So close.

I brightened automatically.

Cole’s jaw tightened for half a second, but he looked away before I could be sure.

Justin’s voice made my chest tighten. I tried to sound normal, but my hands itched to fidget with my bag strap.”

“Hey,” I answered.

“Why weren’t you in class?” Justin asked.

“I just… wasn’t feeling it.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Emmm. You still coming for the practice, right?”

Fuck. My stomach sank. I’d completely blanked on the tournament. Justin was counting on me today, and I was about to let him down. I tightened my grip on my bag, trying not to look panicked.

I can’t let him know I completely forgot about that… that would be catastrophic.

“Yes, sure.”

I could practically hear him exhaling on the other end. Relief, but also… a little hope? God, I hated how much I cared what he thought.

His voice came through from the other end. “Wow, I almost thought you weren’t coming. Didn’t want to do this alone.”

“I wouldn’t want to miss it."

“See you there," he said.

The line went dead.

“Speak of the devil, huh?" Cole chuckled before turning the corner.

****

Cole dropped me off close to the court.

"Are you coming?”

“Neeh, I got something to take care of," he muttered.

He winked at me, but I ignored it, spinning on my heels before I missed the tournament and Justin got mad at me.

I arrived just as the gym doors were closing.

The place was already buzzing. Sneakers screeched against the polished floor. Whistles blew and people chatted by the stands.

I slipped inside quietly and scanned the court.

And there he was.

Justin.

He was already in his gear—a navy jersey stretched over broad shoulders and matching shorts hanging low on his hips. His hair was slightly damp from warm-ups, falling messily across his forehead. The overhead lights caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, and somehow it made him look even better.

My stomach flipped.

God.

He looked so good.

Matilda was nowhere in sight. No long blonde hair clinging to his arm. No dramatic laughter echoing through the gym.

I exhaled, relieved.

As if sensing my stare, he looked up.

His eyes found me instantly.

And then his entire face changed.

That smile.

The one that always felt like it was just for me.

He lifted both hands and shaped his fingers into a heart.

The girls sitting near me gasped softly.

One nudged the other.

“Oh my God.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks.

My heart warmed so fast it almost hurt.

He still does that.

I lifted my hand in a small wave, my lips curving despite me.

For a moment, I let myself think it meant something. Just like every other day. Like I wasn’t just the friend.

He has always done that. He was comfortable with me. I looked down at my outfit, now hyperaware of how everyone dressed and how I did.

I looked up, and Justin had taken his position already, his eyes focused ahead.

The referee’s whistle pierced through the noise.

The players took their positions.

Justin bounced the ball once, then twice.

The game began.

And I leaned forward in my seat, eyes locked on him.

Justin was on fire. Every pass, every dribble, every shot he made drew cheers from the crowd, and my own voice joined them, louder than I realized. My heart raced as I watched him dive past defenders, leap for a jump shot, and sink it clean. “Yes! Come on, Justin!” I shouted, my hands clapping so fast they ached.

The opposing team didn’t give up. They pressed harder, stealing the ball, making determined plays that had Justin sprinting across the court; sweat glinted on his forehead under the bright lights.

The scoreboard ticked up slowly, and despite his team's brilliance, the other team started closing in. The buzzer rang for halftime, and both sides took a breath, water bottles in hand, jerseys sticking to damp skin. Justin didn’t sit. He paced, bouncing the ball a few times, muttering something under his breath.

My hands were still clasped tight, watching the scene before me.

The second half began, and I found myself on my feet, cheering even louder, heart hammering, chanting over the uproar in the gym, “Come on! That’s it! Yes, Justin!”

But the cheers weren't enough. The scoreboard eventually told the truth. They were losing.

The buzzer blared its final, unforgiving note. Justin’s shoulders sagged, his chest heaved, and sweat dripped down his neck. He jogged off the court, holding his head high despite the exhaustion and defeat.

I pushed through the crowd. “Hey! Justin!” I yelled.

He turned, sweat glistening on his face, a faint smile on his lips. He used the towel folded over his shoulders to wipe at his face.

A girl walked by us, giving him a wink. He smiled at her. I flinched.

"Sally…" he said, trying to catch his breath. “Water?”

“Oh yeah, sure." I reached into my bag and handed him the bottle.

He took a long swig. I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped the entire content.

Then his eyes moved to my feet.

“What’s that?”

He was already bending to pick up the folded paper on the floor.

My eyes followed his movement.

My pulse spiked. No, not that. He can’t see that.

Oh my God. I almost gasped.

It was the letter. I must have slipped it into my bag unconsciously this morning. In between grieving and preparing for school sloppily.

I couldn’t let him know it was mine.

“Oh, I don’t know.” I said reaching for it. “It’s probably private. We should leave it where it was."

He shook his head.

“My name's on it, see?"

He shoved it in my face so I could have a closer look.

I swallowed. Everyone around us began to blur. My heart drummed against my chest.

He was already unfolding the paper. The sound of screeching paper is too loud even in the noisy court.

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind me made us both freeze.

Cole.