Chapter 2 Unqualified
Noah
Noah Callahan had been hit by linebackers bigger than refrigerators.
He'd played through bruised ribs.
He'd dislocated a finger during sophomore year and finished the game before telling anyone.
None of that compared to the terror of walking into Emmy Moreno's study group.
"You're staring."
Noah looked up from his lunch tray.
Across from him, Luka Petrov stabbed a fork into his chicken.
"No, I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm thinking."
"Same thing."
Noah sighed.
The cafeteria buzzed around them. Football players occupied their usual table nearby, arguing about Friday's game. Cheerleaders laughed near the windows. Freshmen moved through the room in nervous clusters.
Normal.
Everything looked normal.
So why couldn't he stop thinking about the girl who had publicly questioned his understanding of chemistry?
Actually, that wasn't fair.
She'd questioned his understanding of everything.
And somehow he still wanted to make her laugh again.
That seemed like a problem.
A very specific problem.
His gaze drifted toward the far side of the cafeteria.
Toward Emmy.
She sat with Harper and several study group members.
A textbook rested open beside her lunch.
Of course it did.
Who studied during lunch?
Psychopaths.
Future doctors.
Apparently Emmy Moreno.
She was saying something to Harper now, her hands moving slightly as she talked.
Then she laughed.
A small one.
But it transformed her entire face.
Noah immediately looked away.
Nope.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
"You did it again."
Noah groaned.
"Do what?"
Luka smirked.
Actually smirked.
"You know what."
"No clue."
"Sure."
Noah pointed a fry at him.
"You've known me for three days."
"Long enough."
Traitor.
The rest of the school day crawled.
By the time football practice started, Noah was grateful for the distraction.
The field always made sense.
School was complicated.
Football wasn't.
Coach gave instructions.
Players executed.
Success or failure happened immediately.
No essays.
No chemistry.
No college applications asking him to explain who he was as a person.
Just football.
The afternoon sun beat down as practice stretched into evening.
They ran drills.
Reviewed plays.
Conditioned until everyone's legs felt like concrete.
By the end, Noah's jersey clung to his back with sweat.
Exactly the way he liked it.
Exhaustion was easier than thinking.
Unfortunately, thinking returned the second he checked his phone.
A text from his dad waited.
Need to talk. Home ASAP.
Fantastic.
The Callahan house sat on the edge of town.
Not huge.
Not fancy.
Just home.
Noah stepped through the front door and immediately smelled spaghetti.
His stomach growled.
His younger sister Sophie looked up from the kitchen table.
"You're late."
"Practice."
"Mom made food."
"Best news I've heard all day."
Sophie narrowed her eyes.
"Bad day?"
Noah shrugged.
"Chemistry exists."
"Fair."
His sister was fourteen and somehow eighty years old.
They ate dinner together while their mother talked about work and Sophie complained about algebra.
Normal family stuff.
Noah liked normal family stuff.
Normal felt safe.
After dinner, his dad motioned toward the garage.
Here we go.
The garage doubled as office space for the family construction business.
Blueprints covered one wall.
Project schedules covered another.
Noah had spent most summers working here.
His father sat behind a workbench.
"Coach Daniels called."
Noah froze.
That could mean literally anything.
"Okay."
"Your grades are slipping."
Never mind.
It meant exactly what he'd expected.
Noah rubbed the back of his neck.
"I'm working on it."
His father nodded.
"I know."
That surprised him.
"You do?"
"Coach mentioned the study group."
Oh.
That.
"Yeah."
"Helping?"
Noah thought about Emmy.
About chemistry.
About the fact that he'd actually studied before a quiz yesterday.
A horrifying development.
"Maybe."
His father laughed.
"That's not a no."
For a moment neither spoke.
Then his father leaned back in his chair.
"You know football isn't the only thing you've got."
Noah blinked.
"What?"
"I know how much the scholarship means."
His father's voice softened.
"But you're more than football."
The words landed heavily.
Because sometimes Noah wasn't sure that was true.
At school he was the football captain.
At games he was the quarterback.
To scouts he was statistics and performance metrics.
To colleges he was GPA requirements.
Football sat at the center of everything.
Without it...
Who was he?
The question lingered long after the conversation ended.
Later that night Noah sat at his desk pretending to study chemistry.
Pretending being the important word.
His textbook lay open.
His notebook sat ready.
Nothing productive was happening.
Instead, he kept thinking about Emmy's study group.
About how seriously she took everything.
About how she somehow managed to make people want to work harder just by existing.
That was weird.
His phone buzzed.
Study group notifications.
Of course.
Emmy Moreno: Reminder. Bring completed worksheets tomorrow.
A second message appeared immediately.
Harper: Is this a threat?
Emmy Moreno: Yes.
Noah laughed.
Then typed:
Noah Callahan: Define completed.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
Emmy Moreno: No.
He laughed again.
A second later another message appeared.
Emmy Moreno: Do your homework, Callahan.
Something warm settled in his chest.
Small.
Unexpected.
And probably dangerous.
Noah looked down at the chemistry worksheet sitting beside him.
Then, reluctantly, picked up his pencil.
Because somehow, for reasons he couldn't explain, disappointing Emmy Moreno suddenly sounded worse than failing chemistry.
And that realization scared him far more than any quiz ever could.
