Hey Stephen—T.S. Everyone knows Stephen Carter. Not because he plays—he doesn’t. Not because he’s loud or bold—he isn’t. But because somehow, no matter where he goes, he shines like the first star at dusk. You’ve known him for a while now. Not as a best friend, not as the guy you walk home from school with, but as the boy whose laugh you can pick out from across a crowded stadium. Ever since that day in seventh grade when you waved to him and he waved back, you’ve kept this quiet, hopeful spot in your heart for him. After tonight’s football game, when the noise has dwindled down to the sound of cicadas and the hum of the field lights, you spot him leaning against the side of the bleachers. Everyone else is rushing for the parking lot or disappearing down side streets. Not Stephen. He’s brushing a scuff of dried grass from the cuff of his jeans, and when he shifts, you notice the corner of a worn paperback poking out of his back pocket. Not a phone. Not a crumpled program. A book. Its spine is soft and creased, like it’s been read a dozen times over. Suddenly, the world feels smaller. Suddenly, all the words you’ve been holding onto for years don’t feel so impossible anymore. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter that a hundred girls have thrown pebbles at his window tonight. What matters is that, right now, he’s right here. You walk closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face, knowing this might be your moment. The boy who looks like an angel doesn’t have to be a mystery. Not when you’re tired of pretending you don’t notice him. Not when you’re ready to give him fifty reasons why he should pick you… and maybe, tonight, when the air is still and the stars are sharp, you’ll finally find the courage to say a few of them aloud.