Page 12 of Always Choosing You

Chapter Three

Rory’s leg bounced as Calvin inched his truck through the line of cars, trying—and failing—to find a place to park.

“Seriously, just park over there on the side,” she said, pointing to an empty patch of dirt next to the lot. “No one cares right now.”

“I could get a ticket,” Calvin said, voice firm.

She rolled her eyes. “Is it physically impossible for you to break the rules?”

“Yes,” Melanie said, a smile on her face.

“Of course you would like that,” she mumbled. “The game starts in five minutes; we’re going to miss kickoff.”

Calvin stopped the car abruptly. “Get out and get us seats. I’ll keep looking for a spot.”

Blake threw open the door and hopped out of the truck, not needing to be told twice. Rory grabbed Melanie’s arm and pulled her away from the unnecessarily long smooch Calvin was giving her.

In a small town like Haverport, there really wasn’t much else to do this time of year. Here, everyone lived for the summer. Between Memorial Day and Labor Day, the town population practically tripled in size as all of the “summer people” inundated the Port for a vacation by the beach, renting out any available cottages and cramming the public beaches with coolers and beach chairs and plastic buckets. The townies call it their “busy season,” given the profit turnover—Gabi’s words, not hers—that small businesses made between May and September compared to the rest of the year. Some were even able to take an extended break during the off-season, or in the case of Scoops—and to Rory’s dismay—the entire winter.

As the last of the summer people left and everything slowed down, the people of Haverport turned their attention to the next big thing: Friday night football games. It was a well-known fact that you would run into everyone you knew at a game; it was just the thing the townies did on Fridays, even if the team absolutely sucked.

Which, of course, wasn’t the case this year. Everything felt different. The energy in the stadium tonight was electric; fans were buzzing with anticipation. Rory glanced up at the sea of navy, white, and hints of gold in the stands, everyone there to cheer on their boys to a promising victory. Haverport High hadn’t been in the running for the state championship in over fifty years, and if they actually won, it would be their first championship win ever.

She linked arms with Melanie and Blake as they zigzagged their way through the crowd. The line at the concession stand was already astronomical—the heavenly smells of salty fries and sugary funnel cakes causing Blake to drift from Rory’s grasp. She held on to him firmly, dragging him past that stand and the pop-up booth where students submitted last-minute votes for Homecoming King and Queen.

“Do you think there’s a chance he’ll win?” Melanie asked.

Rory sighed. “I really hope so.”

She groaned when they came to another traffic jam. “We’re never going to find a spot.”

“Melanie! Blake! Rory!”

The three of them looked up toward the top of the stands and found Dan and Jan Fletcher waving furiously at them. Dan gestured toward some vacant seats at his side, as if they were waiting for them to show up. Rory followed Melanie and Blake as they climbed to the top, each of them getting barreled into a bear hug from Jan, who was matching Dan in Haverport crew-neck sweatshirts. They were dipped in blue tie-dye that matched the sea of navy in the stands flawlessly.

“Did you kids eat?” Jan asked, opening up a cooler next to her. It was stuffed with cream sodas and peanut butter and jam sandwiches, probably made with the coveted homemade jam the Fletchers sold at the farmer’s market during summer.

“Wow, you guys came prepared,” Rory said, taking the sandwich Jan handed her.

“We’ve been here for a couple of hours,” Dan said proudly. “We’re going to be state champs!”

The crowd around them cheered loudly as Dan fist-pumped the air.

Rory settled down next to Melanie, who was already unwrapping a sandwich on her lap. “Okay, I have to ask,” Melanie started, pointing to Rory’s head. “Why do you always wear that bright green bandana to the games?”

She touched it proudly, a smile creeping onto her face. The rest of her outfit matched the colors of their team—navy-blue Haverport crew neck, white jeans, and the number 17 painted obnoxiously on both cheeks. But the bandana stuck out like a sore thumb…which was kind of the point.

“So he can find me,” said Rory. “I’ve worn it to every single one of his football games.”

“But doesn’t he know you’re here?”

“Well, duh, I would never miss a game,” she responded. “But there was this one game in eighth grade when they finally let him start as running back. He was really nervous, so I told him anytime he felt that way to look up in the stands and find my green bandana, and know that he’s not alone.”

“That’s fucking cute,” Blake said.

She grinned. “Blake, I love it when you swear.”

He flushed. “Again, you’re strange.”