A/N: I got this idea, and ran with it.
Fragile, dusty, golden wings.
Graceful girlish hands, reaching, pink polish winking in the sunlight. "Let it go, Tim!"
He looks once at Lyla, slides a glance to Jason. Unreadable, those mocking amber eyes.
He opens his hands—grubby, barked at the knuckles—and the wings flutter free.
Lyla smiles. There's a gap in her teeth.
"Girl," Tim says, pulls her hair, and lopes off.
Jason follows.
They're ten. It's a good year for Jason, a new bike and a puppy and pee-wee football. It's a good year for Lyla, a slumber party and earrings and cheer lessons.
It's the year Tim's mother leaves.
Braces. Notes passed in class. Somebody's Christmas lights start a fire and the whole town talks about it.
One July, a twister passes through. Tears the sign off the grocery storefront.
Truth or dare, around a fire.
"I love Jason Street," Lyla says, and turns red.
Jason blushes too.
Thirteen's the time for that.
Ripped blue jeans and late night kisses, dust on the highway and blinding lights that bring the night alive.
Tyra Collette slaps Lyla Garrity at a slumber party and they don't speak for a month. When they do, it isn't to be friends any longer.
Walt Riggins leaves. Billy Riggins comes back, trying to shrug off the word pathetic like it's an ill-fitting coat.
"I don't know what you see in him. He's drunk more than sober. Not great for fifteen." It sounds harsh, Lyla knows, but she's worried.
"He's my friend," Jason says, stiff and defensive. He hates when she rags on Tim.
She hates how Tim's arm lingered around her waist the night before. Doesn't matter that it was just a party, everybody crowded against everybody. She can still feel the warm pressure of his fingers at her hip, and it scares her to death.
Voices on the radio, preaching football like a gospel.
Bright lights and brighter hopes.
Fender bender on the highway; nobody's hurt.
August, September, October.
A new diner opens.
Billy Riggins loses another job.
So it goes.
"I love you," Tyra whispers, but only when she's certain he's asleep. She can't let him hear those words. She pushes his hair off his forehead and wonders how it is that you can be stupid enough to watch yourself fall apart in slow motion.
Tim Riggins is her favorite bad idea.
"You're gonna go pro." He hears it a dozen times a day if he hears it once. Jason Street's a hometown hero, and the world will know his name.
"You make us proud!" His mom practically sings it. His dad smiles. This is how it's supposed to be.
He has it all.
Coach Taylor comes back.
There's a heat spell, withers the remaining corn to crackling brown.
Future, past, and present. Dillon has them all, on display like a photo album—buy your memories and dreams here, keep 'em close.
Burgers on a Saturday.
Hands folded tight in church.
Closed, closed, closed for football.
Jason Street hits the ground on a Friday night, and never walks again.