard.

I’m ready for a ball game.

32. SABRINA

I spend Saturday in the center of a joyful, chaotic tornado—and I’ve never been happier.