Chapter one
The Central California Coast fog clung to the hills that March morning, which was why I had pulled on a flannel and beanie before leaving the house. I should’ve taken the fog as a bad omen, but I was oblivious, aside from the nervous energy coursing through me. I stood in a line, two people in front of me, seven behind, outside our high school’s recording studio—a small building near the front office—waiting for my audition.
I pulled off my hat and shoved it in my pocket. Ava, two steps ahead of me, was practicing, mouthing words to herself. My script was on my phone, and I reviewed it silently.
A set of arms snaked around my waist, surprising me. I let out a squeal and tilted my head up to see Jensen’s smiling face.
“Hi, boyfriend,” I said, leaning back against him. “Come to wish me luck and help me relax?”
He was wearing his football jersey. Even though football season was long over, there was going to be a rally today where the football players did some sort of relay.
“Hey, babe.” He took in the line and the closed door of the studio. “This is it, huh? The moment of truth.”
“This is it.” I drew a deep breath. It was finally time. Only seniors hosted the school’s podcast, and they were in charge of auditions. I’d been waiting since freshman year for this. Two and a half years of broadcasting classes where I learned about soundboards and soundproofing and advertising and creative segues. About hot-button topics and interviewing. All to prepare me for this moment.
“Did you finish writing your pitch thingy?”
I held up my phone, where my notes app was open. “I decided on the student highlight feature.” This audition wasn’t just to see how well we could speak on microphone under pressure, but also to see what creative ideas and topics we might bring to the team. One of my ideas was to interview a different student each week to learn more about the people we went to school with.
“Really?” he asked.
“You didn’t like that one?” I’d practiced in front of him the night before on my at-home setup. He’d nodded and laughed and clapped for me, like the perfect boyfriend he was.
“No, it’s good. I liked the weekly puzzle idea too.” That idea had been to give a short but difficult brain teaser or puzzle at the beginning of each week, and the first student to solve it and turn in the correct answer won a prize or extra credit or something. I liked that idea too but didn’t feel like it would better our school the way learning the stories of those around us would, and that was important to me.
“Yeah, those were the two I was deciding between. You think the other one would be better?” I asked, trying not to get in my head now, in the eleventh hour.
“No, the interview idea is great.” His eyes traveled to the top of my head, and he reached out and ran his hands down my long light brown hair. It had a slight wave to it, so it was always frizzy when there was extra moisture in the air.
“I was wearing a hat earlier,” I said, helping him in the smoothing process. “And it’s not fair that you can see the top of my head better than most.” I was pretty tall, but Jensen was taller.
He smiled and kissed my forehead. “You look cute.”
“Thanks.” I shook out my hands as the line moved forward.
Lincoln came out of the building, his face a little pale.
“How was it?” I asked. I knew everyone here. We’d gone through the last couple years together. Sure, we were now competition, but we’d always known that would be the case. Only two people would be picked to be the voice of the podcast, and I was dying to be one of them. Not only was it good experience, it led directly to an internship at the community college as well.
“Brutal,” Lincoln said. “I stammered through several words.”
That was my main worry. That I’d trip up on words. Use too many fillers. I didn’t have the ability to edit my performance after the fact like I would in a normal podcast. “I’m sure you did better than your brain is telling you,” I said to him now, and maybe a little to myself.
He held up crossed fingers, then kept walking. “Good luck, Finley!” he called over his shoulder.
“Thanks!” I returned.
Ava, now the last person between me and the door, turned around and gave me a nervous face. I reached out and squeezed her hand. “You got this.”
She looked up at Jensen, then at his football jersey. “You’re the kicker, right?”
“Yes. I’ll be the starting kicker next year.” He was proud of that, and his face beamed when he said the words. He’d been the backup kicker for three seasons, only got to play the final game of last season because Theo, the starter, had been injured. And now, Theo would finally graduate in June. I was happy about that. Theo was arrogant and unhelpful and constantly criticized Jensen’s ability in front of the whole team. He was a bully and a jerk, and next year would be so much better without him getting in Jensen’s head. They were supposed to be on the same team; I didn’t know why he tried so hard to bring Jensen down.
“And how do you feel about your future starting spot?” I said, holding up a fake microphone.
He rolled his eyes and pushed my hand down. He didn’t like it when I played reporter. Especially in front of other people.
“Didn’t you used to play soccer?” Ava asked, looking at me. “You both like to kick things.”
“Balls. We both like to kick balls,” I joked back.
“Finley,” Jensen said in a low, reprimanding voice.
“Sorry,” I said, even though I thought it was funny.
I used to be a defender on the girls’ soccer team. But it took a lot of time away from what I really loved—podcasts. That’s what I wanted to do with my life, so I had quit soccer after sophomore season to focus on that. Plus, my parents needed me at home more. “I probably couldn’t kick a soccer ball twenty feet if my life depended on it these days.”
Jensen let out a sharp laugh. “Anyone can kick a soccer ball twenty feet, babe. That’s not very far. Plus, a soccer ball basically rolls all by itself.” He winked at me.
“Oh, right, I forgot, a football is so much harder to kick,” I said, heavy with sarcasm.
“It is,” he returned. “The shape alone—”
I held up my hands, stopping him midsentence. “I get it—you’re a stud.”
He squeezed me into a hug. “I try.”
The door opened, and Lisa came out.
“Here I go,” Ava said.
That left me staring at the door.
“How are you feeling?” Jensen asked.
“My stomach hurts.” I hugged his waist, resting my cheek on his chest. Even though the last few years of my life had been preparing me for this moment, something in the back of my mind told me that I still wasn’t good enough.
Jensen held me for several long minutes as I stared at the door, which was red with rust streaks near the hinges.
“Did you know Marcos could juggle?” I said, trying to focus.
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“When I was preparing for this pitch over the last several months, I asked a few people in my classes to tell me their hidden talents.” That was why I loved this idea so much. It allowed me to learn about people.
“That’s cool,” he said.
“Maybe you could be one of my student interviews. Like a real interview,” I said, waving my pretend microphone in the air. “Not one of my fake ones. I can ask you about your rise to starting kicker and how it felt to wait in the wings for years.” Assuming I was chosen. We’d find out today at lunch.
“Nobody wants to hear me complain,” he said.
“Everybody likes a good underdog story, Jensen,” I said.
“I guess.”
The door whined as it opened, and I let out a surprised yelp.
“So jumpy,” Jensen said.
“Kiss for luck?”
He pulled me against him and gave me a passionate kiss in front of that whole line of students, leaving me a little lightheaded. Cheeks flushed, I stumbled into the studio.
My pitch went well. Really well. I was warm and my voice was smooth and I even got in a witty aside on the spot. My transitions were on point, and as I stood and smiled at the senior interviewers and our broadcasting teacher, Mr. Whitley, I felt pretty confident.
I stepped outside, where Jensen still stood near the front of the line. I was surprised to see him. First period had started ten minutes ago.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” I said, but it was sweet that he had.
He studied my face. “How did it go?”
“Great.”
His brows shot down, and I got the weirdest feeling he was disappointed by that answer. I reached out my hand, ready to lead him away to where I could tell him all about the audition and then try to make it until lunch without losing my mind.
“Actually”—he pointed at the door, not taking my offered hand—“I think I’m going to try out.”
“What?” I said, my heart jolting in my chest. It seemed to understand his meaning more than my brain did. I was so confused.
He didn’t clarify; he just disappeared through the door with one small smile over his shoulder.
Mason, who was next in line, pointed at the closed door. “He totally cut the line.”
