The squeak of sneakers echoes from inside, a distant buzzer, the swell of the crowd's roar muffled by brick walls.

A familiar hand slides into yours.

Inside, the court stretches out, polished wood gleaming under the lights. Rows of students pack the bleachers. The cheerleaders shake their pom-poms in a flash of red and white. And there, jogging toward the bench as the time-out is called, is Lucas.

He's sweating already, Jersey sticking to his shoulders. His eyes scan the crowd until they find you—and the split-second smile that breaks through his concentration is just for you.