You wake up before your alarm, a pale blue glow through the curtains catching in the edges of your room. Your phone buzzes with a stream of texts:
Jasper: Already got the brushes, don't worry about breakfast
Priya:Don't forget the stencils
Hannah:Playlist is ready, hope you all like chaos.
You pull on your oldest jeans and a paint-stained hoodie, your hands already itching for a brush before you even lace your shoes. The dorm is humming when you head out, the halls full of students painting faces for game day, a low thrum of excitement building in the stairwells.
Jasper is waiting at the mural wall, hair wild and eyes bright in the dawn, arms loaded with a crate of supplies. He passes you a coffee, hot and perfectly sweet. You stand with him, side by side, staring at the mural still hidden under heavy drop cloths.
The campus is coming alive: tables going up for food trucks, freshmen shrieking as someone sets off a confetti cannon, the cheerleaders already warming up.
"You ready?" he asks quietly, voice pitched just for you.
"I think so," you whisper, feeling every nerve ending light up.
He squeezes your hand briefly, then the others trickle in: Priya, her hands ink-smudged; Hannah, nearly vibrating with energy and clutching her phone; Beckett, in full uniform, cleats clacking on the pavement, a cold slice of orange from the athletic trainer in his hand.
Beckett ruffles your hair with a grin. "You nervous?"
You elbow him in the side. "Maybe."
Priya checks everything for the third time. "Dean Reyes says they're bringing the press by right when we pull the drop. Don't let Hannah narrate, she'll go viral for cursing on camera."
Hannah pouts, then nudges you, "Smile big. It's your day."
You're too wound up for words, so you just clutch the edge of the mural cover and try to memorize everyone's faces.
Jasper puts his arm around you, forehead almost touching yours. "Breathe, Maren. We made something good. Let them see it."
Dean Reyes gives the signal. There's murmuring from the crowd. Lots of phones held high, the promise of flashbulbs and posts and tags flying faster than you can think.
You pull together: Jasper, Priya, Hannah, and you, all hands knotted in fabric, and on Dean's count, you tug the cloth down.
The mural blazes into daylight, a riot of color and movement, your boldest lines tangled with Jasper's wild arcs and Priya's precise edges. There's a gasp from the crowd, then thunderous applause. Someone shouts your name, a few teammates hoot and holler from the sidelines.
You can't stop staring at it, your heart racing, your stomach weightless. Jasper whoops beside you, spinning you in a quick circle before he pulls you into a quick, dizzying hug. "We actually did it," he says, breathless.
Priya's already fielding a question from the dean; Hannah is live-streaming, her voice bubbling with excitement. Beckett steps forward, breaking away from his teammates long enough to clap you on the back, his grin so proud it might split his face in two. "It's unreal, Maren. You outdid yourself."
You duck your head, face burning, and reach out to squeeze his hand, surprised by how much it means to you that he's here, really here, cheering you on.
Someone from the campus newspaper snaps your photo, Jasper's arm still looped over your shoulders, Priya and Hannah beaming in the frame. The music from the football field kicks up another notch.
"Game's starting soon!" Beckett calls. He throws his helmet under one arm, leans in. "Whatever happens out there, I'll be thinking about this. Promise."
You punch his arm, trying to be casual, but there's too much lightness in your chest.
"Win one for the weird kids," you call after him as he jogs off, and he turns, laughing.
The crowd disperses. You linger by the mural, tracing your signature in the bottom corner while Jasper grins at you, lips stained faintly blue.
"Want to walk to the stadium together?" he asks.
You hesitate, just a second, remembering Beckett's look, but then you nod and let Jasper take your hand as you join the tide of students streaming toward the field. Priya and Hannah chase behind, trading cheers and predictions, Priya waving a foam finger and Hannah snapping selfies that catch the sun in your eyes.
You settle into the bleachers, pressed between your friends, the mural in full view across the campus, Beckett's number clear from up high as he jogs the field. Jasper tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, unselfconscious in front of everyone. You're not sure what you feel: happy, nervous, overwhelmed, but you're right in the middle of everything, painted hands and pounding heart, ready for what's next..
The whistle blows. The game begins. And for the next few hours, you let it all go, cheering with the crowd, swept up in the surge of color, sound, and something wild that you made.
