Page 137 of Blindside Me
I’m sorry I walked away from Barton’s. I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I’m sorry I can’t just text you like a normal person instead of writing this note. I don’t know if I’ll ever send it.
My body locks. Every molecule in me freezes.
No. He didn’t.
The words ripple through the crowd, but they’re aimed at me. They pierce through the air, the noise, and the ache I’ve been trying so hard to dull.
“I didn’t lose control because I’m broken. I lost it because I’m afraid of losing the one person who sees me even when I can’t stand myself.”
“I ghosted her because I thought she deserved better. But better isn’t perfect. It’s real. And I want real with her.”
Callie’s hand clamps down on my arm. “Oh my god,” she whisper-hisses. “He’s doing this. Right now. For you.”
My brain short-circuits. Thousands of people, scouts, teammates, everyone is listening. Watching.
And he’s confessing to all of them. Confessing to me.
The announcer keeps reading.
“This isn’t a stunt. This is just me, asking the girl I love to know it out loud. In front of everyone.”
Love.
The word detonates inside my chest.
I blink hard. Someone behind me gasps. Somewhere else, a girl sighs like she’s watching a romcom in real-time.
I scan the bench. Drew’s not there.
Oh no. Oh—God.
“Everyone’s looking at us,” Callie mutters. “Like the entire arena.”
Amanda and Maddie sit there shell-shocked, a permanent smile etched on their faces. But they’re staring along with everyone else.
Because Callie’s right. Heads are turning. The buzz has shifted. All eyes lock in on our section. On me.
My stomach flips.
“Move, idiot,” Callie nudges me harder this time, her voice urgent and low. “Before he thinks you’re saying no with your silence.”
I should sit still. Hide. Vanish.
But I can’t.
He said it. Out loud. In front of everyone. He risked everything, his reputation, his draft potential, his carefully constructed image, for this moment. For me.
If I stay frozen, if I let my fear win again, what does that say about me?
Maybe showing up means more than standing on the sidelines and hoping he proves something.
Maybe it means walking, on shaky legs and breath that won’t smooth out, toward the person already showing up for me.
I stand.
Gasps ripple as I move down the steps. Someone whispers, “That’s her.”
Another voice, “Get it, girl.”
