Chapter One

Los Angeles, California

Tanner Woods, the Geminid meteor shower, and the democratic process were conspiring against me.

“I’m sorry, Savannah,” my physics teacher, Mr. Lin, was saying, “but I can’t do anything.”

I’d stopped by his room after my final class of the year for one last attempt to convince him that I should be president of the Astronomy Club next year, no matter the results of this week’s club elections. He was our advisor, and I’d argued he should use his power of advisement to steer us away from the black hole Tanner would undoubtedly fly us into.

“You know how proud I am of you,” he went on. “How you’ve grown the club, your ideas for it. The rocket you built was an excellent piece of work.”

My chin lifted and my frown partially softened. It really had been.

“But Tanner won the election, and unless there’s an ethical issue as to why he can’t serve, or unless he steps down, the results are out of my hands. He might not have your technical science skills, but he’s enthusiastic and the other members like him.”

The scowl threatened to return. Tanner’s election platform could be summed up as space is cool and we should watch the meteor shower in the middle of a deadly wilderness, never mind the fact that we lived near one of the greatest observatories in the world. With well-known speakers and indoor plumbing. And people had gone for it. Yeah. I was baffled, too.

“I’m confident your grade in my class will be the highest this year,” Mr. Lin said. “And I couldn’t have been more impressed with your bridge project, or your roller coaster.”

The compliment should have cheered me up--I’d been proud of those accomplishments, and his physics class had been my favorite--but it didn’t do much good as long as Tanner remained in charge of the club I cared about most. The one I’d joined first thing freshman year, dreaming of senior year and my chance to lead. It felt like something precious had been stolen, and I was still having trouble believing I had lost--to him.

“I have news that might help.” Mr. Lin straightened a stack of papers on his desk. “I’ve submitted your name as our school’s contender for the Physics and Engineering Consortium.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It’s a program for high school seniors, with weekend visits to facilities around the country, a conference and competition in Boston next summer, plus online seminars and discussion groups. You would be perfect for it.”

Interest spiked in me before my stomach turned over. In theory, that sounded incredible. Being picked was an honor. But it also sounded like lots of travel, which would mean missing events with Jordan and final-summer-before-college activities.

And as great an opportunity as the program was, Astronomy Club meant more to me.

Was this supposed to be a consolation prize, a boost to my future career, or a ploy to make me stop arguing so Mr. Lin could go home?

“I’ll email you the details and a short application,” he said.

“Okay. Thanks. And tell Mia I’m looking forward to coaching her after my vacation.”

Mr. Lin’s thirteen-year-old daughter was learning to pole-vault, and since that was my favorite of the track events I did--the physics behind it was fascinating--I’d offered to help her over the summer.

“She’s very excited. Thanks again for being willing to meet with her. Now go enjoy your summer, Savannah. Watch for my email. And forget about Tanner. I’m sure you two will find a way to work together next year.”

Um. Had he met us? Had he not been paying an ounce of attention for the last year? Or was he an eternal optimist who believed that in a few short months, Tanner Woods and I might miraculously overcome years of rivalry and somehow learn to get along?

“Thanks, Mr. Lin. See you soon.”

I trudged out. My mind warred with itself. The program intrigued me, but I would need to see the specifics. How disappointed would Mr. Lin be if I decided not to apply? Surely not as disappointed as I was about the Astronomy Club.

I would have to come up with another plan for that. Make Tanner so miserable he resigned. Find an ethics violation that disqualified him. Or convince the club’s other members to stage a coup. I wasn’t above minor insurrection.

The last day of my junior year was already a disaster.

I should have known it wasn’t going to stop there.

My boyfriend, Caleb, was waiting for me at the end of the corridor, and together we walked through emptying halls to the parking lot. Groups of people were talking and laughing and celebrating the upcoming three months of freedom.

“Ready for milkshakes?” I asked. “I need one today. At least ice cream never disappoints me. Ugh. Mr. Lin wouldn’t do anything about the club. Can you believe Tanner? Why does he want to lead, anyway? He--” I stopped when I realized Caleb had paused in the middle of the parking lot.

“Savannah.” Caleb’s voice sounded pained.

