No. This wasn’t happening. Not here, not now. Not in the middle of the playoff game she’d spent weeks organizing, on top of everything else. She’d have almost preferred he ripped out all the flowers from the school flower bed again. Hell, spontaneous combustion would be preferable.
“Maybe it’s some kind of halftime show??”someone whispered.
A sharp whistle cut through the air—the referee, storming forward before Coach Reese overtook him, his face a furious shade of red.
“Da-da-da, da-da-da,” Kian sang, “let it never be said that romance is dead....”
Shouting broke out.
What the hell is this?
Get off the pitch!
A half-empty soda bottle sailed through the air and splashed up his jeans. The cheer squad paused their routine,their faces contorted in disgust—as if whatever Kian had offered them to perform as his backup dancers wasn’t worth it.
Meanwhile, Riya’s pulse was a roaring drumbeat. The crowd was turning fast—no longer confused butfurious. Worse, faces were swiveling towardher.
“Damn, Riya,” Michael Woodward called. “What did youdoto him?”
A chorus of kissy noises.Hey,someone put Riya on the pitch, too!
Riya forced her face stony even as her vision tunneled.
Beside her, Mel ducked as a popcorn bag flew overhead. “Okay, I know you hate this,” she whispered, stricken. “B-but I mean, it’s clear Kian means it. Maybe it’s kind of... romantic?”
The cheer line faltered and stalled, unsure. The wall of noise rose: yelling, laughing, booing as Kian just barely dodged the ref again, smiling like this was all choreography.
“Please explain what exactly is romantic aboutanyof this,” Riya forced through gritted teeth.
Mel winced. “Yeah, I’ll shut up now.”
“KIAN KHO,” Coach Reese bellowed. “GET OFF THE DAMN FIELD!”
“?’Causethere’s so little else”—Kian juked past an Abbersett defender—“occupying my head.”
He yanked the guitar cord taut as he ran, and the defender tripped, like something out of a Looney Tunes bit. The crowd roared in boos. A water bottle sailed throughthe air and narrowly missed Kian’s guitar, smacking Kian’s thigh. Half-eaten hot dogs began to litter the grass.
Getouttahere, you creep!
Kian flinched. For a moment, he paused. No strumming, no singing. Just blinking, like someone waking from a dream.
His tired eyes swept the bleachers until they found hers—a lighthouse in the storm.
And somehow, his smile returned. As if, despite everything, this was all just part of the beautiful love story in his head.
“Hey, VP,” Michael Woodward sneered. “You gonna stop your man, or are you just as much a freak as he is?”
Riya’s throat tightened.Leave him alone,she wanted to say.He’s not—he’s not himself right now.But that meant admitting the truth. That it wasn’t his fault.
That it washers.
“Nah, man, remember dodgeball? She’s into it,” Akash Kumar jeered.
People were pointing at her now. Whispering. Deciding she’dwantedthis, like some love-starved fool who craved grand, humiliating spectacles.
“Riya, Riya, Riya,Riyaaa!Do you, do you—ow! Stop with the hot dogs!—do you, doyouuu!” Kian’s voice cracked as he sang louder.
Riya stood, her body a live wire. She pushed through the bleachers, ignoring Mel’s hand on her arm, the taunts nipping at her heels.
