Chapter 2: The Rules of the Chase

02.

Carter and I were high school classmates. He didn’t know it, but I’d had a crush on him for two of those three years.

The night after graduation, fueled by that post-finals energy and probably too much soda, I finally confessed.

[Carter, I like you.]

He took forever to reply. Then: [What do you like about me?]

I blurted: [You’re handsome, you have great grades, and you look cool playing basketball.]

[Oh. I don’t like you.]

I refused to give up: [Then give me a chance to chase you! I promise you’ll end up liking me.]

[…]

[Are you scared you’ll fall for me?] I shot back, adding a smirking emoji for good measure.

[…Whatever.]

Back then, I didn’t know how to be subtle. I just went for it, and when he showed even a hint of softness, I took it as a sign to keep going.

That whole summer, I shamelessly blew up his Messenger every day, asking about his plans.

He never replied, but since we lived in the same neighborhood, I’d just catch him outside and tag along whenever he left.

At first, he was thrown off. Then he got used to it. Eventually, he barely even blinked when I showed up.

Watching that shift happen, little by little, was like winning a secret game.

It was the tiny victories: bumping into him at the mailbox, running into him at the park basketball courts, or passing him at the 7-Eleven when he went for a soda. In a small town, if you want to see someone, you find a way.

03.

Carter was always kind of cold. If he was in a decent mood, he’d toss me a [Mm], [Okay], or [Sure].

Didn’t matter. Good-looking guys get to be jerks sometimes, and apparently I was a sucker for it.

Sometimes he was so icy I’d get in a mood, but then I’d remember his face and instantly forgive him. God, I was so down bad for this guy.

Whenever that happened, I’d double down and tease him harder:

[Just give in already, I’ll treat you so well.]

[…]

[Resistance is futile, heh heh heh.]

[…]

[Do you seriously feel nothing for me at all?]

[…]

[Wow, six dots! Admit it, you’re actually kinda into me, right?]

[If I really slapped you, you’d probably just lick my hand.]

Later—

[I’m heading to the Franklin Library today.]

[Is that an invitation?]

[…]

[I’ll be right over.]

Carter loved basketball, and I loved watching him play—especially the way his white T-shirt would ride up when he shot, showing off his abs.

At first, he’d glare at me for staring, but eventually he just rolled his eyes and handed me a water bottle. If I teased him about it, he’d say, "Restrain yourself," but the tips of his ears would always go a little pink.

I’d laugh and toss him a cheeky grin. He pretended not to notice, but I could always catch the ghost of a smile on his lips. I filed that away—guess he didn’t hate it when I pushed his buttons.

One time, he was playing when some other guys joined. I figured, why not watch too?

I got so caught up that I jumped when a voice whispered by my ear: “Enjoying the view?”

I blurted, “Not as good-looking as you.”

He didn’t say anything. I looked up and saw him, jacket slung over his shoulder, striding off. Maybe he was hot—or maybe it was the way his ears turned bright red. He tried to hide it, fiddling with his keys, but I caught the tiniest smirk before he looked away.

To chase him, I pulled every move I could think of.

I’d bring him water just so he’d teach me basketball. My shamelessness left him speechless, but he finally caved.

Whenever I pretended not to know how to hold the ball, I’d use it as an excuse for some ‘accidental’ close contact. Every time I brushed against him, he’d instinctively pull away. I’d blink at him all innocent, and he’d purse his lips, like he wanted to say something but held back. One day, he realized I was just messing with him and ignored me for two days, sulking.

I spent those two days sending him dumb memes and screenshots from our favorite games, trying to get him to break. Eventually, he cracked—couldn’t resist a cat meme if his life depended on it.