Jace pulls away first. “Come on, we’ll be late for the game.”

He tugs my hand and I stumble, this time thanks to the stupor his touch seems to elicit. Jace grins at the dazed expression on my face as I follow him out of his room and back downstairs.

The rest of Jace’s family has already piled inside the silver SUV. Jace and I slide into the middle row of the car next to Claire. The twins are seated behind us in the very back.

Mrs. Dawson looks back from her spot in the front passenger seat and winks when she takes in my new top. Mr. Dawson drives down the long dirt driveway and out onto the asphalt road. I look out the window, seeing Jace’s hometown for the first time. We pass a series of dirt driveways identical to the one we’ve just left, interspersed between fields full of corn and waving stalks of grain.

Gradually, the farmlands give way to development, with new subdivisions lining either side of the road. We pass a general store, post office, and library before Mr. Dawson pulls into an expansive parking lot just past a sign that reads Fulton High School.

Unlike everywhere else we’ve just driven past, the parking lot is full of cars and people. Mr. Dawson has to take several laps around the bustling lot before finally finding a space to park in.

If I hadn’t actually experienced it firsthand, I would think walking with the Dawsons through the crowded high school parking lot was what it was like to be seen with royalty.

As soon as we all exit the car, we’re swarmed by everyone in the immediate vicinity.

Once we emerge through that group, we continue to be stopped every few feet by another person. The Dawsons know everyone who approaches them by name, chatting about kids, pets, and Thanksgiving plans with an easy feeling of familiarity.

Jace fields the most questions, continuously being asked about his current season and future plans. He’s still holding my hand and continues to grip it tightly as we slowly make our way across the parking lot. Each person we encounter is clearly invested in his future, and beams with pride as he answers their football questions.

We finally manage to finish crossing the parking lot, and the football field stands before us. It’s the same size as Lincoln’s but seems smaller without a massive stadium surrounding it. Instead of soaring rows of seats, metal bleachers line the field. To my surprise, they’re already mostly filled with spectators, despite the large crowd still in the parking lot.

“I’m surprised they haven’t named the town after your family yet,” I whisper to Jace once we’re clear of the last well-wisher.

“They tried. There’s already a Dawson, Nebraska,” he replies. I glance at him in surprise, and he laughs. “I’m kidding.”

Progress is slow up the steps of the metal bleachers as the Dawsons encounter more friends and neighbors. By the time we’ve taken our seats, the players are already out on the field, signaling the game is about to begin.