PART ONE: FIRST LOVE
CHAPTER TWO: John's World
John Carter had never questioned where he belonged.
Belonging came easily to him, the way breathing did. He was born into comfort, raised in a house that sat on the highest hill in Ridgeway, where the lawn was always trimmed and the gate always closed. From his bedroom window, John could see almost the entire town spread out below him—the stadium lights, the school rooftops, the streets that twisted into neighborhoods nothing like his own. He had grown up believing the view meant something. That it was proof he was meant to rise above everything else.
Inside the Carter home, everything ran on schedules and expectations. His father, Richard Carter, was rarely home before midnight. When he was, he spoke in phone calls and business language, moving through rooms like he owned not just the house but the world beyond it. His mother, Diane Carter, filled the silence with charity events, brunch meetings, and conversations about college scouts and scholarships.
John was their investment.
Football wasn't just a sport in the Carter family—it was a future plan. From the moment John showed talent in middle school, everything else became background noise. Tutors adjusted schedules around practice. Family dinners were moved to fit game nights. Mistakes were overlooked as long as he kept winning.
At Ridgeway High, John ruled effortlessly.
Teachers smiled when he walked in late. Coaches spoke about him like he was already a legend. Students parted hallways for him without realizing they were doing it. His locker was a constant gathering point—teammates joking loudly, girls lingering longer than necessary, conversations always circling back to him.
John liked the attention. He told himself he deserved it.
But beneath the confidence, there was something restless in him, something he couldn't name. Maybe it was the pressure. Maybe it was the way everyone already expected him to become someone he wasn't sure he wanted to be yet.
Football practice the Monday after the game was brutal. Coach pushed them hard, shouting instructions under the blazing sun. Sweat soaked through John's shirt as he ran drills, his body moving on instinct. This was where he felt most alive—on the field, where expectations made sense and effort turned directly into applause.
"Carter!" Coach yelled. "Eyes on the ball!"
John nodded, refocusing, blocking out everything else.
After practice, he sat on the bleachers with Melinda and a few friends. Melinda leaned against him easily, her laugh loud and confident, her presence bold. She had been part of his circle for years—never officially his girlfriend, never completely distant either.
"You were amazing on Friday," she said, flipping her hair. "Scouts were definitely watching."
John smirked. "They always are."
She smiled like that answer pleased her. Melinda liked being close to success. She liked being seen.
Across the field, John noticed Lucy walking alone toward the parking lot, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her head slightly bowed like she was used to avoiding attention. Something about her quiet presence pulled at him unexpectedly.
"You staring at someone?" Melinda asked, following his gaze.
John shrugged. "Nah. Just thinking."
But that wasn't true.
Lucy had surprised him. Not because she was loud or flirtatious—she wasn't either—but because she hadn't tried to impress him. She hadn't looked at him like he was something to be earned. She had looked at him like he was just… human.
That unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
In English class, John sat a row ahead of Lucy. He usually spent the period half-listening, half-joking with friends, but today he found himself glancing back toward the window seat. Lucy was writing, her pen moving quickly across the page, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"What are you looking at?" his friend Marcus whispered.
"Nothing," John muttered, facing forward.
But his attention kept drifting.
After class, Lucy packed her bag quickly, standing before anyone could speak to her. John hesitated, then stood too.
"Hey, Lucy," he said, catching up to her in the hallway.
She turned, surprised. "Oh—hi."
"You, uh… you like writing, right?" he asked.
Her shoulders stiffened slightly. "Yeah."
"That's cool," he said. "I didn't know you were that good."
Her lips curved into a small smile. "You've never read anything I wrote."
"I know," he laughed. "I just got a feeling."
Lucy laughed softly, then glanced down the hallway. "I should go."
"Yeah," John said. "See you."
She nodded and walked away, leaving him standing there feeling strangely unfinished.
That night, John sat at the dinner table with his parents, barely touching his food. His mother talked about college visits. His father mentioned a potential sponsorship deal.
"You're doing great, son," his father said. "Just stay focused. Distractions ruin careers."
John nodded automatically. "I know."
But later, lying in his room, staring at the ceiling, John thought about Lucy's smile. The way she listened. The way she didn't need him to be impressive.
For the first time in a long while, he wondered what it would be like to choose something for himself.
The next few weeks blurred into a rhythm—school, practice, games. And somewhere in between, Lucy.
They started talking more. Small conversations at first. Then longer ones. She told him about her favorite books, her dream of writing something that mattered. He told her about football, about the pressure, about how sometimes he felt trapped by everyone's expectations.
Lucy listened like his words mattered.
John found himself seeking her out, sitting beside her at lunch, walking her to class. People noticed. Whispers followed them down hallways.
Melinda noticed too.
"So what's going on with you and Lucy?" she asked one afternoon, arms crossed.
"Nothing," John said quickly. "We're just talking."
Melinda raised an eyebrow. "Talking turns into things."
"She's just a friend," he replied, the words coming easily.
He believed them. At least, he wanted to.
But as he walked Lucy home one evening, listening to her laugh softly at something he said, John felt a warmth settle in his chest that had nothing to do with football or praise.
He didn't understand it yet. He didn't know how fragile it was.
All John knew was that Lucy made his world feel different—and different scared him almost as much as it excited him.
And in a life where he had always been taught to choose what looked best on the outside, John Carter was about to make choices he wasn't ready to take responsibility for.