You Had Me at CRASH
Becky was late. Again.
Coach was going to kill her. The team was going to kill her. Hell, even she was about to kill herself for oversleeping and missing her alarm. She sprinted across campus, football tucked under her arm, dodging slow walkers and skateboarders like a pro—until she didn’t.
She turned a corner at full speed—CRASH.
One second, she was running. The next, she was sprawled across the pavement, football rolling off to the side, pages of what looked like scripts fluttering around her.
And beneath her—someone soft.
Becky blinked rapidly, trying to gather her bearings. The scent of something sweet—vanilla?—filled her nose, and when she finally lifted her head to apologize, she completely short-circuited.
Holy. Shit.
The girl beneath her was stunning.
Not in an obvious, flashy way, but in a way that made Becky’s brain stutter like a faulty engine. Big, brown doe eyes blinked up at her, round and full of something unreadable, framed by thick lashes that brushed against soft cheeks. Her dark hair, silky and slightly tousled from the impact, fanned around her face like the start of a Renaissance painting. The sunlight caught in the strands, giving them a warm, golden halo.
And Becky—star football captain, confident, bold, unshaken—forgot how to speak.
“Are you okay?” the girl asked, voice soft, a gentle contrast to the chaos around them.
Becky swallowed. Hard.
“I—uh—yeah. You?” she croaked, her usual cool completely gone.
The girl nodded, seemingly unbothered by the full-body tackle she had just endured.
“You’re very loud,” she observed, tilting her head slightly.
Becky felt like the wind had been knocked out of her again. Loud? That was what she took from all this? Not the brutal collision, not the fact that Becky was still half on top of her, just—loud?
Before Becky could gather her scrambled thoughts enough to ask for her name (because she needed to know), a voice called out.
“Freen! You good?”
A girl—sharp-eyed, short hair, a little smug—strode up to them.
Freen.
The name slipped into Becky’s brain and rooted itself there, never to leave.
Freen blinked once, nodded, and let her friend haul her up. Becky, still dazed, scrambled to help but fumbled it so badly that she just ended up awkwardly standing there, gripping her football like it was a lifeline.
She should say something. Introduce herself. Make up for the fact that she had literally tackled her into the pavement.
But before she could, Nam (as Becky later learned was her name) was already steering Freen away, chatting about rehearsal schedules and set pieces.
Becky just stood there, frozen.
Her heart was still racing, and it had nothing to do with the sprint across campus.
By the time she finally made it to practice, still dazed, her gang was already waiting.
She barely had time to breathe before Jamie pounced.
“Where the hell were you? And why do you look like you just had a religious experience?”
Ted squinted at her. “Bro, did you see a ghost?”
Becky exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “I, uh… ran into someone.”
Emma, ever the instigator, smirked. “Ran into or ran over?”
Becky groaned. “Okay, fine. I may have crashed into a girl on my way here.”
That was all it took.
Immediate chaos.
Alice gasped. “A girl?”
Jamie wheezed. “Did she survive?”
Ted snorted. “Or did you leave her as a chalk outline?”
Becky rolled her eyes, refusing to indulge them further. “She was fine.”
Emma, still smirking, leaned in. “Fine as in alive, or fine as in—”
“Practice,” Becky announced, cutting her off and jogging onto the field. “Let’s go!”
But no matter how hard she tried to focus, her brain was stuck on one thing.
Or rather—one person.
Freen.
Becky had always been good at keeping her head in the game.
Football required focus, precision, and discipline. She had all of that—until Freen happened.
Ever since The Collision Incident, Becky had been a mess. She kept finding herself looking around campus, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. The way her hair swayed when she walked. The way her eyes softened when she listened. The way she seemed so effortlessly cool without even trying.
It was bad.
“Dude, you have got to stop looking so whipped,” Jamie groaned one day at lunch.
“I’m not whipped,” Becky lied, stabbing her salad aggressively.
