Page 2 of Heartstruck

Jared

The worst part about being the new “hottie” athlete on campus? Everyone assumes you have it all figured out, like your future’s mapped out for the next ten years just because you can catch a ball.

It’s not just my teammates joking around about it or the girls who look at me like I’m a damn trophy. I get the idea that the professors think I’m taking it easy, coasting by with a smile and a helmet. Like the academic work I put in doesn’t count just because I’m not buried in textbooks all day.

I sling my backpack higher on my shoulder, weaving through the quad. A group of students pauses mid-conversation, their heads turning as I pass. I overhear a few conversations:

“That’s him.”

“He’s our new wide receiver.”

“Is he single? He’s so hot.”

It’s the same as always. I flash my usual easy smile at the people who greet me, but inside, I’m running on empty.

I duck into the campus café, Study Brew, hoping for a quiet corner where I can catch my breath from all the attention.

Jesus, why did no one tell me transferring schools would draw even more attention to me?

I thought moving away from my old school would be my escape from unwanted attention.

It was nonstop with the whispers and the occasional “accidental” bumps in hallways or parking lots.

I thought I’d left that behind, but it’s starting to feel like the same game, just a different place.

I grab a matcha latte and slip into a quiet corner, checking the time.

Thirty minutes until my advisor meeting—time to fix the course load I definitely overestimated.

When your younger sister’s basically a genius; keeping up starts to feel like a silent competition.

Thinking about her reminds me of that text she sent… the one I still haven’t answered.

I tap on my phone and pop in my AirPods. In a few seconds, she answers with the brightest smile. “Hi, Serena.”

“Hi, big bro, what’s up?” she greets me on FaceTime, walking inside her apartment. “No class today?”

“Nah, I need to meet with my advisor.”

“Something wrong?” Serena spins toward me, her face tightening with concern. “Did the girl come back?”

I shake my head and feel goosebumps forming at the thought of her. “No, she’s not here. I just need to figure out some things about my courses.”

“Too much work?”

“More like signed up for too many of them.”

“Brother.”

“Sister.”

“I know transferring midway wasn’t what you wanted, but everything happens for a reason.” Serena sits down on the couch. “I’m sorry she… I hope you know it’s not your fault. It’s hers.” She assures, her lips pulling into a frown.

“Yeah. Can we not talk about her?” I say with a tight smile. “Talking about her gives me the heebie jeebies. I already had to help clean up the locker room.”

When news broke about my transfer to CCU, intrusive attention from girls started pouring in.

I should’ve expected it. As a rising wide receiver, I was already under the public eye, my performance on the field and my appearance making me a target.

My transfer only made it worse. It started with simple “Welcome to CCU!” friend requests on social media but soon flooded into DMs—some casual, others a lot more explicit. I didn’t hesitate to delete those.

Just a few days ago, the athletic building’s lobby was stacked with twenty dozen roses, all addressed to me.

The card simply read, “From your secret admirer.” It was flattering but also unnerving, especially since I had no clue who’d sent them.

It gave me the same stalker vibes that pushed me to leave Clemson in the first place.

“Okay,” Serena sighs, then grins at the change of topic. “How’s your first couple of weeks so far? Are you getting along with your team? Did you get hazed yet?”

“The team likes me, and we don’t haze here,” I chuckle. “I have my work cut out for me, though. It’s hard to come in after training camp and basically have a spot on the team. I feel bad for the way it’s happening.”

“Hey, it will be okay. Playing a sport at the university level is a job. You have to earn it, and you earned it. Don’t doubt yourself.”

There she goes acting like the big sister.

Time apart only brought us closer. It didn’t matter that we weren’t related by blood; what she’d been through and the bond we’d created over the years was more than enough to make her my real sister.

Also, dating Tyler, my best friend, only made us come closer.

I’d already given him the “hurt her and I’ll take you down” talk.

He’s a great guy, but it made her a bit of a smart-ass with big sister tendencies.

Living on her own at Duke while juggling an internship at Adobe definitely gave her that sense of authority over me.

She annoys me sometimes, but I love her.

I couldn’t be prouder. And she wouldn’t let us drift apart.

