THE WORST QUESTION YOU COULD possibly ask a sixteen-year-old boy was: "What do you want to do with your life?"

Like, uh, preferably not die.

Pad my wallet with enough cash to travel, sleep-in, and eat whatever I wanted.

And, again, not die.

"That's all I got," I shrugged, spreading my hands nonchalantly in front of the career counsellor.

Mrs. Ackerman scrunched up her nose in distaste.

I sensed she was at her wit's end with me. Understandably so. We'd been doing this tiresome back-and-forth about my study options for ten minutes already, but I had the boundless energy of a teenager, and she—

Well, perhaps this meeting had given Mrs. Ackerman a few more grey hairs than she had when I walked in.

Her office was one of the best-ventilated rooms in the school. Bishop was not a high-tech town. It was small, surrounded by hills. The only building in Bishop High School that had a central heating system — and therefore a central air conditioning system — was the admin building, where the principal, department heads and career counsellor had their offices.

As such, I kind of wanted to stay here as long as possible, even if it meant exacerbating poor Mrs. Ackerman's temper, who looked about to throw a fit because of me. She pushed her glasses further up her spindly nose and took a deep breath.

"Alright," Mrs. Ackerman said congenially. I was impressed by her composure. My twin brother and I had a knack for getting on our teachers' nerves without explicitly breaking any rules, such that they didn't really know how to tell us to stop without being unfair. "That's a start, Jake. That's a start. From this, I gather that material things matter to you. You'd like to travel, and indulge in cuisine—"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Only career counsellors could take my base desires and turn that into materialism. I mean, I wanted food, sleep, sex like everyone else. Preferably the food would be tasty, the sleep would be prolonged, and the sex would not be with my right hand. Simple.

Those urges said next to nothing about the sort of career pathway I was looking — or, rather, not looking — for. My eyes scanned lazily around the career office, perusing the advertising posters for several in-state colleges plastered on the walls.

I didn't even know if I want to go to college. One the one hand, I would get to finally leave California, which I'd never ever done before. On the other, I'd have to leave California, which I'd never ever done before.

See my dilemma?

"—so we need to start thinking about viable options for you to get there. Hmm?"

I met Mrs. Ackerman's bespectacled gaze and gave her a winning smile. "Okay."

She slid my academic transcript closer to her and skimmed down the top page. "Your grades are doing well. You're on track to sit the December SAT, which gives you plenty of time to get the score you want..."

I nodded dutifully, wondering if Lacey Hosseini was going to skip her lunch break to see me.

"—do any of your subjects call to you? Which do you enjoy most?"

"I enjoy Gym class most," I answered truthfully. "As for my other classes, my grades are good because they have to be. Coach said we need a 3.2 GPA to stay on the team, and I want to stay on the team."

"Okay. How about Chemistry? That's your strongest subject at the moment."

"I hate Chemistry."

"Okay," Mrs. Ackerman said again, a vein throbbing at her temple. "Is football what you want to do with your life?"

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"Jake," she gritted out, shutting the folder with my name on it. "Every junior was told that they'd have to do these interviews when school started. I'd really appreciate it if you started putting some thought into your future. This is to help you. Not to interrogate you."

I sat straighter in my chair, plastering an apologetic smile on my lips. "I did think about it. So much that I gave myself a headache, and the only answer I got was: I don't know. I really don't."

Then Mrs. Ackerman gave up, deciding she'd had enough of me. I was disappointed I couldn't entertain her for longer, stay more minutes in this blissfully cool room. California fall was still too hot for my tastes. If I ever left this state, I wanted to go somewhere with snow.

"Alright. I'll mark you down as undecided. We'll call you in next week and see if you've got any more inklings," she said. I simultaneously sighed and smiled. More time in airy comfort, but also more time fielding uncomfortably probing questions about my murky future. "But you're set up for success, Jake. You've got lots of options right now, with your extracurriculars and the classes you're taking. Keep at it."

"Thanks, Mrs. Ackerman. You're a legend," I said, shooting a finger gun at her. She rolled her eyes as I left, but the gesture ended up in a reluctant smile. Much as the teachers hated the antics my brother and I got up to, most of them were partial to our good humour. Maybe it was the twin thing.

Jamie rounded the corner into the admin building just as I clicked the door to Mrs. Ackerman's office shut.

Speak of the devil.

