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Chapter One
ABBY
I wipe my palms on my jeans for what has to be the fiftieth time. It’s my last final of senior year, and my hands willnotstop sweating. Like, to the point where a little gremlin in my brain keeps telling me I’m going to smudge my answers and somehow blow this whole thing.
Not a chance, Abby. I lean back to look over my pages one final time.You got this.
Scooting from my desk, my chair grinds against the floor loud enough that I swear they must be able to hear it three rooms down. Thankfully, most of my classmates have already thrown caution to the wind and charged out of their last final without a care in the world. Only a few remain scribbling, and I know they haven’t stayed for the same reason I have.
They’re trying not to fail, but me? I need this to be perfect.
My dream is so close that I can almost touch it, but if life has taught me one thing, it’s not to take anything for granted.
When the letter came accepting me to the journalism department at Danver University in Houston, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. The only catch is that I have to maintain a perfect 4.0 GPA in order to get the full ride I need. If I come up with even a 3.9, it’s Brightwood, Ohio Community College for me.
And even that I’ll have to work like a dog to pay for it.
The bell rings, and I all but jump out of my skin. Perfect or not, it’s out of my hands now. The other students shamble to their feet, and I stand at the end of the line, trying not to fidget my page into a tattered mess.
“Mrs. Pace,” I say once we’re alone, and I slide my paper across her desk. “I really hate to ask, but could you grade this now? I need to know for—”
“Your scholarship,” she finishes for me, then smiles indulgently. “I know. Just wait in the hallway for a minute, and I’ll have your answer.”
“Thanks.”
My heart is trying to burst out of my chest, and as I ease into the tumultuous hallway, it’s a miracle the thump isn’t echoing out at everyone like something out of Edgar Allan Poe. I flatten against the wall and make myself as invisible as possible—just like I have for every second of the last four years.
The good news is, the whole student body is more than willing to let me turn myself into a ghost. It’s like some weird social experiment, hovering here and watching everyone carry on as if graduation is the end of an era. Maybe for them, it is.
It’s almost like everyone is moving in slow motion, hugging and laughing, celebrating the last final of their high school careers as underclassmen weave through the mob. It’s like some roiling party, and everybody is invited except me.
A tiny, cold pebble drops into the well of my stomach as I watch, realizing that I don’t have anybody to celebrate with. Even more defeating, I don’t have anybody to miss me when I go. My dad and my neighbor Brooke, but that’s it. Not like anybody else will even remember me at the end of the week, let alone after I leave town.
If I’m lucky enough to leave town, that is.
I hear his voice even before I see him, and the jackrabbit of my heart scampers out of my chest and down the hall, leaving me all but paralyzed in place. My whole body goes numb, and I look to see Hunter Collins making his way down the center of the hallway like a reigning king.
Which, in many ways, he is.
Captain of the football team, he took Brightwood High’s losing squad to the state championship two years running. In football country, that’s just this side of walking on water.
It doesn’t hurt that his academics are on point, and at a towering six-foot-four, he cuts an impressive figure. Even in street clothes, it’s clear he’s an Adonis of the first order, and he’s forever surrounded by a tangle of admirers trying to get through the barrier of his football buddies to reach the leader.
To say I’ve got a crush on the guy would be the understatement of the modern age.
At the same time, I’m not one of those fawning airheads who throw themselves at his feet every time he takes a breath—mostly because whenever he’s around, I basically turn into a statue. I like to flatter myself that I wouldn’t join the mob even if Icouldmove, but as of yet, it’s an unproven hypothesis.
The group draws nearer, but everyone is talking at once, and I can’t make out what I really want to hear, which is whatever Hunter is saying. It’s not like he’s renowned for dropping pearls of wisdom from the mountaintop, but it’s a rare thing to have a jock who’s got brains to bargain with.
“I like it,” Hunter says as they pass. “Can’t get enough of that, actually.” Whatever he’s talking about raises a chorus of laughter from his pals, and even as I blend into the paint, I burn from wishing to be in on the joke.
“Abby?” Mrs. Pace is at my elbow, and her sudden presence cracks a startled gasp out of my lungs, which makes her flinch.
“Oh, my gosh,” she says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I blurt, my cheeks red at having been caught ogling Hunter. “I was just thinking.”
“Uh-huh.” Mrs. Pace nods, stealing a glance down the hall at the school’s hero as he walks away from us. She turns her attention back to me, and the knowing look in her eyes only deepens my blush. “I can imagine.”
