Prologue
Gordon
One Year Ago
I leaned against my locker, anxiously waiting for Zoey to show up at hers across the hallway. I held Branch in front of me and smoothed my thumb over the rough edges of bark that still clung to the small stump trophy.
I’d drawn two dots for eyes and a curved line for a grin in the center of the wood back when Zoey had first given me the thing. The two twigs jutting out of it had looked like arms, so I figured it needed a face, but Zoey was the one who had named it when I’d given it back to her.
I couldn’t believe it was still intact, with as many times as we’d passed it back and forth.
I smirked as I held him in my hand, thinking back to the day Zoey had won him.
It was the fifth grade earth conservation competition. Our class was vying to collect the most recycling and earn money for a fund-raiser. Zoey and I were—as usual—the top two contenders, even then not backing down from any sort of competition. This was one of the first times we’d get a real taste for victory, since it came with the wicked-cool earth-themed prize of our very own stump trophy. Funny how something so small could seem so important back then.
I’d collected throughout my neighborhood, and Dad had even driven me to towns close to ours to collect, too. We’d thrown tubs worth of recycling into the back of his truck. Add everything that had come from the restaurant, and I was sure I’d won.
But I hadn’t.
Zoey had beaten me by a few pennies. The win was that close.
I remember when the teacher handed her the piece of wood that symbolized her win. I’d felt like I had lost the gold medal in the Olympics. I’d swallowed my tears, but she must’ve been able to read it on my face because after the bell rang, she stopped me in the hallway. Even back then she’d had these magnetic eyes I was terrified to look into…but that day I couldn’t not see her.
“Here,” she’d said, and handed me the stump trophy.
I’d tilted my head as I held it. “But you won.”
“But you worked hard, too,” she said, smiling as her eyes darted from the wood up to me. “You deserve it.” She’d spun on her sneakers, rushing off before I could try and give it back.
I did end up giving it back to her, though. In the sixth grade, when she’d lost a debate against me for our final-grade project in government class. We’d both gotten As, but I’d been declared the technical winner. So, after class, I’d handed her the stump back, only this time with the addition of his face drawn on it. Her smile had clogged my airways enough that I couldn’t speak.
By the time she gave him back to me when I lost the eighth grade class president slot to her, she’d named him Branch.
Our little tradition had become something I looked forward to, something that no one else understood but the two of us, and something that took the sting out of losing.
Even now, on my first day of senior year, I couldn’t picture ever tossing him in the garbage. Not when he’d been such a staple in both our lives.
When I spotted Zoey in the hallway, I quickly shoved him onto the top shelf and slammed my locker, hers only ten feet away from mine.
This morning’s edition of the e-newsletter had two highlighted features: one, Braylen was collecting sign-ups for students willing to donate comics to the school’s library. And two, Mrs. Rollins had posted the application link for a prestigious full-ride scholarship. The latter was the reason I’d waited for Zoey. I needed to know if she was my competition for the scholarship or not.
Her long blonde hair fell in perfect waves down her back. If I hadn’t been so tense, I might’ve smiled at her. Maybe tell her that pink sparkly stuff she wore on her lips was the perfect weapon—it had distracted me on more than one academic debate.
“See the newsletter?” I shouted instead, causing a few students who’d been walking by at that moment to jump.
Zoey glanced over her shoulder, whirling around after she’d closed the locker door. “What’s up?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
It wasn’t the first time I’d singled her out for conversation, but the previous times had revolved around debates, competitions, or school fund-raisers. Nothing too social. Not that this was social, but it wasn’t exactly competition, either. Not yet. Not until I knew what her plans were.
I cleared my throat, trying to mentally prepare myself for a year-long battle. “Did you see this morning’s newsletter?” I asked when she’d walked over.
“Yes.” She tilted her head, her cell phone in one hand like she’d forgotten she was in the middle of texting someone. I made a mental note to talk to her in between competitions more often to spare her the suspicious confusion she had written all over her face.
“Are you signing up?” I asked. There was no need to specify what I was asking. Just as I knew there was only one thing of significance in the newsletter—though Braylen’s attempt to get more graphic novels in the library was admirable.
Zoey chuckled like she’d thought I was going to ask her the answer to a physics equation. “You’re kidding, right?”
I laughed, too, though it was forced. It was a stupid question. Why would the heir apparent to Handler Organix need to go out for a full-ride college scholarship? Her dad had likely already paid for her entire four years, but I couldn’t help wanting to know for sure. I sighed, and the smile that followed was genuine. “That’s a relief.”
Confusion danced over her green eyes for a moment, and I couldn’t help but shift my weight. It was hard to not notice how gorgeous the girl was when we weren’t actively competing, though I’d always known she was pretty. It was her ruthless wit that intimidated me, and kept me fighting tooth and nail for as long as I could remember.
My first memory of her was in kindergarten as we battled for a coveted popcorn prize in the class spelling bee. She beat me because I missed one letter in my word.
It never stopped—with each grade we found ourselves pitted against each other. Sometimes I’d surpass her and others times, she’d best me. I didn’t know if it was because we thought the same or because we were the only two students who enjoyed academics as much as we did, but either way there was never a time in my life where she wasn’t some kind of threat. I was thankful this time wasn’t one of them, but I’d be just as happy to send Branch her way on just about any other competition coming up.
“I didn’t think so,” I said when she continued to stare at me. “But I had to know.”
“Okay,” she said, the glitter in her pink lipstick catching the light when she smiled. “You looking forward to our senior year?” she asked, and cringed a little bit after the forced question.
“I am now.” I wasn’t sure if anyone else in the class would be going out for the scholarship, but if Zoey wasn’t, then my odds went way up. “You?” I asked, gripping the bag on my back tighter.
I couldn’t help but want to both keep talking to her and not—a weird battle that always raged inside me whenever I was around her. She was the reason I stayed so sharp, and yet she had also hand delivered so many insane blows academically. It was hard to know whether to like her or hate her, so we usually hung out in the awkward area in between.
“Anything that gets me closer to Stanford has me excited.”
“I heard you’d applied there, too.” I swallowed hard. It wasn’t like if she attended I couldn’t, but it was an instant physical reaction—Zoey’s presence meant my battle instincts were up regardless if there was nothing to fight over. History of competition ran deep.
She startled and her eyes darted to her cell. An alarm bell was blaring, but I couldn’t read the note on her screen. “I’ve got to bolt,” she said, motioning over her shoulder.
“For sure,” I said, waving her off. “Good luck.” I pressed my lips together after the words blurted from my mouth. I didn’t have a clue what I was wishing her luck for.
“You, too.” She laughed as she spun around and damn near power walked down the hallway.
Well, at least I won for being most awkward on the first day of senior year.