I turned back to face him. “Yeah?”

Caleb shaded his eyes and stared at the car behind me. “I can’t do this anymore.”

I squinted at him in the bright summer sun on a smoggy LA June day. “You mean Shake It Up?”

Every Friday of our junior year, we’d made the drive from Beverly Hills to Westwood for milkshakes after school. I had issues with their name as a general life philosophy, but their ice cream was delicious. Mint chocolate for me, Snickers for Caleb. Sometimes with friends from Astronomy Club or Math Bowl or my track team or his newspaper group, and usually with my best friend, Jordan. This was the last Friday of the school year. Why would Caleb change the tradition now?

He ran a hand through his light brown curls. I’d always liked his hair, except he’d been letting it grow out lately so it fell over his ears. Now he looked a little like a Muppet who’d fallen on hard times, and even though I hated it, I hadn’t said anything. Had he been secretly hating our Friday dates?

A flash of worry shot through me.

“I mean all of it,” he said. “Shake It Up and homework sessions and volunteering at the Science Center and taco Tuesdays.”

Wait, what? Everything I’d thought made our relationship nice? The routines, the traditions, the way we fit each other into our busy schedules and made time to do things together.

What kind of monster didn’t like taco Tuesdays?

What, exactly, was he saying?

I clutched my backpack straps. Why was it so hard to breathe?

Caleb finally met my gaze. His honey-brown eyes were sympathetic, but his jaw had the stubborn set that it always got when he tackled a particularly challenging math problem. “I can’t do us, Savannah.”

His voice rang out, and he seemed to realize his volume a second too late. He winced as his words carried.

I was frozen. The words refused to sink in. They were bouncing off my brain, over and over, like tiny rocks pinging against the hull of a spaceship, unable to penetrate. Eventually one would crack the hull and my brain would be sucked out into the vacuum of space.

“But . . . what about our plans? For the summer? Next year’s Math Bowl? Astronomy Club? The Science Center?”

Because he was not only my boyfriend. We would also be serving as co-captains of the Math Bowl for our senior year, with ambitions of winning first place in the state after being runners up this year. Caleb was supposed to help me handle Tanner’s hostile takeover of the Astronomy Club. And we were going to prep for AP tests and start training to demonstrate the robotic spacecraft at the Science Center where we volunteered.

“We’ll still do those,” he said, his voice earnest. “Nothing has to change.”

Heat flooded my chest. “Yeah, because spending senior year with your ex is absolutely no different than doing those things with your boyfriend.”

“See? It won’t be that bad.”

I briefly closed my eyes and fought the urge to rub my temples. “That was sarcasm, Caleb.”

“Right.” He blinked. “I’m sorry, Savannah. I just can’t take it anymore. Aren’t you getting bored? You’re--we’re too stuck in our ways. I need excitement. Adventure. Something new.”

“Are you saying I’m boring?” I leveled him with a look I hoped was neutral and calm. Unlike him, I kept my voice low.

I thought he liked our ways. We got along so well because we were determined, disciplined, and organized. We had common interests. Sure, neither of us had reached the I love you point, but that was because we were both cautious with our feelings.

But now he was shuffling his feet and avoiding my gaze.

The setting rushed back to me. Our classmates, hovering by cars or at the bike rack nearby, weren’t even pretending not to listen. Cars idled, but none attempted to pass us, and the scent of exhaust assaulted my nose. Whispers carried on the breeze.

I needed a portal or a stargate or someone to beam me up. Maybe a previously undiscovered tar pit would open beneath me, like the one nearby in La Brea, and carry me away from this conversation and the audience.

If it was a worthy ending for the noble mammoths, it was good enough for me.

Caleb scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the pavement and stared at his shoe. “You can be . . . stuck in your ways.”

A snicker came from a group nearby, followed by a girl’s cackle.

“Moore the Bore. Good one,” someone said. More laughter followed.

I whirled. Three girls from the soccer team and a few football guys huddled nearby, openly watching.

Of course Tanner was with them. I had no doubt the new nickname came from him. Real clever play on my last name, dude. Almost as good as Savannah Banana, the time he’d ruined my love for my favorite-ever yellow Easter dress in fourth grade. Rhyming was a specialty of his. That, and ruining my life.

