Camden

"You're failing," our counselor, Mr. Wright, says to me, folding his hands together and leaning into the desk.

"It's barely the first month of school," I reply, falling back into my chair. It's the same shit every year. They monitor our grades like fucking prison guards, standing in their pristine tower waiting to shoot us down.

"I'm well aware of the timeline, Camden. Last year we let too much time pass and you nearly missed the beginning of the season. If it weren't for Ms. Sullivan creating that extra credit assignment for you, you would have found a new home on the bench."

Baseball. It always comes down to baseball. Don't get me wrong, I love the sport. Heck, the only reason I try at all in class is to be able to play. There's something about standing on that mound. It's more than the way everything else in my life fades away, it's a feeling of freedom.

But the only reason I'm sitting in this office getting the serious eye from Mr. Wright is because baseball is the air this town breathes. Since I'm the starting pitcher, it's his sole responsibility to make sure my ass is on that field opening day. Something our principal made glaringly clear when I nearly failed Creative Writing last year.

"So, if I don't bring my grades up, I'll do another extra credit assignment. It's not a big deal." I shrug, playing it off as exactly what it is. They won't let me miss a single game. He knows it just as well as I do.

He reaches for his glasses, pulling them slowly from his face before setting them gently on the desk in front of him. He takes one long breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it and leveling me with a look.

"Listen, I'm going to be frank with you. You've been handed a lot of favors since you started here. Favors that not everyone is privy to. But Mr. Farris is not one for favors. His grades are final. You fail his class, you won't be starting the spring semester on the field."

"You really think anyone here will let that slide?"

"This is your senior year, Mr. Beck. Next year is college. I know your talent will get you places, but grades still matter. I've been telling you this for years. You want to go to your top pick, you will have to bring your grades up."

He's not fucking wrong. I know because it's the same shit Jare always hounded me on. And to be honest, grades were never really an issue. Not until last year when Ms. Sullivan's Creative Writing class bit me in the ass. To see the way the school jumped into action to help me bring my grade up was almost comical.

This year it's chemistry. A foreign fucking language. I've always been good at math. Balancing a formula is just math, right? Wrong. It's a puzzle built to tear down the underqualified and call out the weak.

"You might want to consider a tutor," he continues. "We've got a program here at Vista with plenty of qualified—"

"No thanks," I cut him off, sitting up in my chair and standing to leave.

"Camden—"

"Bring my grade up," I acknowledge. "Got it. I'll work on it."

He stands, dropping his head to the side as I sling my backpack over my shoulder. "This is serious. It could affect not only your playing time this year but your choice in college."

"Yep, I got it. No failing the semester." I offer a frantic salute on my way out, catching a glimpse of his small eye roll.

Well, this fucking sucks. I'm not failing on purpose. I'm completing the homework, haven't missed a day, minus the tardies, and I am actually trying. It's the damn quizzes that don't make a lick of sense.

Making my way down the hall in a convoluted daze, I'm practically blinded by the overdone display of blue and gold. Homecoming is slowly approaching, which means roughly two months of school spirit galore. Homecoming is a big freaking deal around here. I've never really understood the excitement of it all, but it's become the center of our yearly fall festival. The whole town practically shuts down for it.

Ignoring the various splatters of said spirit, I walk to the very class that's trying to tear down the one thing that actually makes sense to me. Baseball. If I fail this damn class, I can kiss the beginning of the season goodbye. And it's not just the season. Failing isn't part of the scholarship plan. I have to keep my grades up. If I don't...I just have to keep them up.

"Hey," Raya says beside me, smiling her usual warm smile.

"Hey," I reply.

There's a small movement beside me, my gaze shifts over to the left where Mackenzie is pulling out a notebook. She's got this whole ridiculous display of pens lined across her desk. It has me fighting a damn smile. She's always been over the top about school. Always needing to buy all the things at the office store before school started.

Jare used to poke fun at her as he got only the essentials, always having some stupid ass comment about her colored pens and fancy notebooks. I always kind of found it cute, though. The fact that she was so excited about something that seemed so simple to me.

This year has been different for a lot of reasons. Not having my best friend is the glaringly obvious one. But there's something that goes along with not having Jare around. Something I didn't anticipate. Without the excuse of hanging out with my best friend, I'm no longer getting to spend time with Kenzie. It was never much, not anymore. A lingering conversation in the kitchen, a shared movie or video game battle with her and Jare. But it was something.

I think it might be the very reason why when my uncle said he'd be gone for the week for work, I jumped at the chance to stay with the Cooper's. Sure, it's been tradition since we were kids. Their dad, Chris, has always helped out my uncle. Providing me a place to stay when my uncle leaves for work has been the deal for years, despite the fact I'm actually old enough now to stay alone. I never wanted to. Just because Jare isn't there, that fact hasn't changed. Well, that and other things.

I watch as Mackenzie adjusts everything in front of her, her dark hair twisted into these perfect little braids across her head, all pulled back into a ponytail. She's always been effortlessly beautiful. It's a quality she's perfected without even knowing.

All of that is put to shit when Adam slides in beside her, slinging his bag over the back of his chair. I'm quickly seeing red when it comes to the asshat.