The bleachers are packed so tight your knees almost brush the back of the row in front of you. Priya waves her foam finger, yelling herself hoarse each time your team makes a big play. Hannah's halfway atop the seat, squawking thirty-second updates for her livestream. You lean forward, elbows braced on your thighs, scanning the field for number twelve among the blue and white.
Beckett is everywhere tonight. He's slicing up the sideline, ducking tackles, his smile blazing when he lands a first down. The stadium's a roar of color and hype, fight songs tumbling out over the crowd.
You find yourself shouting over the music. "Let's go, Ford!" Beckett glances up, helmet in hand, eyes searching the stands until they catch yours. He grins, tosses a wink your way. Your heart pulls painfully sweet in your chest.
Beside you, Jasper claps along, but not as hard. After another big play, Beckett running the ball for a near touchdown, Jasper nudges you. "He's good, huh?"
You nod, breathless. "He's insane tonight!"
Jasper's mouth pulls into a tight little smirk. "He keeps looking at you every time he scores."
You blink, hugging your knees to your chest, but don't deny it. "We're friends. This is a big day. Let him have it."
He shrugs, eyes still on the field but voice lower. "Just seems like he needs the applause."
You twist, searching his expression, but Jasper's busy digging for his phone, snapping a photo of the scoreboard.
You try to turn your attention back, but the tension lingers, just a little, a new crack, thin but sharp.
Hannah hollers, spinning to toss popcorn into Priya's lap. "If we lose by one, it's your jinx, Maren!"
Priya shoves her playfully, and you join the chorus, laughter knotting up the worry in your gut. Another kickoff. Beckett sprints down the field, glances upward again, and when your eyes meet, his grin feels like a secret.
Jasper's arm finds its way around your shoulders, holding you close as if to remind everyone where you belong. You let yourself lean in, but you can feel the shift, a new edge in the space beside you, small but impossible not to notice.
On the field, the next play begins, and you press your palms together, cheering for your team, the mural behind you, the weight of the afternoon drumming hard in your chest.
You don't miss the way Jasper's hand tightens, just for a second, when the crowd erupts for Beckett again.
The stadium is electric, lights harsh and music pounding through the stands as the final seconds tick down. Your team lines up at the twenty yard line, the score tied. Every voice around you is a tangled shout. You grip Jasper's hand, bouncing in your seat, but your eyes are locked on number twelve, the way Beckett digs his heels in, how he squares his shoulders for the snap.
The play unfolds in a blur. Beckett catches the ball, breaks left, slips past a tackle, then sprints straight upfield with defenders closing in. He's fast, but you've seen him this fast before. Only this time, there's nothing in front of him, just open grass and the end zone shining under the lights.
He crosses the line just as the clock expires. The crowd explodes, a wall of sound rolling over the field. You scream before you know you're moving, and suddenly everyone is on their feet, students spilling over the barriers, streaming down onto the turf. Priya lets out a victorious howl, Hannah is halfway down the stairs, and Jasper pulls you along in the rush of bodies.
The mass crush of people converges on the players, but Beckett is searching, his eyes scan through the surge of faces, helmet in one hand, still breathing hard from the run. You break from Jasper's grip, your heart in your throat, and Beckett spots you through the chaos.
He doesn't hesitate; he barrels over, grinning like he's ten years old again, arms spread wide. Before you can say a word, he scoops you into a hug, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. The field is spinning too, all laughter and shouting and dizzy glee.
"You saw that, right?" Beckett says, breathless, grinning so wide you think maybe you'll never see him look tired again.
You bury your face into his shoulder, laughing. "You did it, Ford. You won the whole thing!"
He doesn't put you down right away, just holds you there, feet hovering above the turf, as your friends swarm you both; Hannah pelting you with popcorn, Priya shrieking at the camera, Jasper trailing behind, his face unreadable in the flashing lights.
You catch Beckett's gaze in that wild, perfect moment, both of you giddy and raw, the world blaring in celebration behind you.
"Best night ever," he says, voice cracking with emotion, and you believe him.
For these beats, there's nothing but sky and sound and the arms holding you tight.
