rise by Laurel Krown

The morning air was cold enough to bite, the kind of chill that burned in your lungs before it woke you up. Harlan liked it that way. Mornings like this were clean and uncomplicated. The quiet, the cold, the open stretch of the field, all of it asked nothing from him except movement. That was the kind of language he understood.

He jogged across the turf, breath steady, each stride measured. The ground felt right beneath his cleats, soft but firm, catching with just the right amount of resistance. He liked when things made sense that way, when everything followed its simple pattern of effort, reaction, result. No noise. No guessing. Just clarity.

Jack and Damian were already out there, passing the ball between them with the kind of lazy precision that came from years of playing together.

“You’re out of your mind if you think Ridgeview can take us this year,” Jack said, laughing as he caught the ball with the inside of his foot.

Damian smirked. “They’ve got that new striker. Fast kid. You saw the footage.”

“Fast doesn’t mean smart,” Harlan said, stepping closer. His voice stayed calm, even, and that alone was enough to answer both of them.

Jack grinned and passed the ball to him. “And that’s why he’s captain.”

Harlan trapped the ball mid-roll without effort. He didn’t even look down. Years of playing with Jack had carved instinct into muscle memory. They knew how to move around each other without words. They always had. It was one of the few relationships in his life that came without complication.

Jack wasn’t family by blood, but Harlan trusted him more than most relatives. They had grown up together, survived cuts, injuries, long rides home after losses, and the kind of silence only brothers understood. People thought it was weird that they never fought, but Harlan didn’t. When you respected someone to your core, there wasn’t anything worth arguing about. Jack knew when to give him space, and Harlan knew where Jack’s limits were without needing them spoken.

Damian had joined them freshman year, loud where Harlan was quiet, reckless in ways Jack found entertaining. And yet, somehow, he fit. His humor cut into the tension that existed whenever Harlan and Jack got lost in their own heads, and he took nothing personally. The three of them functioned like a single unit when they played, each filling the gaps the others left open. Without them, the team fell apart. With them, the game became something clean and sharp.

They started warm-ups. Quick passes. Tight footwork. No wasted motion. The air was cold enough that their breath came out in faint white clouds, but Harlan didn’t mind. Their rivalry game against Ridgeview was in two weeks, but pressure never rattled him. Pressure helped him focus. It turned everything unnecessary into background noise.

Today, though, even the cold didn’t snap everything into place.

His timing was right, his shots clean, but his mind kept drifting. He hated when that happened. Thinking too much wasn’t something he did, but he couldn’t shake the image that had stuck with him since last night.

The girl from the mixer.

He didn’t know her name, but he remembered more than he meant to. The stillness of her posture in a room full of noise, the way she didn’t give into the pressure of the crowd. Her long dark hair falling around her shoulders, the soft blue of her eyes against her warm skin, and the way her mouth curved when she answered him, like she was choosing honesty over politeness. Most girls in those settings tried to impress him. She didn’t. That alone had caught his attention.

And her face had a softness that stayed with him longer than he liked. Wide, bright eyes that looked like they were constantly studying something the rest of the room didn’t see. A small beauty mark on her cheek that made her expression somehow more striking. Features that didn’t try to demand attention, but ended up getting it anyway. There was something curious about her, something that pulled his gaze without him trying.

The strangest part was the way she held herself. Not stiff, not shy, but purposeful. Like she was in control of her space. Like she was thinking ten layers beneath the surface while everyone else floated above it. When she looked at him, she didn’t flinch or blush or stumble over her thoughts. She looked at him like she was trying to understand him, and he wasn’t used to that.

He hadn’t meant to talk to her. He didn’t go to mixers to talk to anyone, much less strangers. But something about the way she stood there, detached yet aware, had pulled words out of him before he could stop them. Her answer had caught him off guard, honest, sharp, and strangely refreshing. He realized then just how used to pretense he had become.

Now, in the middle of practice, her face flashed in his mind again. Her eyes. Her voice. The stillness around her.

It was annoying.

Not her. His reaction.

“Crestwell,” Damian called, snapping him out of the drift. “You spacing out on us?”

Harlan blinked once. “No. Just thinking.”

“About Ridgeview?” Jack teased, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Harlan kicked the ball toward him with perfect aim. “Something like that.”

Damian elbowed Jack lightly. “He’s not denying it.”

Jack laughed. “He doesn’t have to deny it. His face said everything.”

Harlan shook his head, the corner of his lip tugging upward despite himself. “You two done?”

“Not even close,” Jack said. “But you love us anyway.”

He did. Deeply. Just not the way Jack meant it.

They fell back into rhythm, running drill after drill until the sound of cleats on turf swallowed everything else. When the three of them played, it was instinct, a kind of silent conversation that didn’t require words. Jack always knew where the pass would go before Harlan sent it. Damian filled the spaces no one else saw. There was something satisfying about that kind of connection, practical instead of emotional, reliable instead of chaotic.

By the end of practice, they were all breathing hard, sweat starting to cool on their skin. Jack tossed him a water bottle.

“Lunch? We’re heading to the diner.”

“In a bit,” Harlan said, crouching to tighten his laces even though they didn’t need adjusting.

Jack watched him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

Harlan looked up. “Always.”

Jack nodded, understanding exactly what that meant. “Alright. See you after.”

When they left, the field fell quiet again. The wind shifted, carrying the faint smell of grass and sweat. Silence settled around him, the kind that usually brought him clarity.

Not today.

He should have been thinking about Ridgeview, about play angles, footwork, strategy. Instead, he found himself thinking about a girl who didn’t belong in the noise. A girl who stood still in a room full of movement. A girl whose eyes met his without hesitation, whose honesty cut through the static of the night.

A girl he noticed.

And that was the problem.

He didn’t usually notice anyone.