Looking at him, you might think he’s completely chill about it from his enthusiastic high fives and “whatever, man” shrugs, but I see the way his shoulders tense with each call. How his smiles are forced. I know Chase. Getting mixed up with Jasmine may have made me forget for a minute, but he’s been here since well before I knew she existed. I know him, and—

The crowd goes absolutely nuts, and even though my eyes are on the field, my own head clearly made me miss something. It isn’t until Shannon grabs my wrists and screams “He did it!” that I realize Chase passed for another twenty yards, officially taking him over the 463 he needed to wipe the last guy from the record books. I scream right along with her, doing a little cheer from my seat I remember from my freshman year stint on the JV squad. Chase yanks off his helmet, looks up at me, and laughs. I blow him a kiss and he catches it and smashes it right against his mouth, and suddenly the cheers turn to whistling and laughter and I realize we have an audience. Heat rises into my cheeks but honestly, I’m way more overwhelmed with pride than shame.

Coach Robinson calls the team back to attention to finish out the game, and the rest of us fidget in our seats as they run out the clock with benchwarmers (though they keep Chase on to see how high he can go) until we can celebrate properly.

Finally, the buzzer sounds, and the stands explode. I hug Shannon and even the girls in front of me, all while keeping an eye on Chase accepting one-armed hugs and high fives from everyone on the field. It’s hard to be pissed about a loss when a guy literally set a record defeating you, I guess.

There’s never been a less shocking announcement than the one in which Chase is named MVP, and I clap with pride as he’s awarded the trophy that changes hands from game to game in Stratford tradition. He poses for a couple of pictures, then takes the mic for the usual speech about how everyone played a great game, blah blah blah.

“This was such an amazing night,” he says after the standard opener, “and there’s one person who made it all the more special by being here.” He gestures at the stands, and there’s a quick flash of envy in my brain before I realize his hand is extended toward me. “Look at my girl, up there with my number on her gorgeous face and my name on her arm. How can any guy not pass for four hundred ninety-six yards when he’s got her on his side?”