I catch Liam's eye and nod, a silent SOS flashing between us. Finish this for me, buddy. He hesitantly gives me a slight nod, stepping forward to take over my impromptu, and frankly, disastrous, speech. Jumping off the counter to the stunned reactions of pretty much everyone – even Coach Thompson looks like he swallowed a baseball.

"Wilcox?"

"Sorry Coach, I need to do this." My voice is tight with urgency.

Jake, Brett, Noah, and the rest of the team look like they're watching a slow-motion train wreck. Liam quickly takes over my spot, bless his oblivious heart, and tries to rally the crowd, completely missing the seismic shift happening within me.

"Hey guys, I know you were expecting Slater to finish his... uh... inspiring words," Liam stammers, then recovers with surprising gusto. "But I got some words for you!"

He launches into a boisterous, slightly off-key, but enthusiastic rally, hyping up our win, putting down SoMay with the eloquence of a drunk badger. He reminds them of his crucial plays, the ones that single-handedly (in his mind, at least) gave us the push to the playoffs. As he yells a triumphant, "We're going to the playoffs!" a burst of applause rocks Bennie's. I don't wait to hear the rest of his self-congratulatory spiel. My eyes are locked on what has to be Abigail as she slips out the door, a ghost in the celebratory chaos. By the time I burst outside, the greasy smell of Bennie's clinging to my clothes, she's halfway down the street, walking with a desperate quickness, her head bowed against the cool night air.

"Abigail! Wait!" I call my breath forming pathetic little clouds in the chilly air. She doesn't even flinch. I jog to catch up, my lungs burning, the celebratory shouts fading behind me. She quickens her pace, her shoulders hunched, clearly trying to outrun me, or maybe just the world. "Abigail, please!"

After several agonizing minutes, my lungs screaming for mercy, I reach her just as she ducks into the familiar shadows of Appleton Park. Once she's practically sprinting towards her favorite spot by the ancient willow tree, its branches like weeping arms, she finally stops, turning to face me, her face streaked with fresh tears. She looks more fragile than I've ever seen her, like a startled bird about to take flight, or shatter.

"Why are you following me, Slater?" she demands, her voice trembling, raw with unshed sobs.

I swallow hard, the words caught in my throat. "I need to talk to you. About the pills." I just blurt it out, no preamble, no gentle easing in.

Her eyes widen, a flicker of fear in their depths, and she takes a step back, as if I'm contagious. "Sophie... told you?" The accusation hangs in the air.

"No, I..." I try to explain, the lie tasting like ash.

"You went through my things?" A new wave of hurt washes over her face.

"No, no, not like that," I say quickly, my hands raised in a placating gesture. "Your mother was showing me your picture... of you, your dad, and your grandpa. I found those pills... by accident. I just want to understand, Abigail. Please, talk to me."

"No! You had no right!" Her voice cracks.

"I know." I try to calm her, my own emotions a tangled mess. "But you have to talk to me."

She hesitates, her breath catching in her throat. Then, with a small, broken sound, she crumples to the ground, leaning back against the rough bark of the willow tree, burying her face in her hands. Hoping I can finally get the truth, the real truth, I kneel beside her, unsure what to do. I've never been good at this emotional stuff, the touchy-feely heart-to-hearts. But I can't just leave her like this, curled up and broken under her favorite tree.

"Abigail, I'm here for you," I say softly, reaching out a tentative hand to touch her shoulder. She flinches, a small, involuntary movement, but doesn't pull away.

"Can you finally tell me what's going on with you?" I ask, my tone as gentle as I can manage.

Abigail continues to pause, her face hidden, her shoulders shaking. Her soft, warm brown skin seems to have faded into a palish, almost ghostly white hue in the dim moonlight filtering through the branches. She doesn't glance at me, her gaze fixed somewhere in the darkness. Not once does she look up at what she loves to do here, gazing upon the night sky. However, after a long, silent moment, she suddenly tilts her head slightly upwards. Her vision finally finding what she adores so much, the stars... and Jupiter, a steady beacon in the inky black. Rocking back and forth almost imperceptibly, she looks so quiet, so withdrawn, so unlike the vibrant, Jupiter-obsessed girl I've come to... know. It's like all the days I haven't seen her have been erased, and we're back to that first night, the night I witnessed her freakout.