Alice snorted. “Really? Because I saw you almost walk into a lamppost yesterday when you spotted her across the quad.”
Becky scowled. “That was one time.”
“Two, actually,” Emma chimed in.
Becky was about to argue when practice started, and she forced herself to focus.
That lasted all of twenty minutes.
She had the ball, she was running, she was locked in—until she spotted a familiar figure near the bleachers, walking by with a stack of books.
Freen.
And in that exact moment, Becky made the dumbest mistake of her life.
She got distracted.
The next thing she knew—WHAM.
She landed hard, an unfortunate victim of a poorly timed tackle. Pain shot up her ankle as she groaned, rolling onto her back.
“Damn it,” she muttered.
Coach immediately rushed over. “That’s a sprain. You’re out for the rest of practice.”
“No, no, I’m good, I can—” Becky tried to get up, but the second she put weight on her foot, she winced.
“Medical office. Now.”
Becky groaned, knowing there was no arguing with Coach.
She limped into the campus medical office, fully expecting to be seen by some random nurse. But the second she sat down, a familiar soft voice greeted her.
“You?”
She froze.
Oh. Oh no.
Slowly, she turned her head—only to see Freen standing there in a white medical coat, clipboard in hand, looking effortlessly beautiful as ever.
You have got to be kidding me.
“You work here?” Becky blurted out, because her brain was officially not functioning.
“I volunteer,” Freen corrected, tilting her head slightly. “For extra credit.”
Of course, she did. Of course, the universe was doing this to Becky.
Freen glanced down at her clipboard. “So, twisted ankle?”
Becky immediately sat up straighter, trying to look cool. “Oh, yeah, it’s totally fine.”
Freen raised a single unimpressed eyebrow. “You literally can’t walk.”
Becky, still desperate to salvage her dignity, grinned. “I mean, if you wanna carry me, I won’t complain.”
Freen didn’t even blink. She just rolled her eyes, unimpressed, and gestured for Becky to sit properly. “Just let me check it.”
Becky obeyed way too fast.
Freen crouched down, gently lifting Becky’s ankle with both hands, and Becky—star football captain, fearless leader, bold and confident—nearly blacked out on the spot.
Her hands were so soft.
Her touch was so gentle.
Becky was in trouble.
Freen pressed against the sore muscle, checking for swelling. Becky had no idea what she was saying. Something about compression? Ice? Maybe? Who cared.
All she could focus on was how close Freen was.
How pretty she looked when she was concentrating.
How Becky was never getting over this moment.
“There,” Freen finally said, taping up Becky’s ankle like a professional. “You’ll be fine in a few days. Try not to be reckless.”
“Reckless?” Becky repeated, blinking. “Me? Never.”
Freen gave her a pointed look. “Didn’t you crash into me last week?”
Becky had no response to that.
Freen smirked—just a little—and got up. “You’re all set. Take it easy, Captain.”
Becky stared at her, fully short-circuiting.
Captain.
Freen had called her Captain.
Becky barely made it out of the office alive.
Later, back in the locker room, Becky sat on the bench, still holding onto her wrapped ankle like it was some kind of holy relic.
Alice plopped down next to her. “So… how’s the ankle?”
Becky, still recovering, exhaled.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I blacked out after she touched my leg.”
Emma, without hesitation: “You are the most pathetic simp I have ever seen.”
And Becky?
Yeah. She knew she was doomed.
Next week.
Becky was used to love letters.
Being the football captain came with a fair share of unsolicited confessions—notes slipped into her locker, scrawled on the back of napkins at the café, and even once folded into an origami heart and left on her car windshield.
So when she pulled a neatly folded envelope out of her gym bag after practice, she barely gave it a second glance.
“Ugh. Another one,” Becky muttered, preparing to toss it aside.
That was until Emma, ever the instigator, snatched it out of her hands.
“Hold up, hold up—let’s at least read it before you crush someone’s hopes and dreams,” she said, dramatically unfolding the letter.
Alice leaned in. “What if it’s from someone actually interesting?”