As soon as we went our separate ways, she made me promise to call at least once a week, and I’m sticking to it.

We talk on FaceTime for a few more minutes to catch up. Serena’s working on a new project, and she tells me about Tyler, who’s coming over later to cook her dinner in his brand new Ninja air fryer. Boy is whipped.

“I hate to cut the call short, but I’ve got to grab lunch before my next class,” Serena says. “Also, do me a favor? Say hi to Alli for me.”

“Why?”

Alli is probably the only other girl I know on campus. Not too many of our high school classmates enrolled here just because it’s so far.

I haven’t seen her around lately. It’s like she lives under a rock or is in hiding.

“She’s just”—Serena shakes her head—“just talk to her, it might be nice for you to have some sense of home since you’re hours away from us.”

We hang up quickly, and I head to the advisor center for my appointment with Mr. Henderson.

Sitting in his office, I glance at the framed degrees and motivational posters on the walls.

Mr. Henderson, a no-nonsense guy in his fifties with a graying beard and a perpetually serious expression, shuffles some papers on his desk before looking up at me.

“Jared, how’s it going?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Good, sir. Just trying to keep up with everything,” I reply, managing a smile.

He nods, scanning a document in front of him. “I see. Balancing football and academics isn’t easy, but you’ve been doing well so far. Let’s talk about your schedule for next semester.”

As he goes over my options, my mind drifts back to Alli. Serena hesitated earlier, like she was about to spill tea, but stopped herself.

Alli and I aren’t super close.

I take that back.

We did hook up one summer, so technically we’re a little bit closer than we think.

Ever since that summer, we haven’t hung out that much one-on-one.

We share mutual friends since we’ve known each other since middle school.

We’ve been around each other a lot in the past few years because of how close she is with Serena.

But that’s it. We’re basically Tom and Jerry.

“Jared, are you with me?” Mr. Henderson’s voice pulls me back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I say, shaking off my thoughts. “Just a lot on my mind.”

He gives me a knowing look. “Focus is key, but don’t forget to make time for yourself.

Find a healthy balance.” He pulls a business card from a drawer and hands it to me.

“If you ever need it, we have a wellness center. Counselors are available in person, by phone, or even by text. More details are in the brochure.”

“Thanks.” I tuck the brochure into my bookbag. “And for my classes?”

“Ah,” Mr. Henderson clicks his tongue and glances at his desktop. “I think we can drop two of these. That way, you’ll still maintain a full-time student workload with just four classes. Sound good to you?”

“Yeah, that’s great.”

“I see you’re interested in physical therapy as a career option. No interest in the NFL?”

“Not really. I mean, I love football, but I don’t think I can see myself living in that kind of fast-paced lifestyle.”

Genuinely, I didn’t. Football has been a huge part of my life, but the idea of the NFL lifestyle—constant travel, high pressure, and the limbo of it all—doesn’t quite appeal to me.

After the year I went through, I’m also not interested in the spotlight that the NFL comes with.

There’s something about stability and helping people get back on their feet through physical therapy that just feels right to me.

Mr. Henderson nodded thoughtfully, jotting down a few notes on his notepad.

“That’s a great way to think about it. I always encourage my athletes to have some kind of backup plan in place.

I love the passion.” He congratulates with a smile, then it fades.

“I hate to bring you down, but I noticed when you were at Clemson, Cell Biology was one of your courses, then you dropped it by spring semester because of interesting circumstances. Is that correct?”

I nod. That was the semester some girl got really motivated to date me—like, waiting outside my classes every day kind of motivated. I ended up switching to remote classes for the rest of the year and transferred out the first chance I got.

“We do things a little differently here, but the bottom line is, you’re missing a few credits.

So you’ll need to retake that course this semester if you don’t mind switching out a class for it.

We only offer them with lectures and labs combined in the fall.

If you don’t take it this year, you’ll have to wait until junior year. ”

I process Mr. Henderson’s suggestion that I’ll have to retake the class, and a “WTF” moment flashes through my mind.

Here I was, thinking I had everything planned out, only to be thrown a curveball because of a stalker who ruined my life.

It was one of those surreal moments where life quite literally bitch-slapped me right in the face.