Page 42 of High Hopes

“See? Not so hard,” he says proudly.

I snort. “Congratulations, you’re officially mediocre.”

“Oh, don’t sell me short. This is a masterpiece.”

“It . . . sure is something,” I mutter as he tries to shape it into a vague bowl-like form. Within seconds, it leans dangerously to one side, threatening to collapse. His eyebrows knit as he tries to salvage it, but it’s a losing battle.

“Okay, maybe I was a bit overconfident.”

I tsk. “Understatement.”

He laughs and tosses his hands up. “Alright, you win. This wheel-throwing business is all yours. Better I stick to what I’m good at.”

“Kicking balls?” I scrunch my nose. “Not so good with your hands, are you?”

His eyes spark, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “Oh, I don’t know. Haven’t heard any complaints yet.”

“Guess I’ll reserve judgment until I see more evidence.”

“Careful, Birdie.” He licks his lips, his voice dropping just enough to make my pulse stutter. “Might have to give you a full demonstration.”

I swallow, trying not to lose my cool, but it’s impossible. Heat creeps up my neck. My mind’s already running away with the idea, and judging by the look he’s giving me, his isn’t far behind.

But I know it’s just Liam being Liam—always walking that line, keeping the banter alive, no harm intended. Probably.

“Hold still.” I clear my throat, forcing a laugh to break the tension. Before he can fire off another comment, I swipe a bit of clay from the wheel and smear it unapologetically across his cheek. “There. Now you’re a real potter.”

He freezes for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.” He scoops a bit of clay onto his fingers and flicks it at me, but it veers wildly off course, splatting against the wall instead.

“Wow. Amazing aim. Definitely stick to soccer.”

“Hey, it was a warning shot,” he protests, still chuckling as he leans back on the stool. “But fine. Point taken.”

The lopsided grin he gives me softens his features, and for a second, I forget where I am. His piece is a complete disaster—smooshed, shapeless, an absolute wreck by any technical standard—but it’s a nonissue. There’s something oddly endearing about how he doesn’t seem to care.

Failure doesn’t embarrass him. He allows himself to stumble, to fumble, to laugh at his own mistakes without a second thought—and he does it all right in front of me, like it comes naturally.

And maybe that’s what I like most. Nothing feels ruined when he’s around. Just messy, and real, and somehow so much better.

15

LIAM

God,I hate parties. The noise, the chaos, the people packed in like commuters on a rush-hour train. Touching me when I don’t want to be touched. Looking at me when I’d rather not be perceived. It’s all just a mess of sounds and smells, everyone yelling over the music that’s way too loud.

But I’ve been dragged to enough of these things at Dayton to know when it’s worth putting up a fight—and when it’s better to go along for the ride, which, admittedly, happens more often than I’d like.

There was that neon rager during Welcome Week. The infamous foam party freshman year. Last Halloween, James, Hayes, and his girlfriend made me dress up as one of Bo Peep’s sheep, and yeah, I’ve still got photos of that one. Now, here I am, getting dragged along by Chase to yet another soccer party.

It makes him happy, and it’s easier for me just to play along than to explain why I’d rather be anywhere else. Sometimes, I have to let Chase’s enthusiasm carry me along instead of resisting the tide.

“Come on, man. Loosen up,” Chase says, nudging my shoulder as we make our way up to the porch. “It’s Halloween. You’re dressed like a vampire, for God’s sake. Embrace it.”

I adjust the plastic fangs that are digging into my gums and wipe a bit of fake blood from my lip. “It’s quite literally a Monday night in the middle of the semester. Pardon me for not feeling so festive.”

Chase just grins, eager to head inside to find some unsuspecting girl. He’s all in, a gladiator in a getup that’s one size too small. “Look, just have a drink, relax. You might actually have fun tonight.”

The noise is already bleeding out—someone’s cranked up “Thriller,” and there’s a burst of laughter that sounds like it’s coming from at least half a dozen people. I roll my eyes as Chase disappears inside. Instead of following, I hang back alone, posting up by the door.

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