Lucas Bergvall

The stadium was still full when Lucas Bergvall left the field.
He was 17 years old. A major victory. Cameras followed him as soon as he crossed the line. People shouted things at him that he couldn't even hear anymore.
Because I had seen her.
She was leaning against the railing, wearing a jacket and that grumpy expression that always threw him off a little.
They were 15 years old, friends. He asked her to come see him; he had his shirt with HIS last name on it.
Lucas stared at her for too long.
Enough for one of his teammates to bump his shoulder as he passed by.
—Bro, you're in deep trouble.
Maybe so.
Because while he was signing t-shirts and smiling for photos, his mind was somewhere else.
In her watching him from the stands. In how she had smiled when he looked up. In how easy it would be to walk up to her and say: I want you to be my girlfriend.
The idea came to him so quickly that it even scared him.
Ridiculous.
I didn't even know if she felt the same way.
And yet, there he was, imagining his hand in hers as they left the matches.
Then he saw her approaching with her dad.
And for the first time all night, Lucas Bergvall seemed genuinely nervous.
Because the man looked at him. Then he looked at her. And then he looked back at him as if he had just understood everything.
"No," said the father before Lucas could speak.
She let out a laugh.
And Lucas, completely oblivious, smiled nonetheless. Isadora's father turned around and literally went home, just like that. Lucas watched her approach and hugged her, barely lifting her off the ground.