~Valentines Day Special <3~
YN, a quiet girl who hides behind hoodies never expected to be noticed by the most popular boy in school. But when football captain Walker Scobell starts choosing her over the spotlight, whispers turn into rumors, jeal...
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At Northwood High, popularity had a sound.
It was loud laughter echoing from the center of the cafeteria. It was sneakers squeaking across the gym floor while a crowd chanted a name. It was phones turning, whispers following, heads turning before someone even entered the room.
And if popularity had a face, it looked like Walker Scobell.
Basketball captain. Top of the team. Good grades. Easy smile. The kind of boy teachers trusted, coaches depended on, and half the school quietly hoped would notice them.
Walker Scobell wasn't just popular.
He was the kind of presence people noticed without meaning to.
His eyes were the first thing most people remembered. A clear, bright blue that looked almost unreal under the school lights, softer in the shade and sharper in the sun. When he laughed, they crinkled at the corners. When he focused, they turned steady and intense, like the world had narrowed to one point.
On the basketball court, those eyes changed completely.
Calm. Calculating. Locked in.
Like he already knew how the next play would end.
His hair was a warm golden blonde, the kind that caught sunlight and turned lighter at the edges. After practice it fell messily over his forehead, slightly damp, like he'd run his hands through it one too many times. Under the afternoon sun, it almost glowed.
There was nothing delicate about the rest of him.
Broad shoulders built from years of practice. Lean muscle along his arms, visible even under his jersey. Not bulky, not showy, just strong in the quiet, athletic way that came from movement, not mirrors.
His skin held a light tan from hours spent outdoors, the kind that made the blue of his eyes stand out even more.
And then there was his side profile.
Sharp, clean lines. A straight nose. Defined jaw. When he focused on a game or listened to someone seriously, there was something almost cinematic about the way his expression settled, like he belonged in a moment bigger than the hallway or classroom around him.
But the thing people talked about most wasn't his looks.
It was his smile.
Not the polite one he gave teachers.
The real one.
The one that started slow, tugging at one corner of his mouth before spreading fully, lighting up his whole face, softening everything about him. When he smiled like that, it didn't feel like popularity.
It felt warm. Easy. Real.
On the court, he was different.
Fast. Controlled. Confident without being flashy. He didn't play for attention, but attention found him anyway. The way he moved was smooth, effortless, like the game made sense to him in a language no one else spoke.