I scowled and shifted back to Caleb. “So . . . that’s it? We can’t talk about it? Figure something out?”

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

“Well, it did.”

“I didn’t want to wait and ruin milkshake Fridays. You know, taint them by association.”

A snort escaped my nose, and I didn’t know if the burning sensation came from a desire to cry, scream, or laugh hysterically. “Oh, sure. This way was much better.”

“Exactly.”

Sarcasm detector: still malfunctioning.

He ducked his head and hair fell into his eyes. “It’s just, some people from newspaper invited me to Manda’s beach party.”

Our part of LA wasn’t super close to the beach, but I knew of the parties Manda Keller hosted. Although I wasn’t sure how hosting worked, since the beach was public. Maybe she was the one to start the bonfire and provide the . . . what? Kegs? Marshmallows? Kegs full of marshmallows? I honestly had no idea, because I’d never been.

“You got invited to a party,” I said slowly, “and that led you to break up with me?”

“No. Yes. I mean, I don’t know. It’s not just that. I knew you’d say no.”

“To the party? I would not. Besides, isn’t it tonight? We could have gone after milkshakes. Or you could have come to milkshakes then attended the party without me. You didn’t even ask.”

His face was earnest. “I’ve been asking. About lots of stuff. It’s always the same--you don’t want to try anything new.”

I searched my memories for anything he’d suggested lately that I’d refused, but I came up empty.

“I want summer and senior year to be about getting ready for the new experiences we’ll have in college,” he went on. “Not repeating the same stuff we did this year.”

But this year had been great. Why mess with a good thing? And what about what I wanted? I studied Caleb’s familiar face, with his puppy dog eyes and arched brows, and waited to feel . . . something. Instead, I was numb.

Excuse me for knowing what I liked. For wanting to know what to expect and time to adjust to new ideas. If he’d mentioned the party in advance, given me time to mentally prepare, I might have agreed. Even if the beach at night freaked me out, the gaping blackness of the ocean after dark, when killer sea lions or a rogue wave or a kraken could sneak up on you undetected.

But Caleb hadn’t given me that opportunity. Instead, he’d jumped to the most drastic possible outcome. One red warning light on the control panel? Forget trying to solve the problem. Just abort the whole mission.

“Heads up, S’more,” called an all-too-familiar voice, with his favorite nickname for me--a shortened version of Savannah Moore that Tanner found hilarious and clever. He’d called me that ever since my mom remarried and my stepdad, Brian Moore, legally adopted me and I changed my name.

A figure rushed past us, followed by a football sailing through the air.

“Going long!” Tanner lunged for the ball.

He snagged it right before it collided with a trash can, but momentum carried him on. He took out the entire row of cans, like he’d bowled a strike, crashing to the ground and sending the contents flying. Food scraps, papers, compost, recycling. It was a thorough demolishment of every sort of carefully separated waste product.

He jumped to his feet, laughing loudly, and surveyed the mess. “That’s a strike!”

Like he’d read my mind about the bowling metaphor. My scowl deepened.

Tanner flung a banana peel off himself dramatically, before holding the football aloft and doing the victory dance he did when he scored touchdowns, which, sadly, occurred often.

“Gross, dude,” called another football player. “That was terrible.”

“Your throw was terrible,” Tanner yelled back.

“Whatever. Like you can do better?”

Tanner hurled an apple core at his friend, who ducked.

This was the guy who kept beating me on English quizzes and had stolen my presidency.

“There’s something seriously wrong with him,” Caleb said.

At least he and I still agreed on one thing.

Tanner waved to the watching crowd, tucked in the football, and brushed off his shirt. “Sorry, don’t mind me. Happy last day of school, everyone,” he called.

What was even happening?

“Hey, S’more.” He strolled toward us. His dark brown hair, shorter on the sides and tousled on top, remained unruffled by his antics. His gray eyes glinted. “Did you know I was an expert bowler? Do they have bowling alleys on cruise ships? We should go next week. Bet I can beat you. I’m great at taking things out. Like trash.” His pointed gaze lingered on Caleb.