Page 125 of The Wrong Game

He could still come.

I held onto what little hope I had left as the halftime clock ticked down, but I couldn’t move from the spot where I sat. Even when the next quarter started, the crowd jumping to their feet around me, I still sat and stared.

The third quarter passed in a blur, both teams fighting for their chance in the playoffs. Whoever won had a sure place. Whoever lost still had a chance at wild card.

Everything was on the line for these teams, and I could relate in the biggest way.

I checked my phone, wondering if Zach had texted. But there was nothing. I tried to cheer, tried to focus on the game, but I couldn’t stop wondering if he was coming. I wondered what he was thinking, and that had me coming up blank. He hadn’t said a word the entire time I was at his house. He’d just stared at me, and then the ticket, and I hadn’t a clue what was going through his head.

Maybe he didn’t believe me.

Maybe he did, but it didn’t matter — because nowhecouldn’t trustme.

Maybe he laughed when I was gone, throwing that ticket in the trash.

Had I ruined it all?

Had I blown my chance?

Just as the time started ticking on the fourth quarter, the first few flakes of snow fell from the gray sky overhead. The stadium roared to life, the jumbotron showing fans catching flakes on their tongues and in their hands as the energy from the game somehow picked up even more.

This was it. One more quarter. One last chance to win the game.

I checked my phone again, one last time, with my heart in my throat as I did so. But there was nothing but a text from Belle.

- Well? Did he show? -

My heart cracked, and I sniffed, eyes watering from the cold. At least, that’s what I told myself. I couldn’t text her back, even though the answer was clear. I wasn’t ready to accept it yet.

He isn’t coming.

My chest squeezed so hard I thought I’d pass out from lack of oxygen, and I leaned back against my chair, not sitting down but not able to hold all my weight on my feet any longer.

There was one quarter left. We were so close to securing our spot in the playoffs.

No one noticed the sad, lonely girl who’d lost a game she never intended to play.

I couldn’t feel the excitement from the crowd roaring. I couldn’t find the urge to high-five anyone as our receiver made another catch, or to jump up and down with everyone else as they belted out the lyrics to “Bear Down.” I couldn’t even feel the snow as it landed on my cheeks.

Tomorrow, I might be okay. But today, I was far from it.

I stood there in a daze, the crowd a distant buzz as I ran over all thewhat ifsandcould haves, should havesin my mind. I should have said more last night when I brought that ticket to him. I should have apologized sooner, should have explained to Zach why I freaked out the way I did. I should have let Belle be there when I opened the letters, maybe she could have talked sense into mebeforeI ruined everything.

It was too late now, but it didn’t stop me from playing it all over and over again, like a game tape where the end was alway the same, no matter how many times I watched it.

A snowflake fell on my lashes, and I blinked it away, taking a deep breath and looking up to the sky as if I’d find answers written in the gray clouds above.

It’s okay, Gemma. It’s okay. Just breathe.

“Oh, my God,” Janet said, brows pulling inward as she stared at something farther up in the stands behind me. “What in the world?”

I squinted, trying to see through the snow and the sea of people. I imagined it was someone dancing, or maybe a fight breaking out. But the more I wiggled around, peering through the open space between fans, the more I realized no one was booing or cheering.

They were laughing.

And when the source of their laughter got close enough for me to see why, my heart stopped beating altogether. My eyes shot open wide, glove-covered hands flying over my mouth.

I only saw him for little specs of time at first — just when the crowd would move the right way, and I could get a glimpse of his dark eyes through the people weaving left and right. He wasn’t smiling, though everyone around him was — pointing and nudging each other as he passed. A few people tried to stop him, tried to take selfies with him, but he just looked around them, through them, searching for something. Or someone.