by Emily Lowry
“Are you going to?” Savannah bit her bottom lip.
“No.”
“That’s good.” She visibly relaxed.
Good?
Savannah nervously pulled her hair back in a ponytail. “I had a lot of fun with you these past weeks, Chase.”
She still wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t making eye contact either. My stomach dropped. I knew where this conversation was heading. I’d been on the receiving end of it at the start of summer, too. I had never been broken up with in my life and then - BAM - three times in a row.
“But?” I kept my voice calm and even, but I felt like someone was punching me in the gut.
“It’s not working for me.” Savannah leveled, her voice flat.
What had happened? I’d seen Savannah two days ago, on Saturday, and she had been looking at me adoringly the whole time. I’d turned on the charm, wanting to impress her, and I thought it had worked.
Today, I was face to face with a totally different person. In fact, it was three weeks to the day Savannah and I started seeing each other. As much as I wanted to deny it — especially in that moment — I’d really liked her, too. More than anyone since Madison. Madi and I had dated for almost a year before I eventually broke up with her a few months ago. I had liked - maybe even loved - her, especially at first. She was my first serious girlfriend, and I guess that would always mean something. But, after seeing her true colors coming out in a flurry of horrible mean-girl comments and behaviors, and having to question more than once if she liked me for me or my quarterback status, I had called it quits. Sadly.
Mean or not, Madi was unquestionably the hottest girl at school, and I was only human.
“Can you tell me why?” I asked, focusing my thoughts back on Savannah, standing in front of me. You couldn’t improve if you didn’t know what the problem was. I braced myself.
“Sorry,” Savannah said. She gave me a quick hug. I felt the warmth of her hands on my shoulders. Her hair smelled like roses. She squeezed once, almost regretfully, then dipped out of the studio, leaving me alone.
I rested against the wall, sliding to my butt like I was a cartoon character. Every high school movie I’d ever watched showed the QB getting the girl. But the movies were lies. Savannah was the third girl to break up with me in a matter of months, and man was it weird.
Not to sound arrogant, but I wasn’t used to this… and this was now strike three.
First there was Phoebe, in the spring, not long after Madi and I broke up. She offered me “a shoulder to cry on” and her shoulders were tan and smooth and covered by long, blonde hair. I had accepted, needing a rebound, and actually, Phoebe and I, we got along pretty well. She was a bit of an antidote to Madison. I was warming up to her when, three weeks later, she dropped off the face of the earth. Never texted me back. I didn’t bother seeking an explanation at the time, but maybe I should have. Every time I saw her in the hallways at school after that, she would look the other direction, like she hadn’t seen me.
I didn’t lose any sleep over it, and didn’t really think too much about it.
But then, at the start of the summer, I went out with this chick, Ella, from the private school across town for a bit. Tried to see if something was there, but we didn’t mesh. It felt like our conversations stumbled into each other, like we were never quite talking about the same thing. Three weeks of romantic comedies and ice cream didn’t help.
Then, three weeks to the day we first showed up on Click, she blindsided me.
“Get out of my life, Chase Jones. And stay out.”
I. Was. Stumped. Sure, we obviously weren’t connecting on anything more than a physical level. But the hostility? Totally unwarranted.
Today, here with Savannah, I was gutted. I’d really liked her. I hadn’t even been texting other girls back in the time I’d been seeing her, no matter how much my phone blew up. I must have been doing something wrong. I wished someone would tell me what.
I pulled out my phone and texted Dylan, our starting running back. If I could count on anyone to give it to me straight, it was Dylan Ramirez. He has been my best friend through elementary and middle school, before my knack for throwing a football had become apparent. He was the one who had caught on that both Phoebe and Ella had dumped me three weeks into our fledgling relationships.
Chase: She dumped me.
My phone buzzed.
Dylan: Dude. Seriously?
Chase: Just now.
Dylan: You good?
Chase: Yeah.