Giving her all the time she needs, not rushing her, I join her in the stargazing, tilting my own head back. It's eerily like we're back that night before she vanished, the silence stretching between us, thick with unspoken words. What feels like an hour just silently watching the celestial display passes. I'd rather just sit here in comfortable silence if she doesn't want to talk. I'll understand.

"You want to know," she finally breaks the stillness, her voice barely a whisper carried on the night breeze.

I turn to her. "You don't have to."

She soon glances at me, her head still partially down, her dark eyes shadowed. "It's okay." She says with such a somber voice, a weight in her tone that belies her age. "It would be nice to share it with someone who cares who isn't my mama, my brother, or Sophie."

As the expected truth hangs in the air, I know I'll still be shocked. Because I'm not getting it secondhand from Ms. Harris or pieced together from worried whispers. I'm getting it directly from the one who is actually suffering.

"I have schizoaffective disorder," she finally whispers the words, her voice muffled by her hands as she lowers them slightly. "It started a year after my dad died."

"Your día oscuro!?" I mention. The phrase echoing in the quiet park.

She slowly nods, a single tear escaping and tracing a lonely path down her cheek. "Mama... told you."

"Yeah," I acknowledge, my own guilt resurfacing. "Sorry."

"That's okay. Papa and grandpapa gave me my love for the stars. But when papa died, I didn't know what to do then. Astronomy helps, it's like... an escape. But... I have good days and bad days."

I sit closer to her, absorbing it all, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place with a sickening finality. "Like I said, I'm so sorry, Abigail. I had no idea."

She lifts her head, tears glistening on her cheeks like captured starlight. "I honestly didn't want anyone to know. Only my family and Sophie know I've been in and out of psychiatric wards, trying to get better."

Shocked to hear that. "That's where you were... after we left here a few days ago."

She nods slowly, her gaze distant. "Yeah, I was being treated."

She told her mom, and her mom, understandably terrified, called Dr. August, who quickly got her into a psychiatric ward at an out-patient facility outside the city. Forced to take the pills she needed to take daily, she eventually got better quickly. Her doctor advised her to please, please take the paliperidone and the other prescribed antipsychotics. Her doctor explained he might have to adjust the pill count and make sure she takes it properly, emphasizing the importance of consistency. Her mom was told to keep a hawk-like eye on her regarding the pills, a task made nearly impossible by her grueling overnight job, putting even more stress on Miss Li, who is already doing enough just by watching her and Hugo. Despite the quick readjustments, she desperately wants to be better, to feel normal.

"I feel fine now, mostly, but... it's hard. It's always there, lurking."

"It doesn't have to be." I say, feeling a surge of protectiveness so fierce it surprises even me. "You don't have to go through this alone." Remembering what Ethan told me about not dealing with your issues alone, his surprisingly insightful words echoing in my mind. I continue, my voice low and sincere, "If you ever doubted it, you have a friend in me, Abigail. More than ever."

She looks at me, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and a lingering sadness. "Thank you, Slater," she whispers, leaning her head on my shoulder. I wrap an arm around her, holding her close, offering what little comfort and support I can.

"Slater, just promise me."

"Anything."

"Can you just keep this between you and me," she says firmly, her voice gaining a sliver of its usual strength. "I'm not ready to tell anybody else in Bayman."

"Other than Ms. Harris," I tease gently.

"You know what I mean." She nudges me playfully.

"Relax," I giggle softly. "I do."

She smirks, a small, genuine smile that makes my chest ache in a way I can't quite explain. And then she lays the biggest appreciative remark of all. "Thanks for being my friend."