Jamie was my baby brother by seventeen minutes. I liked to joke that he got the looks and I got the brains because we were identical, which meant I got both the looks and the brains. Usually, Jamie retaliated by punching me, and then we'd end up wrestling till Mom pulled us apart by the ear.

"How was it, bro?" he asked without preamble.

"Torture," I answered. "Sweaty torture. She's going to ask you what subjects you like most and where you want to go with your life."

Jamie was even less study-inclined than me. He was going to suffer.

"Ah," Jamie said thoughtfully, clicking his tongue. Then his face melted into a pleading pout, and he gushed, "Mrs. Ackerman, ever since I took Computer Science as an elective in freshman year, I've felt a calling in me that I can't explain. I feel like it's the way I've got to go, even though I've only ever thought about football. I'm taking Physics and Chemistry, and the ICT elective this year. What do you think about my outlook?"

My jaw dropped.

This fucking bastard. He'd prepared.

"Fuck!" I cursed, highly surprised. "That's not fair."

"You were warned this was going to happen," Jamie said smugly.

"But you hate CompSci! You got a C-minus in freshman year."

"I know," he agreed, grinning like that made his spiel even better. "Career counsellors love underdogs. They eat it up."

"Fucking asshat." I rolled my eyes, turning to head back to class when Jamie's voice stopped me.

"Wait for me, bro. I bet I'll only be two minutes."

Fucking liar was probably right. He had his calling, subjects — and probably a college pathway — all down pat, bullshitted in his head. Mrs. Ackerman would consider it career love at first sight. I took a seat on the long waiting bench that stretched along the corridor wall.

Interestingly enough, two minutes passed and Jamie still hadn't emerged. I did hear laughing emanate from the career office, however, so I imagined he had ticked all Mrs. Ackerman's boxes and just decided to stay in there for the sweet air conditioning. I shrugged, pulling out my phone and sending Lacey a racy text. Not going back to Bio was fine by me.

The patter of light footsteps sounded to my left. I turned my head to check out the new arrival, breaking to an easy smile when Avalon Taylor approached the bench and took a seat. It was no surprise she was here, since they were making their way down the juniors alphabetically. Tanners, then Taylor.

Another thing about Bishop's size was that everyone knew each other. Sure, not all of us were on good terms, but there was an easy-going familiarity within the majority of the student body because we'd all grown up together, and our parents had all grown up together, and their parents had...

You get the gist.

"Hey, Avalon," I greeted.

"Hey, Tanner," she said politely. "Ready to be skewered by Mrs. Ackerman?"

"I was skewered," I corrected. "I already had my interview with her. Jamie's in there now."

Avalon gave a light chuckle and crossed one knee over the other, cracking open a thick paperback that gave me a migraine at the mere sight of it.

When I first saw Avalon Taylor in freshman year, I thought I saw an angel. She certainly looked the part, with sharp blue eyes and wavy blonde hair. Her locks always tangled down her back that year, and later that year she actually shaved the whole thing off and sent the ponytail away to be made into wigs for cancer survivors. I remember because apparently the hottest gossip in Bishop that week was the Taylor girl's new hairstyle — Bishop was that type of quiet town.

But that was only when I first saw her.

Straight into freshman year, Avalon joined the concert band with my baby cousin, Sophie Olsen. By baby, I meant that Sophie was younger by only eight months, but still. At this age, I took whatever measures of superiority I could get my hands on. Sophie did percussion, Nova Sanchez — another pretty but nerdy girl in our grade — played the saxophone and Avalon played the trumpet.

Now, when I tell you that the sounds the trumpet makes when a girl is learning to play it for the first time are the furthest thing from angelic as can be, you'd better believe me.

Then in sophomore year, Avalon ended up in my Gym class and opened her know-it-all mouth and the angel illusion was more thoroughly shattered. Not to say she got on my nerves. I just saw her squealing and flinching away from all the dodgeballs, volleyballs, basketballs, footballs, baseballs, tennis balls, ping pong balls — you got the picture — and falling flat on her face too many times to consider her angelic.

Here in Bishop, everyone had anecdotes about everyone like that. We got along, for the most part, which is why I was almost loath to leave after next year. Grudges didn't last, and the days were sunny.

I slid two inches closer to Avalon. "Hey, you're a nerd—"

Avalon bookmarked her page and shot me a wry smile, rolling her eyes. "Thanks so much."