Dylan: She say why?
Chase: Said it wasn’t working for her.
Dylan: Dude I don’t even know what that means. Sorry man.
Chase: All good.
Dylan: She dump you at three weeks?
Chase: Exactly three weeks since the first Click post of us together. Same as last time.
Dylan: Dude. It’s a curse. You better break the cycle next time.
Chase: Don’t I know it.
I pocketed my phone. I’d forgotten about the weird three-week curse temporarily. Otherwise I might not have spent all that money on the zoo. Ugh, the zoo.
I texted Dylan again
Chase: I got a spare third period. Think I’m gonna take off for a bit. Want to join?
Dylan: Already in history my dude.
Chase: All good. Also. This weekend. Want to come to the zoo?
Dylan: I thought you’d never ask. It’s a date. You should know though, I don’t put out on the first date, k?
I grinned.
Chase: Fine by me, just don’t ditch me three weeks from now.
3
Abby
I was still in complete disbelief when I left the Pinnacle office. Me. Abigail Murrow. Star investigative journalist. Shoved aside, relegated to cover the ridiculous, never-ending popularity contest that was high school life at Evermore. Picking me for this assignment was like picking a fish to cross a desert. No matter how much anyone — even Nicholas Applebee — believed in the fish, it would end up shriveled and miserable.
The school paper office was located in the Fine Arts Building, so I was used to random Shakespeare quotations echoing through the halls. This year, it looked like the drama club had decided on Macbeth, but with vampires. Anything to capture that coveted teen market. I felt their pain.
I had more pressing concerns than the opening night audience, however. I was borderline invisible in the school’s hierarchy, so how was I supposed to write any kind of feature on what it was like to be popular?
At the other end of the hallway, the door to the dance studio opened. I waited for a parade of ballerinas to spin across the linoleum. Instead, I was greeted by a most unusual sight:
Chase Jones, all-star quarterback for Evermore High.
Chase is something of a legend here at Evermore, and he’s only a junior. Last year, in his sophomore year, Chase was named starting quarterback for the Evermore Panthers — a feat that was almost unheard of. He led the team to their first division win in a decade, before bowing out in the playoffs to the eventual state champions. If you believed the rumors, he was one of the best quarterbacks in his grade nationwide, and would likely have several full-ride scholarships waiting for him when he finished school. I’d never spoken to him, but I assumed he was exactly the same as what I assumed the other football players were like: self-centered, egotistical, and obsessed with his own reflection.
Chase Jones was one of those guys. You know the sort - perfect, floppy hair, dreamy eyes, and an All-American smile that girls go weak at the knees for. So cliché.
Everything I knew about Chase Jones I learned through Click: He got his dark, brooding looks from his ex-college football star dad and Puerto Rican model mom; he was aiming to get a full ride at a Division 1 football school - apparently Texas A&M and Ole Miss were already sniffing around; since his famed break up with Evermore’s most popular girl, Madison Albright, he had been pictured with a string of girlfriends, none of them lasting long.
At the mome
nt, none of that mattered. Right now, he was just a boy, staring at the ground, looking lost. No band of bros or adoring fans to pump him up. I had to wonder though, what in the world was our quarterback doing in the Fine Arts Building? What in the world was he doing in a DANCE STUDIO?
An idea popped into my mind, like a lightbulb had suddenly flicked on.
Maybe I didn’t have to be popular to write the social feature.
Maybe I just had to talk to people who were popular.
And who better to start with than one of the most popular guys on campus?
A burst of sudden confidence came over me. I could do this! This was my way to nail the social feature!
“Chase?”
Without looking to see who was calling him, Chase took off.
Jerk.
I put my hands on my hips. “Yeah, yeah… Be as rude as you want, Jones. I’m not letting you off the hook that easy.”
And then, for some reason unknown to anyone, especially myself, I ran after him. What was I doing?!
