Chapter 1

Three months. She'd been there three months, and nothing had changed for Hannah Robertson. Dillon, Texas was so small that it probably wouldn't have even shown up on a map—had it not been for its Panther football team. It was the only thing that kept the town afloat, it seemed. Everywhere she looked, Go Panthers banners decorated the front porches of nearly every house and store in town. It was already getting old for Hannah, but she knew she'd have to get used to it. There was no escaping football here.

Why her father had to take a job here, she'd never understand. It wasn't like they'd been desperate. There were loads of jobs in the city back when they lived in Northern California. And it was green, so green, roads shaded by redwoods and surrounded by rivers and creeks. Sure, it'd been a little dry there recently, what with the drought and all, but Hannah missed being able to drive to San Francisco or Lake Tahoe for the day. Why did her dad have to pick this stupid job?

"It'll bring us closer together," he'd said. "We don't spend enough time together as a family, and in small towns, family is priority."

Silly dad. Didn't he know that in Dillon football was priority?

So now she was here, in Texas, where hairspray was sold by the gallon and cheerleaders really did rule the school. And little Hannah, too uncoordinated to ever shake pom-poms, was stuck eating at an empty table every lunch. Sure, there was Julie Taylor, who said hi to her every morning in their history class, but she was the coach's daughter. And she was dating a football player. The thought of sitting at a table full of thick-headed jocks and their oh-so-willing rally girls made Hannah's stomach turn. She preferred to be alone.

Too bad things rarely went her way.

As she approached the lunch tables with her tray of macaroni and cheese, she discovered that her usual table had a group of four boys sprawled out in the chairs, feet up on the table. Their jersey numbers were hidden behind the back of the chair, but it didn't take her long to figure out who they were. Smash and his three goons, all sitting with stupid grins on their faces as they watched the rally girls at another table. Hannah followed their gaze to the next table over, where Julie sat with Matt, Landry, Lyla, and Tim Riggins. A leggy blond had her hand on his thigh, tracing patterns on his jeans with her forefinger. He was holding her gaze quite intently until he began to feel like someone was watching him. He moved his eyes away from the blond and settled them on Hannah.

Hannah, of course, was still awkwardly standing in the middle of the cafeteria, shoulders hunched, macaroni going cold. She quickly dropped her gaze and looked at her feet.

Tim wasn't the only one who took notice of the embarrassed girl.

"Hannah!" Julie waved her over to the table.

Well shit, Hannah thought. Better come up with something fast. She shook her head and stuck her thumb out, pointing behind her. "Gotta go," she mouthed, turning on her heel and walking towards the exit of the cafeteria.

"You can't take that with you, sweetie." One of the lunch ladies nodded toward the tray.

"Oh, sorry," Hannah muttered, and she dumped the macaroni in the trash before leaving. The woman frowned at her and then at the wasted food. Hannah smiled apologetically and backed towards the doors that led to the main hallway. She glanced back at the table hoping nobody saw this little exchange. How embarrassing would it be to see her throw her entire lunch away than sit with them? Nobody was paying attention to her, too engrossed in their conversations about playing the Grizzlies on Saturday. But then she felt eyes on her and locked eyes with Tim Riggins. The blonde was whispering sweet nothings in his ear, but he didn't look way. Instead, he smirked at Hannah. That set her over the edge, ears burning red, mouth dry as her jaw slackened. She gaped at him. The smile was so smug, the eyes so arrogant that she suddenly wanted to punch his nose. He was disgusting. With his stupid face and stupid long hair, and his stupid muscles. He knew he was hot shit. And he wanted Hannah to know that he knew he was hot shit. He broke eye contact then, turning to plant a kiss on the blonde's lips, which she enthusiastically returned. What a douche.

Hannah left then, and as she walked passed a sea of lockers, she cursed at herself, wondering why she had to be so ridiculous, so shy. Why didn't she just join the table and talk to people? It wasn't like she was afraid of them, was she? What was there to be afraid of? It's not like the football players would have done something to her. They never paid her any attention. She wasn't their type. Not that she minded much. She had always equated the game with stupidity. And that Tim Riggins and all his nonsense. Dillon's designated man-whore. She should have sat right down next to him and let him have it. He needed to be knocked down a few levels back to reality. This wasn't some tween movie where jocks were equated with gods.

But in reality, Hannah would never do that. She just found a seat at a table in the back of the library and took out some pieces of notebook paper to doodle on. She made spirals all over the page with her blue pen, the rhythmic swirls putting her in a trance. And before she knew it, she dropped her pen on the desk and closed her eyes.

"Hannah?" someone whispered, gently shaking her shoulder.

"Hmm?" she grumbled.

"Hey, don't you have a class right now? I didn't think you had an open period after lunch."