You walk back to your dorm with Jasper after the game, the campus still humming behind you with celebration and leftover music. The air feels crisp, the kind that makes your lungs ache just a little, but Jasper is uncharacteristically quiet as you make your way beneath the streetlights.
As you reach the path near your building, Jasper slows, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Big night for Beckett," he says, trying for a smile.
You nod, wiping a bit of leftover face paint from your cheek. "He really pulled it off."
Jasper stops walking, turns to look at you. "He did. You two are... you're close. I can see that."
You search his eyes, unsure whether he's looking for a fight or an answer. "We've always been friends."
He looks down, scuffs his shoe against the pavement. "I need you to know something, Maren." His voice is quiet, but steady. "I like being with you. Really with you. But I'm not interested in competing. Not with him, not with anyone. That's not the kind of relationship I want."
You open your mouth, surprised by how direct he sounds.
Jasper keeps his eyes on the ground. "It just... I see the way you look at him sometimes. And the way he looks at you? It's hard to ignore. I'm not saying you have to change anything, but if this is going to work with us, I just need it to be about us." He finally glances up, vulnerability clear in the half-light.
You swallow, caught off guard but recognizing the challenge in his words. "I'm not trying to make you compete, Jasper."
He nods. "I know. But it feels like it sometimes. And I want you, just you, when you're with me."
The wind picks up, leaves spinning around your shoes. You consider telling him it's simple, that you'll pick, that you want things easy, but you aren't sure you can. Not yet.
Jasper leans in, kisses your cheek. "Just think about it, okay?"
You nod, unable to say more as he turns and tucks his hands deeper in his jacket, stepping away into the dark. You watch his silhouette shrink by the lamp-lit sidewalk, the words heavy and unresolved between you.
The dorm doors click closed behind you, and for a long moment, the world outside feels like it's holding its breath, waiting for your next move.
You slip back into your dorm, the bright dorm hallway making your head throb. Dakota's sprawled on her bed when you walk in, scrolling through her phone and humming to whatever's in her headphones. She pulls one earbud out when she sees your face.
"You look like you ran a marathon," Dakota says, sitting up. "Did you outrun victory pizza?"
You drop your bag by your chair and sit at the edge of her bed, rubbing your eyes. "Jasper walked me back. We had… I don't know, a weird conversation."
Dakota kicks her legs off the bed, instantly more alert. "Weird how? Romantic-weird? 'We-need-to-talk' weird?"
You breathe out, tracing a swirl on her comforter. "He basically said he doesn't want to compete with Beckett. Like, if we're together, it needs to be about us. Not me and Beckett as some kind of package deal."
Dakota raises her eyebrows. "Oof. He really said that?"
You nod, twisting the hem of your sleeve. "Yeah. He said he's not interested in fighting for my attention. Or anyone's. He just wants me…focused, I guess."
Dakota whistles, propping her chin in her hand. "And what did you say?"
You shake your head. "I told him I'm not trying to make him compete. But it's not that simple. Beckett's been my best friend since forever. I can't just…switch that off. I don't want to."
Dakota snorts. "Of course you don't. Jasper knows your history, right? He knows you and Beckett aren't just some background plot line, you're, like, half of each other's stories."
You flop backward on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "It didn't feel like enough. I think he wants me to make a choice."
Dakota's quiet for a beat, then says, "Maybe he's scared. You're the one who gets to choose if he's right."
You sigh, wishing for clear answers, for an easier way. Dakota nudges your foot, offering the remote as she settles back. "You want to talk this out or do you want mindless reality TV and leftover gummy bears?"
You offer a small, grateful smile. "Give me the gummy bears."
Dakota grins, switching the channel, and you let yourself get lost in the noise, the comfort of choices that don't actually matter. At least, not tonight.
You take your phone out an hour later and send Beckett a text:
You: So proud of you, Beck. You looked awesome out there tonight.
Almost immediately, your phone buzzes.
Beckett: Thanks for being my biggest cheerleader.
You smile at your phone and Dakota raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure Jasper's not onto something?"
You roll your eyes. "Shut up. I'm allowed to be proud of him."
Dakota laughs, shaking her head. "Nobody said you weren't."
You put your phone down, focusing on the show once again until sleep drags you under.