Unfortunately, he was an all-star athlete. Six foot three, with long legs to match.
I was a sort-of in-shape journalist. Five foot five, with stubby legs that made me believe one of my parents was secretly a peg-legged pirate. Even at a light jog, Chase easily outpaced me. I expected him to head to the Athletics Building, but he was angling towards the parking lot.
Good. If we were both in our cars, at least I’d have a chance at catching him.
Chase climbed in a black Jeep that was parked at the back of the lot. For the first time, I saw his face as he glanced in his rearview mirror. It was tight, pinched.
What had happened to Chase Jones on our first day back? And why wasn’t it already all over Click? Suddenly, I felt like I just HAD to find out.
Chase stopped carefully at the exit, then pulled onto the road, heading east. By that time, I was already in my trusty rust bucket of a car, ready to pursue.
“It’s okay, Abby. You’re not a stalker,” I reassured myself. “You’re just a journalist.”
4
Chase
I didn’t know where I was going, I just knew I didn’t want to stay on campus. I wanted to get away and… wallow for a while. Without thinking, I jumped in my Jeep and drove towards Main Street.
The first thing you need to know about our town’s Main Street is that it feels like it was pulled straight from the 1950s, complete with vintage street lamps and brick sidewalks. You won’t find a Starbucks or a McDonalds there — every shop on Main Street is locally owned and classified as a Heritage building. Big businesses couldn’t buy them and turn them into franchises even if they wanted to.
Main Street was also not technically a street. At least, not for cars. About a decade ago, the town took the step to turn it into a pedestrian-only zone. That didn’t stop cyclists from zipping through, but at least they were courteous enough to use their bells.
I parked a block away. I crossed the street without looking properly, and as a result, I almost got hit by a girl driving a car so rusted I was amazed it was still running. She mouthed “sorry” at me, her face contorted in a shocked “O” shape. I waved and headed for Main Street. First emotionally, now almost literally, I was getting run over today. Great start to the year, Chase. You’ll probably get cut from the team, too.
It was relatively early in the day, but most of the shops were already open. People — seniors, mostly — mingled and dipped in and out of the colorful storefronts. A woman who would’ve been my grandmother’s age, if she was still with us, compared two plant vases. The first was blue with an orange sunset. The second was white with circles of colorful vines.
She caught my eye and smiled. “I don’t know why I buy these things. I can’t seem to keep anything I put in them alive.”
I laughed warmly. “If it’s any consolation, my twin sister gave me a cactus for my birthday and I watered it too much so it died.”
True story. Jordyn had been outraged and said I must be the only person on earth to have ever killed a cactus by trying to care about it too much. I’d rolled my eyes in response and told her to get me something useful - like a sweater - on our next birthday. We were super tight, Jordyn and I, she was one of my best friends. When she wasn’t being a royal pain in my butt.
“Aren’t we a pair?” The old lady eyed the vases and then eyed me. “Which one do you think goes better with a dead plant?”
“The sunset. Definitely.” I responded without thinking.
“You sound sure.”
“I know my dead plants.” I smiled at her. Nice old lady.
She laughed. “Sunset it is.”
I carried the vase to the front counter for her and made sure the clerk would help her take it to her car. Then I wandered further up the street to my favorite yogurt place, Peak Crossing Frozen Yogurt. Peak’s for short.
I walked in, pleased to find I was the only person in the shop, save for the grumpy, middle-aged cashier, who looked irked by my presence.
I stood still for a second, relishing the anonymity. I felt a bit better.
Or at least I did for a second, until I heard the bell on the door jingle behind me. I turned to see the girl who had almost hit me with her car just standing there, gawking at me.
What the…?
5
Abby
I stood still, a statue of a drooling idiot. My brain — already fried from the events of this morning — had completely shut down. First, I’d chased our QB right off school property like a certified crazy person. And then I had almost mowed him down with my car. He hadn’t sworn at me or smacked my car’s rusted hood — which was lucky, because sometimes that stopped the engine. He just waved, a concerned look in his eyes. Almost like he was more worried about the driver who almost hit him than his own health. Weird.