Hannah peeked through her lashes at a concerned-looking Julie. After lunch? Already? She jolted up straight, taking her doodle paper with her. It was still stuck to her cheek when she turned to look at Julie.

"Oh my god. I have a presentation due!" Hannah ripped the paper off her clammy skin and scrambled to get her things together before waving Julie off and rushing out of the library.

With thirty seconds to spare, Hannah made it to English. Her face now sweaty, her bangs clung to her forehead and she was panting as she took her seat by the door. She paid no attention to the stares she got from her neighbors, and ferociously unzipped her backpack to retrieve her report.

"All right, guys." Mr. Burns stood up from his desk and clapped his hands together. "Any volunteers?" The room fell silent. "Or, maybe I can just call on ya'll randomly?"

A few groans from the back, but no one put up their hand. Hannah was flipping through the pages of her report so fast that she nearly ripped the first two pages. She thought she had this memorized, but the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that her brain had erased all files on Ernest Hemingway.

"Hannah, you look like you're eager to get through this. Want to give it a try?"

Hannah met Mr. Burns' gaze and parted her lips to speak. Nothing came out but a tiny squeak.

"Two points extra credit for going first," he offered.

"Hey," someone from the back of the room said. "You never offered that before."

"You snooze, you lose, Landry. What do you say, Hannah? Want to give it a shot?"

Hannah grimaced, knowing that she never really had the choice. She stood up from her desk and made her way to the center of the room. Mr. Burns beamed at her for a moment before suddenly knitting his brows together. She looked away from him, already feeling judged by her performance.

She stared at the bored faces in front of her and cleared her throat. Random Hemingway facts flitted in front of her eyes and she realized she wasn't anywhere near ready. She'd just have to wing it.

Tightening her grip on the report—which would surely crinkle the paper—she took a deep breath and began her presentation.

"I decided to do my report on Ernest Hemingway…"

The classroom door suddenly burst open. All heads turned toward the source of the noise, including Hannah's, to discover an out of breath Tim Riggins leaning against the doorframe.

"Riggins. Since when did you decide to grace us with your presence?"

"I got a report for ya, Mr. Burns." He raised a piece of paper above his head, clearly too short to be considered an actual piece of research.

"I haven't seen you in here for nearly three weeks, Tim. And now you've barged in on your fellow student's presentation."

Tim looked at Hannah. His eyebrow flicked upward momentarily, and then he smiled. "I'm awful sorry for interrupting your presentation." He strode in, taking a seat behind Hannah's. "Please, don't let me stop you. Keep going. It's real good so far."

A few of the other students snickered while Mr. Burns just rolled his eyes. "You really have a report for me, Riggins?"

"Yes, sir. Gotta keep these grades up if I want to play."

Mr. Burns relaxed his posture. Tim had said the magic words. Of course, Hannah thought. Of course this man is a football fan. The teacher turned back to Hannah and gestured for her to continue.

Hannah cleared her throat again, slightly less nervous, as the annoyance began to bubble up inside her. Leave it to Riggins to make things worse.

"Right," she continued. "So, I decided to write on Hemingway, who's known for his utter realism…" She trailed off at the end, hearing whispers in the back of the room. She swallowed hard, trying desperately to keep her eyes off the footballer in the front row. "His writing…um…was mostly a reaction to what he saw in the…war." More whispers. A few giggles. Were they laughing at her? "He fought in the first world war, and the horrors that he saw," more giggling, and a finger point. Finger pointing? What the hell was going on? "it's all reflected in his writing. I was going to read a piece from his…his…" They were definitely pointing at her. And laughing. Then she accidentally caught a glimpse of Tim, who was looking at her rather strangely.

Her heart dropped and she experienced the familiar feeling of acid rising in her stomach. Beads of sweat formed on her temples and her breathing hitched. It was going to happen. There was no stopping it now.

"Mr. Burns?" she asked in a voice that was barely audible. "I need to—I need to step outside—I…I'm not feeling well."

The teacher sighed and nodded his head, waving her off. Hannah dropped her report on the floor and retreated to the hallway. Leaning against the wall, she bowed her head and closed her eyes. She put her hands on her knees, bracing herself as she took in deep breaths. Don't think about it. Just relax. For the love of god, don't do it.

"You all right?" came from a deep voice. There was no mistaking who it belonged to.

Hannah look up at him, still trying to calm her breathing. She watched him run fingers through his long hair, visibly uncomfortable with the little interaction.

"I'm fine," she said in a breathy voice. She hadn't meant for it to sound as harsh as it did. But this was partially his fault. If he hadn't been staring at her with his stupid hazel eyes then she would have pulled through.

"You think you're gonna hurl?" Charming.

