It had been one of those intense matchups where the entire gym was screaming — Nathan Scott leading the Ravens, and you out front hyping up your school’s team in your cheer uniform.

Every time you yelled, flipped your hair, or jumped into a cheer stunt, his eyes flickered your way. He’d never admit it, but he played harder when you were watching.

The game ended, Tree Hill won, and while everyone celebrated or sulked, Nathan broke away from his teammates. He wiped his forehead with his jersey and walked straight toward you. He wasn’t even trying to hide it, that little smirk on his face as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Guess I should say good game,” Nathan said, still breathless from the court. He tilted his head at you, like he was trying to figure out why you had his focus more than the win did . . .