Ted gasped. “What if it’s from—”
Becky shot him a glare. “Don’t.”
He waggled his brows. “Freen.”
Becky’s brain screeched to a halt for a solid three seconds before she scoffed. “As if.”
But the idea had already rooted itself in her mind.
Emma cleared her throat and began reading aloud:
"I don’t know when it started, this quiet pull toward you. But every time I see you, it’s like the world sharpens, like I can hear the way your laughter moves the air, like I can feel the space between us closing, even when we’re across the room. And I—"
Becky lunged.
“OKAY. Give me that.”
Her face burned as she snatched the letter back, eyes scanning the words.
And that’s when she noticed it.
The handwriting—elegant, looping, just a tiny bit dramatic.
Something tugged at her memory.
That day in the theater department, when Freen had been holding a stack of scripts and papers right before they collided.
Papers that had gone flying everywhere.
Papers Becky had helped pick up.
Papers she might have accidentally stuffed into her gym bag while scrambling to gather everything.
Oh.
Oh.
“Guys,” Becky breathed. “I think Freen wrote this.”
The group fell silent for a beat.
Then—
Jamie let out a whistle. “Damn. The theater major’s got feelings.”
Alice shook her head, grinning. “Looks like you made quite the impression, Captain.”
Becky stared at the letter, her heart doing something completely unreasonable in her chest.
Was this real? Did she actually—actually—have a chance?
Fueled by sheer delusion and a sudden, overwhelming rush of hope, she marched straight to the theater building.
She spotted Freen almost instantly, standing near the stage, casually handing another actor—
An identical letter.
Becky stopped dead in her tracks.
The actor grinned. “This is perfect for the scene. You really went all out.”
Freen chuckled, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I figured something personal would feel more real.”
Becky’s soul left her body.
She could feel Jamie watching from the hallway, already shaking his head.
“Damn, bro,” Jamie muttered. “You got played by a monologue.”
Becky turned around so slowly it was almost painful.
Her gang stared at her, waiting for a reaction.
Becky exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I THOUGHT SHE LOVED ME.”
Alice: “She literally never said that.”
Emma, laughing: “You are so embarrassing.”
Becky ignored them all and dramatically sulked for days.
Becky was down bad.
Like, actually down bad.
She walked around campus like a tragic poet from a black-and-white film—dragging her feet, sighing dramatically, staring out of windows as if she were waiting for a lover lost at sea.
And her friends? Absolutely ruthless.
At lunch, Becky stabbed at her food with all the enthusiasm of a sad, abandoned puppy.
Alice watched, unimpressed. “Are you seriously still sulking over the letter?”
Becky groaned, dropping her fork. “I thought for a second—just for a second—that maybe she—” She shut her mouth, refusing to finish the sentence.
Jamie smirked. “That maybe she secretly had feelings for you?”
Becky scowled. “Shut up.”
Emma gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “No way. Captain Becky, the campus heartbreaker, pining? Someone call the press.”
Ted nodded solemnly. “We should hold a memorial for her dignity.”
Becky slumped forward, banging her head lightly on the table. “I hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Alice said, patting her back.
The worst part?
Every time she saw Freen on campus—whether in passing or across the library—her dumb heart still did that annoying little flip.
And Freen, completely oblivious, just continued on with her day, soft-spoken and effortlessly pretty, ruining Becky’s life one glance at a time.
This was officially the worst crush Becky had ever had.
The post-game party was wild. Music blasting, drinks flowing, and Becky’s team in their usual chaotic mode.
And of course, the tradition.
Every game, someone had to do a public confession—usually something dumb, hilarious, and never serious.
Tonight, it was Becky’s turn.
“Alright, Captain,” Jamie smirked, arms crossed. “Rules are simple. You confess to the first person who walks in that door.”
Becky rolled her eyes, cracking her neck like she was about to take on a serious challenge. “Easy. I got this.”