"—do you have any advice on figuring out what you want to do with your life?" I finished, genuinely curious.

This girl definitely had it together. She was in two of my classes this year — Chemistry and Algebra — and, Lord, if she wasn't the person to have her hand in the air immediately after the teacher asked a question...

"Don't ask me that," she chuckled, shaking her head. Her blonde hair wavered with the motion, spilling down her front in those incorrigible knots. "I have no idea."

"Oh?" That was surprising. I leaned back against the bench.

It gave me a pleasing comfort to know that even Avalon Taylor didn't have all the answers sometimes. She rifled through to the page where she left off and tried to resume reading, but Jamie hadn't come out yet and I was bored.

I perked up again, seeing the tick in her jaw as she gritted her teeth. I knew I was annoying, but I thought I made up for it by being loveable. "Well, tell me anyway. Make me feel better in comparison."

Avalon sighed quietly and bookmarked her page again. This time, she slipped the paperback into her backpack, clearly seeing my antsy, overexcited smile as a bad omen for silent reading. "Alright," she began. "I've been tossing up between applying to colleges here or in Europe. I'm sick of Bishop. It's insular and traditional and I want to see the world."

She levelled an analytical gaze at me, as if gauging my attention span. Surprisingly, I was absorbed in her words. "Go on."

"The only problem is, European colleges — especially in France and Germany, which is where I want to go — are selective with accepting Americans, and even more so with giving out financial scholarships. I really need one."

"Mm," I hummed understandingly, peering intently at her face. Her eyes flashed like lightning when she talked about studying in Europe, and the notion she was heaven-sent sprouted again in my mind.

"I have a limited allowance for college applications. Do I want to focus on U.S. colleges which are more likely to accept me or overseas ones which will be more fulfilling?" Avalon ended with a pensive sigh, absently twisting a lock of her hair into an even tighter tangle. I stared at her for five straight seconds before I realised her wide, expectant eyes were prompting me for an opinion.

"I don't know," I said honestly. Avalon barked a sarcastic laugh and fell back against the wall, shaking her head at me. I shrugged helplessly, because what else could I do? I was crap at taking career advice, and even worse at giving it. "But I do know that did not make me feel better in comparison."

"Oh, sorry. I've got a bad case of word vomit when I'm passionate about things."

"It's good you're passionate," I told her. I pulled out a quarter from the depths of my pocket. "Here. Heads is States. Tails is Europe. Let fate decide."

I tossed the coin into the hair and caught it neatly, turning it over the back of my left hand. Avalon scooted closer to peer at the result. Heads. I carefully watched her bright blue eyes dull a shade, and grinned at her. "Cool. Go all-in for Europe."

"But, you threw a—"

"Everyone knows which way they want a coin to land," I recited sagaciously. I heard that in a movie about a hotel somewhere. "I was watching your reaction. Never let fate decide, are you kidding? That's for hippies. Go get what you want."

Avalon placed a palm over her heart and flung an insulted look my way. Her face was swimming with indignation, her full, peachy lips twisted down. "I'm a hippie."

"Oh. Fuck," I cursed, rubbing the back of my neck nervously. "Um..." At my stricken expression, the sun came out on Avalon's graceful features once more and she smirked dangerously my way.

"I'm kidding. You're off your game today, Tanner," she joked, referencing the snarky banter I used to send her way whenever she got smashed in the face yet again by some sports-related projectile last year.

See, if you trace the etymology of dodgeball, you'll find a shocking discovery in its meaning. It reveals to modern generations: Dodge. Ball. Dodge the ball! Who would've known?

Go to hell, Tanner.

I let out a happy laugh at the memory, which sharpened derisively when I considered the way she'd gotten me just now. I should have known cardigans-and-corduroy Taylor didn't have it in her to prance around naked in the grass and smoke weed.

Avalon laughed at me for ten embarrassing seconds, before humming thoughtfully. "If I blow my application fund on Europe and end up at a community college — not that community college is bad — I will send you a thank-you card."

"And if you make it to Oxford and become a fancy-pants whatever-you-want, send me a thank-you Rolex. Deal?" I extended my hand to her, arching a challenging brow.

Avalon was not one to back away from a bet, so she slipped her soft, slender fingers against mine and shook firmly. "Deal."