It’s Sunday afternoon. And for the third week in a row, I’m hanging out with Tyler at his place following a postgame sleepover. I glance up from the paper I’m editing on my laptop and peek at Tyler across the room. His T-shirt on this particular day reads Greatness. He’s staring at his economics textbook and mouthing the words to the current song from his “all-time favorites” playlist, “Flagpole Sitta” by Harvey Danger. I watch him for a moment, chuckling to myself about the quirky lyrics of the song and how adorable Tyler is singing along to it. He’s so sweet and funny. And gentle. It blows my mind he’s the same guy who hurls himself at opponents like a missile on Saturdays.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask.

Tyler looks up from his book.

“How do you get yourself psyched up to be such a savage beast on the field? You’re always such a sweetheart off it.”

Tyler makes a face like I’ve said something patently stupid. “I’m not always a sweetheart off the field. I’m a sweetheart around you because you’ve cast some sort of Zooey Cartwright spell on me.” He smiles. “But to answer your underlying question, I don’t know how I turn into that madman you see on the playing field. I guess football unleashes something primal inside me. Or, actually, maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe I’m innately a madman and football helps me keep myself in check the rest of the week? It definitely helps me release all my pent-up rage, that’s for sure.”

Fascinating. I would have expected Tyler to say football helps him release his stress. But his pent-up rage? That’s a mighty strong choice of words, especially for a person I’ve come to regard as incredibly easygoing. “What’s the source of your pent-up rage?” I ask, closing my laptop.

Tyler’s features noticeably tighten. “Oh, just life’s assorted fiascos and catastrophes. Nothing specific.” He smiles and looks down at his book again, his body language stiff.

He’s not telling me something. Obviously. Out of nowhere, something Tyler once said to me pops into my head. My dad and sister always text me before games. At the time, I assumed his mom wasn’t included in that statement for an innocuous reason. Like, maybe she simply prefers calling her son on game days. But suddenly I’m wondering if maybe there’s a different explanation for his mother’s absence from that pregame ritual—like maybe his mother is absent from his life for some reason? Is he estranged from her? Did she abandon him?

I’m still turning the idea over in my head when the playlist blaring through the room switches to “Careless Whisper” by George Michael…and the song instantly transforms Tyler. Immediately, he’s no longer stiff and brooding. He’s light and bright. “Best song ever,” Tyler declares. He begins serenading me with gusto, apparently not the least bit concerned he can’t carry a tune. Oh, my God. He’s absolutely adorable. “Sing with me, Zooey!” Tyler commands when the chorus arrives.

I sing as best I can, although I don’t know the words nearly as well as Tyler does.

In the middle of the song, when a sax solo begins, Tyler pulls me off the bed and twirls me around the small room. He dips me. Kisses me. Literally sweeps me off my feet. And then he serenades me again in the final chorus like his heart is breaking every bit as much as George’s. Finally, when the song ends, we return to Tyler’s bed, laughing.

“It’s official,” I say. “You’re the weirdo, not me.”

“I told you I sing that song better than George.”

“That’s honestly what you think?”

“Not just me. It’s what everyone says when I sing it. They say I put George to shame.”

“And you wonder if the halo effect is real?”

He laughs. “You’re implying I’m not genuinely brilliant at something?”

“I would never imply such blasphemy about the great Tyler Caldwell. I’m saying it outright. You suck.” I beam a huge smile at him. “But you’re wonderful, too. I absolutely love hearing you sing, Tyler.”

He chuckles. “You’ve got a fantastic voice, by the way. Wow.”

“That? Oh, gosh.” I swat at the air. “I was just playing around. That’s not how I actually sing.”

“Really? I thought it was damned good. Not nearly as good as my singing, of course. But really good.”

I roll my eyes.

“No? Okay, then show me how you really do it. Sing for real.”

I shake my head.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please.”

“Nope.”

He scowls. “Why not?”

“Too shy.”

Now he looks astonished. “But you’re a theater major. You want to sing on Broadway one day.”

“I’m not shy about singing for an actual audience. I’m just shy to sing for you. Here in your room. Just the two of us.”

Tyler looks at me quizzically.

“Onstage, there are blinding lights,” I explain. “I can’t see the faces. I get lost in the song. But here, when I’m just little ol’ me, being asked to sing for big ol’ you, it’s terrifying.”

Tyler takes my hand and flashes me what I’m sure he thinks is his most charming smile. “Pretty please with a cherry on top sing for me, Zooey Cartwright?”

I shake my head.

Tyler drops my hands like a hot potato. “Damn. With every other girl in the world, that would have worked like a charm. No one can resist my ‘pretty please with a cherry on top’ eyes.”

I shrug. “Until now.”

