The Fox and the Quarterback

Lucas's phone buzzed against his nightstand, the charging **cable** tangled around his alarm clock like a snake. 3:47 AM. He'd been staring at his ceiling for hours, replaying what happened at the homecoming dance.

He'd spent his entire freshman year **running** from anything that resembled feelings—especially the kind that made his chest feel like someone was squeezing it with both hands. But then he'd seen her across the gym floor, wearing this vintage **orange** dress that looked like it belonged in a movie from his mom's era, not their actual high school.

Riley. Everyone called her "**Fox**" because she could slip through any crowd unnoticed, but Lucas had noticed her since seventh period English. She sat in the back, always sketching in this battered notebook, never caring what anyone thought.

Meanwhile, Lucas was supposed to be a total **bull** on the football field—that's what his dad kept telling him anyway. "Be aggressive, Luke. Don't let anyone push you around." But the truth was, he'd rather be home playing guitar than taking hits on the field.

The dance had been this perfect storm of awkward. His friends had dared him to ask her to dance, and when he finally worked up the nerve, he'd tripped over his own feet and nearly knocked over the punch bowl. Riley had just laughed—not mean laughing, but like she actually thought it was funny—and helped him clean up the mess.

"You're not as smooth as everyone thinks you are, huh?" she'd said, and something about the way she looked at him made him want to be honest for once.

Now his phone lit up with a message from Riley: "That was the worst dance ever. We should never go to another one."

Lucas found himself grinning at his screen. She wanted to see him again. Not the version of him that was supposed to be some tough jock, but the real one. The one who tripped over punch bowls and didn't actually care about football.

He typed back: "Agreed. I'd rather run laps in the dark than do that again."

"Tomorrow morning? 5 AM? Behind the school?"

Lucas hesitated. Then he pressed send: "You're on."

For the first time in forever, he wasn't running away from something. He was running toward it.