Page 69 of Campus Heat

For weeks the Highlanders had been playing to lukewarm crowds and polite applause. Tonight, it felt like that finally shifted. The rally, the talk spreading around campus, the hope that maybe the program was turning a corner. I wanted Ethan to see it. I wanted him to feel what I was feeling.

Music burst through the speakers, and it was loud enough to rattle the bleachers. It was our cue to snap into position. The homecoming routine had taken us nearly three weeks to perfect. It was sharper than our usual routines, designed to energize the crowd before kickoff.

I stepped forward and led the opening chant, and my voice was ringing across the field.

“Let’s go, Highlanders!”

The crowd answered immediately, and their roar was a lot louder than I expected it to be.

“Let’s go, Highlanders!”

My squad moved through our routine smoothly, with every single one of our lifts and tumbling passes landing cleanly. Jenna flipped into a perfect round-off back handspring. Cassie hit the final pyramid without wobbling. I landed the closing pose with my arms high and my breath rushing through my chest as the band blasted the fight song behind us.

The roar from the stands rolled across the field, and I couldn’t help but smile. For the first time all season, it felt like the team was walking into something bigger than just another Saturday game.

The music calmed, and the stadium announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the team you’ve all been waiting for. The Havenport Highlanders!”

Smoke cannons burst near the tunnel entrance as the team exploded onto the field with their helmets flashing beneath the stadium lights. The players charged forward through the banners, slapping hands and shouting to each other as the crowd cheered.

My hand instinctively moved to the pocket of my warm-up jacket where the granola bar waited. I pulled it out and opened it, preparing for the small but meaningful ritual Ethan and I had started all those weeks ago. As he started running, I held it out, expecting him to take a bite, but he didn’t. He didn’t even glance up.

His gaze stayed locked forward, and his expression was hidden behind the dark visor as he moved straight to the bench area. One of the assistants handed him a tablet, and Ethan immediately started reviewing something on the screen. He didn’t look at me once, which was super weird. I lowered my hand slowly. Maybe he just didn’t see me. It was the worst lie I had ever told myself, but I had to believe something.

The whistle for kickoff blew moments later. From the first snap, something felt wrong.

The offensive line gave Ethan a decent pocket on the opening play. Malik streaked across the middle on a clean route, separating from the defender just enough to create a window. It should’ve been an easy completion, but Ethan’s throw sailed too high. The ball bounced off Malik’s fingertips and hit the turf. A disappointed murmur ripped through the crowd.

“Shake it off!” someone shouted from the sidelines.

For the second down, Coach Harris signaled the next play from the sideline. His arms were making quick, practiced gestures, but at least everyone seemed to understand what he was trying to convey. Ethan looked at him, then stepped forward, waved a hand at his coach, and gave the team another order.

I had watched enough of their games to know when Ethan was doing a shift. It wasn’t unusual, but it rarely happened this early on. Ethan’s voice carried faintly across the field as he called an audible at the line. The ball snapped, but instead of the quick route Harris had called, Ethan forced a deeper throw down the sideline. The problem with it was that it was incomplete.

For the third down, Harris signaled again, this time more aggressively. Ethan nodded, but just before the snap, he adjusted the formation again. My stomach tightened as my concern became overwhelming. The play collapsed almost immediately. Trinity’s defensive end slipped past the tackle and wrapped Ethan up before he could escape the pocket. It was a sack that earned a groan from the crowd.

The first drive ended quickly, and the second didn’t go any better. A hand-off to Dylan gained only two yards. Ethan rushed the next throw, sending it behind Lucas. On third down, he held the ball too long again, scrambling backward until Trinity’s linebackers swallowed him up near the sideline. It was a punt. I forced a bright smile, and we launched into our next chant.

“Defense! Defense!”

The defense actually held strong for a while. Trinity managed a field goal on their first drive but struggled to push deeper against Havenport’s defensive front. The offense, however, never found its rhythm.

Ethan kept making adjustments at the line. Some of them worked for small gains, but the others fell apart instantly. The receivers looked confused more than once, and because of that they hesitated for half a second too long before breaking into their routines. Each miscue chipped away at the energy in the stadium, and by the end of the first quarter, Trinity led by ten.

I glanced toward the sideline during a timeout and saw Harris leaning close to Ethan. He was speaking quickly, and his expression was sharp with frustration. Ethan listened for just a moment, but then he pulled his helmet back on and walked off while Harris was talking.

The second quarter spiraled even faster than the first. A botched snap slipped through Ethan’s hands and rolled nearly ten yards behind the line of scrimmage before he managed to recover it. The next drive ended with an interception after Ethan forced a deep pass into tight coverage. The Trinity safety caught it cleanly and sprinted nearly halfway down the field before being tackled.

The crowd’s mood shifted. The cheers became scattered, and frustrated murmurs replaced the earlier excitement. I kept cheering anyway, pushing my voice louder as my squad performed along the sideline. But every single time Havenport built momentum, something went wrong. There was an overthrown pass and then a missed block.

Another forced throw from Ethan fell incomplete, and by halftime Trinity had stretched their lead to seventeen points. The band marched onto the field while the players headed for the locker rooms, but I barely noticed the music behind me.

I slipped away from the cheer formation as soon as I was dismissed, and hurried toward the tunnel entrance where the team was disappearing. Luckily, I managed to catch up with Ethan just before he reached the locker room.

“Hey,” I called, slightly out of breath.

He slowed just enough to acknowledge me, but he didn’t make eye contact. “Hey.”