She turned toward the door, ready to deliver some over-the-top, ridiculous confession to whoever walked in.
And then—
Freen walked in.
Becky froze.
Jamie choked on his drink. Alice’s eyes widened. Emma covered her mouth to keep from screaming.
Ted? Ted straight-up cackled.
Becky’s entire system shut down. Brain, heart, common sense? Gone. Nothing left but sheer panic and the deafening sound of her own heartbeat.
But the worst part?
Freen had already seen her.
There was no escaping this.
Becky cleared her throat, scrambling to play it cool despite the fact that her ears were burning.
She stepped forward, trying to act casual (failing miserably), and with as much confidence as she could fake, said:
“Freen, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a long time…”
The whole party went dead silent.
Even the music seemed to fade into the background.
Freen blinked at her, head tilting slightly in quiet curiosity.
Becky took a breath. She could just say something funny, play it off, make everyone laugh—
But instead, her stupid, lovesick heart took control of her mouth.
“…I think you’re really pretty… and I…I think I have a crush on you.”
A beat of silence.
Then—
The entire party erupted.
Screaming. Cheering. Someone banged on the table. Someone else actually fell off the couch.
Freen, completely unbothered by the chaos, just… blinked.
“Oh,” she said, her voice soft, polite, a little surprised. “Okay.”
Becky.exe CRASHED.
The ground might as well have swallowed her whole.
She tried to backtrack—“I mean—not like that! It’s just a dare! A game! A joke! Ha ha ha—”
But her friends were howling.
Jamie clutched his stomach. “Bro, that was the most real fake confession I’ve ever seen.”
Alice, wheezing: “I KNEW IT. I KNEW YOU WERE DOWN BAD.”
Emma: “SOMEONE CHECK HER PULSE, SHE’S GONNA DIE.”
Becky covered her face with both hands, completely mortified.
Meanwhile, Freen?
She just sipped her drink, completely calm, watching Becky melt into a puddle of embarrassment.
And then, later that night, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling—
She started thinking about it.
And smiling.
Becky was in full panic mode.
The confession had already been way too real, and now she had to fix it. Salvage the situation. Pretend like it was all just for laughs.
She spotted Freen across the party, casually sipping her drink like Becky hadn’t just embarrassed herself in front of everyone.
Okay. Deep breath. Play it cool.
Becky strolled up to Freen, totally casual (except for the fact that her heart was going insane).
“So, haha, you know, about that confession—” Becky started, forcing a grin.
Freen tilted her head, eyes twinkling. “Mmm?”
Becky swallowed. Why was she looking at her like that??
“It was, um. Just a joke, you know?” Becky laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Unless… you wanna go out? As a joke?”
There. She said it. If Freen said no, Becky could just laugh it off. Easy.
But then—Freen smirked.
And Becky stopped breathing.
“You know…” Freen tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to think. “I think it’s cute when you’re flustered.”
Becky.exe BLUE-SCREENED AGAIN.
“Huh? What? I? No? I’m not—? Flustered??” she stammered.
Freen just smiled—a slow, knowing smile—before leaning in, close enough that Becky could feel her breath.
And then—
A soft kiss on Becky’s cheek.
Time? Frozen.
Becky? DECEASED.
Freen, pulling back, grinning: “Yes.”
The room exploded.
Becky’s gang went crazy and shouted together: “WE KNEW IT!!!” 🎉🎉🎉
Jamie fell off his chair. Alice screamed. Emma fist-pumped the air. Ted threw his drink.
And on the other side of the room—Freen’s friends were just as bad.
Nam smirked, nudging the others. “Pay up. I TOLD you she’d make the first move.”
Title sighed, handing over cash. “I can’t believe Becky confessed first.”
Tor grinned. “You have to admit, it was kinda iconic.”
Meanwhile, Becky?
Still standing there, brain officially fried, staring at Freen like she’d been hit by lightning.
And Freen?
Just casually sipping her drink.
Smirking.
And now—
Becky was so, so doomed.