Who in their right mind would cheat on Mackenzie? And the way she just brushed it off, like what her best friend did was somehow okay. She's probably the only one in this school who has a real god to honest heart pumping in her chest. The only girl I know who can outrun everyone on this campus, myself included. She's determined and smart and blessed with a heart of gold. Yet, dipshit threw it all away.

If Jare only knew...

"It's messed up, isn't it?" Raya whispers. When I bring my eyes to her, she continues. "Her boyfriend and her best friend? And now they're together, flaunting it in front of her face."

"She's fine," I defend, knowing damn well how far that statement is from the truth. I've seen it in the way she keeps her head down, or in the way she jets from practice, not lingering with her friends or making plans for the weekend.

"You're such a guy." Raya laughs, shaking her head. "She's partnered with her cheating ex, forced to just sit there as he sextes her best friend."

"He's not—" I stop, glancing over Raya's shoulder to see Adam's head looking at his phone beneath the table, one hand hiding his face though that ugly ass smile is peeking through. I shift my attention to Brittney next, watching as she flashes her eyes back at him with a knowing smile. "Fuck me."

"Right?" Raya acknowledges with wide eyes. "It's sick. I hate that everyone is talking about it."

Mackenzie is focused on Mr. Farris as he begins the lecture, her eyes trained forward. But I can see the emotion on her face, that hidden veil of pain swimming shallowly beneath the surface. It's the same glimmer I saw all of those years ago, the same battle armor she wore when we first met.

"She's tougher than you think," I whisper, though I'm pretty damn sure I'm trying to convince myself of that more than Raya.

"I don't doubt that," she mumbles, keeping her voice down as our teacher rattles on about our lab assignment. "But, tough or not, I think she needs to shove it to the both of them."

I couldn't agree more, and while I know damn well I should be listening to what Mr. Farris is saying, my interest is far more captured in what Raya has to say. Keeping my eyes focused on the front of the room, I whisper, "How would she do that?"

With all the obvious confidence in the world, she responds, "By finding some hot guy to flaunt back in their face. Show them they didn't break her and she's better off without him."

Huh. That actually makes sense. Except, it's Kenze, and she won't just go diving into another relationship. And finding some hookup just to make a point is far beyond the reaches of her comfort zone, let alone the wrath Jare would bring down on me if I let that happen.

Nope. Not gonna happen.

The ability to focus on the rest of the lecture is shot to hell and I'm left staring at a blank notebook page when the piercing sound of the bell echoes across the room.

You're failing.

Mr. Wright's words rattle my brain as I gather up my shit, throwing everything in my backpack and ignoring that lingering cloud in the distance. Zoning out on dipshit Adam and his asshole tendencies is not going to bring my grade up.

I step into the hall just in time to hear the speakers crackle to life, and a far too chipper voice blankets the halls.

"Good afternoon, Vista High! It's that time again when I have the absolute honor to announce this year's homecoming court."

The hall erupts in cheers, groups huddled together in anticipation. I should care a heck of a lot more than I do, but if you ask me, the whole thing is a ridiculous show of popularity. While Jare soaked that shit up, I'd prefer just to focus on ball and let all the extra attention go.

"Our first nominated pair is Lucas Emery and Vanessa Wayde!" A few screams are heard from my right, a group of cheerleaders sounding off and surrounding their friend. "Next we have Jeremy Raine and Raya Emerson." My eyes search for the bright highlights of red across the crowd. Raya's hidden within her locker, surely avoiding the attention. I fight a smile, knowing Jare would be pulling her out to soak up the attention she deserves. "Next, we have Adam Peterson and—" No fucking way. My heart stops, my eyes flying to the tiny speaker box above the hall. "Brittney Carr."

I can hear her joyous yell, Brittney's arms flying in the air as she leaps into Adam's arms. But they're not the ones I'm looking at. Across the hall, staring in a completely speechless state is Mackenzie.

I remember last year, when Jare was stepping on his homecoming float, he told me something, something he doesn't often talk about. But he mentioned his mom, how much she would have loved to see him up there.

I felt a pit in my stomach, one I've felt so many times before. It's the same pit I feel tearing across my gut as I watch the look on Kenzie's face.

A pair of arms are suddenly wrapped around me, pulling me away. "We made it, Camden!" Porcia shouts, throwing herself around me. "We're in the homecoming court!"

But I can't pull my gaze from Kenze, I can't stop seeing the whispers around her, the eyes flashing from Adam and Brittney and back to her.

Move, Kenze. Do something. Say something.

I can hear the whispers, feel the eyes of sympathy boring into her. But she's frozen. Locked in place and staring at the two people she was supposed to be able to trust.

By finding some hot guy to flaunt back in their face. Show them they didn't break her and she's better off without him.

I don't know when I started moving. I don't know exactly what's racing through my head or causing my heart to pound from my chest, but suddenly I'm planted directly in front of her, those soft brown orbs staring up at me in wide eyed confusion.

"Do you trust me, Kenze?" I whisper, letting the space between us disappear when my chest brushes up against hers, her back gently rests against the lockers behind her.

She doesn't say anything when my hand slides along her cheek, my fingers falling into the soft tresses of her long silky hair. Damn it's fucking soft.

Her eyes stay with mine though, searching for an answer. She still doesn't speak, but a subtle nod of her head is all the permission I need before I tilt her chin up and press my lips to hers.