Page 26 of High Hopes

I sit back, picking at my slice of pizza, letting the guys’ voices buzz around me. Chase is beside me, talking a mile a minute about his header that should have gone in if the crossbar hadn’t been out for blood today.

His energy is endless, a constant hum of excitement that makes it hard to tune him out, even when I’m not in the mood. Finally, he turns to me and says, “Man, you’ve got it bad.”

“What’s bad?”

He gestures at me with a piece of garlic bread. “You’re staring off into space. You’ve barely touched your food. If that’s not a guy hung up on a girl, I don’t know what is.”

“Yeah, actually, I can’t stop thinking about Birdie. You think that’s bad?”

His grin doesn’t falter. The man is like a dog with a bone, and he’s not about to let it go. “No, it’s good. If you like her, you should go for it.”

“Go for what?”

He laughs. “Ask her out. Kiss her. Fuck her, if that’s all you’re after.”

I smack him. “Try that again.”

“In the three years I’ve known you, I haven’t seen you dateanyone. I figured it’s because you’d rather not bother. I mean, are you looking for a hookup, or do you have real feelings for her?”

It’s not that I don’t want to date—I do. But connecting with people outside of what’s familiar doesn’t come as easily to me. My brother, his best friend Hayes, Chase—those relationships were effortless, built into the fabric of my life. Being teammates, roommates, it all naturally fell into place.

Forming new bonds is harder. There aren’t a lot of places that make space for someone like me—someone who doesn’t glide effortlessly into conversations or feel at home in big, boisterous crowds. It’s like trying to join a game that’s already halfwaythrough, where everyone else knows the rules and I’m still scrambling to catch up.

“It’s new,” I tell him. “But I do think about her a lot. I want her to be happy. The idea of her stressing out all alone makes my stomach a bit sick.”

He raises his eyebrows. “That’s called feelings, my guy.”

“Hadden,” Santi interrupts, tossing a balled-up paper napkin at Chase’s head. “Care to weigh in?”

Chase whirls around to face the others. “What are we talking about here?”

“How you whiffed that free kick,” Amir chimes in from the end of the table, shaking his head as he pours himself more water.

The rest of the guys snicker and join in, while Chase just grumbles, shoving a piece of pizza into his mouth. It’s the same routine—everyone ripping into each other like always.

Santi gestures wildly, clutching his chest in an over-the-top reenactment of Amir’s missed slide tackle that sent him sprawling face-first into the turf. Amir just rolls his eyes, smirking, knowing there’s no point in defending himself. With Santi in full performance mode, the ribbing isn’t stopping anytime soon.

I sit back, soaking it all in. I like being the observer in these moments, letting the chaos swirl around me. It’s easy to tune out the noise and just appreciate the energy of the team—the laughter, the teasing.

Once the food dwindles and Coach makes his rounds, reminding everyone we have to be back in the hotel by midnight, Chase turns to me with his usual cheeky grin.

“Back to pottery girl,” he says, voice low. “You should call her when you get back to the room.”

I shrug. “Maybe. She had a big critique today. Probably busy.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Perfect opportunity for you to swoop in and be her hero. Lick her wounds a little.”

I give him a look, but he just laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulder as we head out. The guys shuffle into the night, some veering toward the bar across the street, others trailing back to the hotel. A few seniors manage to convince Coach to let them stay out for one more drink, promising they’ll cap it at two.

Back in the hotel room, I toss my bag onto the floor and flop onto the bed, immediately pulling out my phone.

Liam

back from dinner. what are you up to?

Birdie

sitting on the floor, staring aimlessly

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