"I'm trying not to," she snapped. "But talking about it isn't really helping, so…"

"Right. Sorry."

They were quiet for a minute as Hannah attempted to quiet her breathing. When she felt she was calm enough she spoke without looking at him. "What are you doing out here?"

"I told Burns I had to use the bathroom." She could hear the smile in his voice. He was pleased with himself.

But that didn't make any sense, because two students weren't allowed to use the bathrooms at once. She looked up at him then, and raised her eyebrow skeptically.

"Told him it was my time of the month."

She couldn't help herself. She cracked a smile. Tim returned an even bigger smile, knowing he had won.

"You're ridiculous. But that's not what I meant. I mean why are you here?"

His expression turned puzzled. "Well… to see if you were okay. Or if you were gonna throw up." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Sorry."

"But you don't even know me. We've never talked before."

"First time for everything." He smiled. "So, not very good at public speaking, are we?"

"I'm not usually this bad. I mean, I'm not great by any means, but…I don't know, I just felt like they were all judging me in there. I thought I heard whispering. About me."

He shrugged his shoulders and leaned against the wall. "That's probably because they were. Now, about that…" He looked up at her, his eyes filled with…pity?

"What?" Hannah asked, suddenly very self-conscious.

"You got this," he pointed at her, "this blue stuff smeared on your face." She put a hand to her cheek, horrified. "Other side."

Hannah covered the blue smudge and made her way to the bathroom. She was able to see her reflection before the door closed all the way.

"What the fuck?" she screamed, her cry echoing throughout the halls. Tim let out a sigh and waited for her to come back out. But she didn't.

She remained inside the bathroom, scrubbing away at her face. All her makeup was coming off and her skin turned red from the irritation. Her eyes welled up with tears and she sniffled pathetically before sinking to the ground. She didn't care how cold or dirty the tile was. She didn't want to be here anymore. Not at this school, or this stupid town, or anywhere near southern hospitality. She was done with it all.

Tim put his arms behind him and tapped on the wall. He began whistling and strumming his thumbs on the wall to the beat. He wondered why he was still waiting out here. And then he heard her. Crying, sniveling behind the door. It hadn't closed all the way, and he could hear the hiccups escape her throat.

He knew he shouldn't. He certainly hadn't done it before. But he realized that he couldn't leave her like that. So he went in.

She was sitting with her back to one of the sinks, hands in her lap, palms up. Tears dripped off her chin. He ran a hand through his hair instinctively. He hated seeing girls cry. He knelt down beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. Should he pat it? Or rub it? Or just let it…sit there? He settled for a gentle pat.

"What…are you…doing…in here?" she choked.

"Thought I'd check it out. Never been in one of these. But, I was kind of expectin' a couch. At least some chairs." When she didn't respond, he sat down beside her. "Look, I know it sucks. But, they'll probably forget all about it by next class, what with the game tomorrow."

She raised her head a little, enough to quickly glance at him. She seemed so fragile on the floor, and he knew it wasn't just her size. She looked like a wounded animal. He couldn't understand why this was all so horrible for her. Sure, it was a little embarrassing, but whatever. Shit happens.

He let out a quiet laugh. She looked up at him. "You still have some of that blue stuff on you."

She jumped at his words and began frantically attacking her face with her sleeve. She was freaking out again. He had to do something.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, grabbing her hand. "You don't need to claw your skin off. Here." He stretched his arm out to capture a lose paper towel and held it under the sensor of the sink. He squeezed it to let out the access water and brought it back down to her level. She held out her hand, but he shook his head. "I'll do it, ya maniac."

He leaned forward and carefully dabbed at her chin for the remaining smudge of ink. Now that he was close enough he could smell the vanilla shampoo in her hair. It was like inhaling a cookie. He fought the desire to close his eyes and breathe it in.

Hannah sat very still as he wiped at her skin, too nervous to look up at him. What is wrong with me? she thought. I've become a damn catatonic.

"There we go," Tim said, throwing the paper towel over his shoulder.

He was still leaning close to her. What was that look in his eyes? What was he thinking? Hannah suddenly became very aware of her own heart, which was hammering in her chest, screaming to break free. She hoped he couldn't hear it.

And then he was on his feet, wiping his hands on his pants and holding one out to her. She took it, hesitant at first, and he pulled up beside him.

"Well, I should probably get out of here. I don't want people to think it really is my time of the month." He gave a half-smile and Hannah felt herself blush.

"Okay," she mumbled, and played with a string of thread on her shirt.

"See ya," he said. And then he winked.

Hannah nearly keeled over. She contained herself by grabbing on to the sink behind her. He gave a little wave and was out the door.

She suddenly felt unable to move her feet, like they'd been cemented to the ground. So much for not being attracted to jocks.