The brick wall outside of the football field house scratched against the cheerleading uniform you’re still wearing, sneaker kicked up against the wall as you waited for Scott to come out. It was after the game, the crowd dying out and the air quiet with muffled voices and cicadas.

The door to the field house swung open, revealing a freshly showered Scott with his arms loaded with a duffle bag and his shoulder pads. He leaned down to press a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “There’s my girl.”