“Well, shit,” Tyler says. “Can I at least watch a video of you singing for real? There’s got to be something on YouTube from one of your high school musicals or whatever.”

“Yeah, sure. My performance when I won this regional showcase is on YouTube. It’s what got me my biggest scholarship.”

“You won? Out of how many people?”

“To start with? Thousands. By the bitter end, maybe forty?”

“Holy shit.”

“I’ve won lots of singing competitions. For a year, I competed in everything I could find that had scholarship money as the prize. The scholarships I won are going to pay for my first three years of expenses. After that, I’ll have to work and take out loans, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“How did I not know this about you? You’re a badass singer?”

I shrug.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Cartwright. Wow.” He motions to his computer. “Well, cue that showcase up, dude. I want to see it.”

I grab Tyler’s laptop and navigate to YouTube. “The song I performed at that big showcase was ‘Defying Gravity’ from Wicked. It’s my favorite. If ever I get to perform in Wicked, that’ll be my version of playing in the Super Bowl. And I don’t even need to be Elphaba. Even if I’m just in the chorus, whether on Broadway or just touring, I’ll feel like I’ve arrived. But if I do get to be Elphaba one day, especially on Broadway, oh my freaking God, that’ll be like winning ten Super Bowls and being named MVP in all of them.”

“I’ve never heard of Wicked.”

“Never heard of Wicked? What? First Babar, then Josie and the Pussycats, and now this? Tyler Caldwell!”

He chuckles. “What’s it about?”

“It’s a prequel to The Wizard of Oz. It’s about how this green-skinned girl named Elphaba grows up to become the Wicked Witch of the West. She wasn’t wicked to start with—in fact, she was genuinely kind-hearted and good. She was just always misunderstood and ostracized because of her green skin. I guess you could say poor Elphaba experienced the opposite of the halo effect, thanks to her skin color.”

“Wow. It sounds cool.”

“Oh, God, it is, Tyler. I love it so, so much.” I find the link to the showcase video and cue it up. “When my grandparents took me to New York for the first time at age ten, they took me to see Wicked on Broadway, and I swear to God in that moment, I knew exactly…” Something in the way Tyler’s looking at me makes me trail off. “Why are you… What?”

Tyler smiles. “You’re totally lit up right now, Zooey. Like a Christmas tree. This is by far the sexiest you’ve ever looked to me. And that’s saying a lot.”

I blush.

“But go on. I’m listening. I’m hard as a rock, but I’m listening.”

My heart is racing. “I was just saying that, um… What was I saying? Oh, yeah. When I saw Wicked for the first time, I realized the most important thing about me.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m destined to be a performer. It’s literally the only thing I want to do with my life. And that I’m supposed to wind up on Broadway one day. That I can’t stop working toward that goal until I achieve it.” My jaw tightens. “Getting onto Broadway is my life’s purpose. And the pinnacle of that destiny will be me playing Elphaba on Broadway.” I clutch my heart. It’s racing. “If I reach that peak, I’ll know I’ve lived the best life humanly possible.”

Tyler smiles.

“But I’m sure you can understand. You must dream of playing in the Super Bowl.”

“All the time. Among other things.”

“When did you first realize football is your life’s purpose?” I ask.

“Oh, football isn’t my life’s purpose,” he says, shocking me. “It’s the vehicle for me to reach my higher destiny, for sure, but it’s not my life’s purpose. The same way boxing wasn’t Muhammad Ali’s life’s purpose.”

“What was his life’s purpose?”

“Ali was put on this earth to inspire greatness in others through displaying his own greatness. His true purpose was to use his charisma and star power to change people’s hearts and minds and make the world a better place. His purpose transcended boxing.”

My lips part in surprise.

“I’ve got a God-given gift for playing football,” Tyler says. “I know that. But my true purpose is figuring out how to harness that power to make an impact beyond football. Not just for my own personal wealth and success, which, of course, is part of what motivates me, but I also genuinely want to make the world a better place.”

Okay. That’s it. I’m totally screwed. I just fell head over heels in love with Tyler Caldwell. And not because of any freaking halo effect, either. But because he’s the most beautiful human being I’ve ever met, both inside and out.

For a long moment, I’m too mesmerized to speak. Or think. Or breathe. But, finally, I pull myself together and say, “You know, Tyler, you really should try dreaming a bit bigger sometimes. You never know what could happen if you just put your mind to it.”

We both burst out laughing.

“Okay, enough trying to distract me,” Tyler says. He indicates his laptop. “Let’s see that video.”

“Nope,” I say. I pull the laptop away from his greedy fingertips as he reaches for it.

“Aw, come on, Zooey!”

“Hang on.” I navigate to a new video—a karaoke track for “Defying Gravity.” “I’ve changed my mind.” I look up at him and smile. “I’ve decided to sing it for you live.”