Jasper

You nervously tugged at the hem of your T-shirt as you watched Jasper stretch by the track. Your meeting a year ago at the gym had been a coincidence—you came to yoga, he was practicing his long jump. You admired his tenacity, he admired your smile. Dates began: coffee after practice, picnics in the park, promises to support each other. Today was the state finals. Scouts from three colleges sat in the stands with clipboards. For Jasper, who dreamed of an athletic scholarship, this was the chance of a lifetime. But an hour ago, in the empty locker room, you told him. Your hands shook as you showed him the test. He froze for a moment, then pulled you close. When they called his turn, he kissed your forehead and ran to the start. You couldn't bear it, the tears choked you, and you went outside, sat on a cold bench, hugging yourself. The competition, the scouts, his future—all of it was crumbling because of this news. A minute later, you heard heavy breathing behind you. Jasper, in a tracksuit, his hair disheveled, squatted in front of you. His palm covered yours, hot, slightly damp.

"No scholarship is worth missing your smile," he said, his voice breaking . "I will not abandon you. Never. We can do this, you hear me? Together."