Then, in a moment worthy of a celebrity trying to prove they’re a good person to the paparazzi, he stopped to talk to someone’s grandma and help her with her shopping. They’d even laughed together. I mean, come on. This was Chase Jones we were talking about. It was not what I had expected from the person I’d assumed was the prototypical dumb jock.
Maybe you should start checking your assumptions, Abby.
Or maybe he knew I was following him. Maybe he was waiting for me to snap a picture for Click. Nice try, Chase Jones.
“Are you lost?” Chase’s voice brought me back to earth. He held an empty wax cup for frozen yogurt.
“Yes. No. Sorry. Long morning.” I muttered like a fool. Did he recognize me?
“Imagine how much longer it would’ve been if you’d ran me over,” he said, not unkindly. I could have sworn I even saw a smile playing on his lips. Man, he really was that good looking up close.
I blushed furiously. Yup. He recognized me. “Sorry.”
“All good,” a real smile this time.
“Why did you run before?” I asked, curiosity still rippling through me.
“Huh?”
“Never mind!” I said quickly. Guess he hadn’t heard me yelling before. He had looked preoccupied.
At the smell of freshly baked waffle cones and swirls of sugar, my stomach grumbled. In my morning rush, I’d forgotten to eat breakfast. Normally, I didn’t approve of frozen yogurt for breakfast, but this wasn’t exactly a normal day, was it? I grabbed a wax cup and took my place beside Chase, who was examining the flavors as if he were trying to dissect a defense.
“Birthday cake,” I said. I could almost feel my brain retreating and trying to escape my body. You should probably speak in full sentences, Abby, so you stop sounding like you have a 0 IQ.
Chase raised his eyebrows, a smile on his lips again. “Birthday cake?”
I pointed. “It’s the best. Very sweet though. I like to take the edge off with some dark chocolate. Top it with crushed peanut butter cups, and you have the perfect combination.”
“A connoisseur.” He raised his eyebrows and rubbed his chin. “Do you go for flavor or style?”
“F
lavor. One hundred percent. Who goes for style?”
“I tried once,” he admitted. “I got the blue raspberry with Swedish Berries and those blue dolphin candies.”
“How’d that go?” I looked at him, feeling a bit strange. What a surreal morning.
“The dolphins were so stale I broke a tooth.”
“Actually?” You idiot, Abby. Of course not actually. He was making a joke. I’d never been this close to Chase before, and I couldn’t deny that he had the presence that made me feel slightly clumsy.
He stepped away from the machine that served strawberry and vanilla and took a step towards the one holding birthday cake.
“I’ll try your suggestion. But if I don’t like it — you have to pay.” He grinned.
“If you don’t like it, you’re wrong.”
He looked at me for a second, his face bemused. And then he laughed. Hard, like I had surprised him. The sound warmed my body.
Focus, Abby.
“So. I’m Abigail Murrow. Abby.”
“The journalist?”
A thunderbolt of shock hit my face. “You read the Pinnacle?”
He winked. “As long as it’s not about me. I’m Chase Jones.”
“Obviously.” Abby. What. Are. You. Doing? "Sorry. I mean. Nice to meet you.”
Wow, he had introduced himself instead of assuming I knew his name. This guy was breaking down all of my assumptions.
We finished making our frozen yogurts. When he set his cup on the scale, I put mine beside his and offered to pay, insisting it was the least I could do for him after almost killing him.
“Man, do I look that depressed?” Chase asked.
“You are having frozen yogurt on a Monday morning.”
“Excellent point.” He smiled. In one swift movement he whipped out his wallet and tapped his card to the machine. Before I’d even touched my wallet.
“My treat,” he said, “Least I can do for you after you cheered up my morning.”