Page 99 of Courageous Hearts

“But no one really wants to stand up to Reggie. He’s popular and big and on the football team, like me,” Damian says. “But then I was thinking about how careful people have to be on social media these days, right? Like, anything can end up online, and you can’t undo that.”

I nod along, honestly surprised by the sheer number of words spilling from Damian’s mouth right now. I don’t think he’s ever said this much to me in one sitting.

He keeps going, his story rushing out.

“Our school has this no phones policy that everyone hates, right? So I thought, what’s a way I could change that? If people had phones, Reggie would have to be more accountable for his actions.” He shoots me a sly grin, and with a huff of laughter, it clicks—the photography club. “I needed ten students to start the club, but the school agreed if I got more than twenty, we could use our phones on airplane mode. ’Cause they couldn’t afford that many cameras.”

“How many students did you get?” I ask in suppressed laughter.

“Seventy-five,” he answers proudly. “And our project this semester is the football team.”

“Oh my God,” I say, shaking my head as I realize Damian is a little bit of an evil genius. “And Reggie?”

“Hasn’t been able to bother much of anybody because there are always cameras on him.”

“Holy cow, Damian. I’m impressed,” I admit. “That’s pretty dang smart.”

He grins, a full one with teeth and everything. “Thanks. And I like it. The photography, I mean. It’s fun.”

“That’s awesome. Can I see any of it?”

Damian pulls out his phone, and after clicking into a folder titled “Photog Club,” he flips through some of the pictures he’s taken. They’re mostly artistic shots. Football related, per the club’s theme this semester, but instead of action pics or images of the team, it’s smaller details. Like a hand curled around a ball. Or the numbers on a team jersey and the bottom half of a smiling face. It seems congruent with how Damian views the world—noticing the smaller things some people pass by without a second thought.

“These are fantastic, Damian,” I say, just as we come to a photo unlike the others. It’s a smiling, freckled face and a shock of red hair.

“That’s my friend,” Damian fills in. “Jonathan.”

“Ah,” I hum, noticing how soft his voice got when he mentioned Jonathan. I can’t help but wonder if he has feelings for his friend. Perhaps he’s not even sure himself. He’s still young; he might not have all that figured out. “Well, I’m really glad you found a way to help him.”

I hand his phone back, and Damian nods a little shyly. “Thanks to you.”

“I have a feelin’ you would’ve figured out a way regardless,” I note.

Damian kicks at the ground before telling me a little more about the photography club and how they’re partnering with the yearbook. He shares about his neighbor, who’s an older man who sometimes forgets who Damian is. And he tells me about his mom and how much he admires her for keeping them afloat.

It makes my chest warm, and I log a mental note to pass on that last bit of info to his mother. I have a feeling those words from her somewhat tightlipped son would mean a whole lot.

It’s a half hour later when Damian’s mom arrives at the school to pick him up. We say our goodbyes, and much to my surprise, Damian gives me a quick hug before he trudges off in only the way a teenager can. His mom’s eyes are glassy when she gives me a wave, having witnessed her son’s show of affection.

My own eyes are suspiciously wet as I make my way out toward the sidewalk in front of the school. It’s like everything is settling into this perfect order. Damian is opening up to me just as his mom hoped would happen when she enrolled him in the Big Brothers Big Sisters program. I have a great job and wonderful friends. I finally stood up to Diesel after years of hurt.

And Jameson and me… We’re in this place that feels so solid. Like everything has fit together so naturally since the moment we met. I’m more than certain now that I love him. I felt it last night, in those same seconds Jameson was talking about. Except for me, it was when my boyfriend was falling toward the ground like a sack of potatoes. My own stomach had somersaulted forward with him, and all I could imagine as he landed on the ground was worst-case scenarios. Did he hit his head? Is he okay? Is something well and truly wrong? And the stark refusal of my brain to even entertain that last idea was what clinched it for me.

I couldn’t imagine my world without Jameson in it. It was this big, blank, angry space. This void of do not go here. I couldn’t grasp it. Couldn’t even picture it.

Jameson is mine. He accepted me effortlessly and without question. He sees me. He makes me feel bolder and more confident in myself. In us. He makes me ridiculously happy.

And I’m going to tell him, as soon as I see him, that I love him. Because he deserves that. He deserves to know the truth of what I’m feeling inside, and he makes me feel brave enough to bare that to him.

I’ve just solidified my decision when, as if the universe heard my internal thoughts and obliged, the man himself manifests in front of me. It’s so jarring that for a moment, I don’t believe it.

What is Jameson doing here? I don’t think I ever mentioned which school Damian attends.

But no, that’s definitely my boyfriend standing some fifty feet off in front of the school doors. And he’s talking to someone, so maybe he’s paying a friend or acquaintance a visit. Whatever the case, it’s like my heart expands, a rush of tingling excitement racing through my limbs at the idea that I have my chance. Right here, right now.

“Mr. Wright,” I call out, my smile overtaking my face.

Jameson turns, clearly having heard me even though he’s far away. There are people walking between us, and I head his way, weaving through the crowd and waiting for him to locate me. His gaze pans around, trying to do just that. But the moment his eyes land on me, he just…skips by. He barely glances at me before turning back around and shrugging to the person at his side. The pair head through the doors into the building, and I stop still, shell-shocked and utterly mortified as I realize… Jameson didn’t want to be seen with me. He didn’t want to acknowledge me in front of his friend.

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