With that, I want to cherish that moment, to hold onto it. However, a cold dread washes over me as I think about Zach and the others. Somehow, the school knew about her meltdown that night. I want to do everything in my power to keep my promise, to protect her secret.

***

Over the next few days, I spend as much time with Abigail as possible... albeit it feels a little like overcompensating for my past jerk-like behavior, but I'm not worried about that. I help her and Gwen at the soup kitchen, awkwardly ladling stew alongside the other volunteers. I soon take her back to the museum, where we revisit the interactive space exhibit, and I actually find myself getting interested in the constellations as she excitedly points them out. We spend as many hours as she wants there... no double dates, no romantic snafus to mess this up. Regardless of my slight reluctance, I even join her at the public library, where she enthusiastically shoves countless Jupiter-centric and other astronomy books into my hands. One night, while supposedly finishing my homework and half-watching some baseball games on ESPN, I actually flip through a book by Caroline Herschel, a famous female astronomer Abigail practically worships. She highly, and I mean highly, recommended me to read Caroline's book. I start to understand why Abigail is so enthusiastic about astronomy, even though her grandfather sparked the initial flame. It's what she has done with that passion that makes it worthwhile. However, a nagging doubt lingers. I can't tell if this extreme fascination is just her genuine love for the cosmos, or if most of it is a way of masking her condition, a way to find order in a chaotic inner world. The universe is indeed vast and full of mysteries, just like her.

Just as I'm getting comfortable with this new routine, a text buzzes on my phone. It's a joint text invite to me, Riley, and Oliver, from none other than Zach.

Zach: Be prepared, be ready, meet me and the judges, at Home Ed classroom...after school.

A knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. This can't be good. If this is going to end the way I hope it doesn't, I'm in trouble. I suspect Zach is smelling that I'm hiding something, something big. But I cannot let him or the others know. Abigail forbade it. I promised her, and I need to uphold it as much as I can.

***

Me, Riley, and Oliver haven't talked personally since we got Zach's cryptic text last night. But once the final bell mercifully rang, we all knew where we had to go next. Luckily – or should I say unluckily in this case – Coach Thompson had to call off baseball practice for today. I would sure love to be out there pitching, letting off some steam, rather than participating in this shallow excuse for a competition. However, my best excuse – a sudden, debilitating illness – feels flimsy, and somehow Zach and the others will know. This school knows everything. Zach hinted at it before, that being Bayman King comes with an all-access pass to gossip. Before all this Abigail stuff, I would've loved and cherished those same entitled rights. However, the more this has gone on, the more time I've spent with Abigail, seeing the side of her that means more to me than popularity, the more I want to get away from this stupid thing. Because it's already ruined my life enough, courtesy of Lily.

Unfortunately, I reluctantly move along, trailing behind Riley and Oliver as we head inside Mr. Olgatree's vacant Home Ed classroom. Once we enter, Zach stands by the teacher's desk, looking every bit the Bayman King – self-assured and smug, like a spoiled trust fund baby who just found his dad's credit card. The senior judges – Bryant, Joshua, Alistar, and Tristian – are all sitting nonchalantly close by, observing us with bored amusement.

"Well, well, well," Zach claps his hands together, the sound echoing in the quiet room. The senior judges soon follow suit, a slow, sarcastic clap. "I'm so glad you guys could make it."

As we each stand awkwardly in the center of the room, like contestants in some bizarre reality show, I slowly look to Riley and Oliver. Riley gives me a smug, I-told-you-so smirk, while Oliver gulps nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing. At first, I play dumb, pretending I don't know where this is going, but seeing Zach's enthused reaction, watching him size each of us up, and mentally calculating how many remaining weeks we have of the semester, it hits me.

The semi-finals.

"Down to three!" He applauds again, his voice echoing off the linoleum floor. "Congrats, Slater... Riley... Oliver, our three lucky finalists!" His voice drips with theatricality. "It's now time to go all in for Junior Prom."

The announcement should make me grin, should fill me with that familiar competitive fire. Yet, I try to fake a smile, hoping they don't see through the hollowness of it. Soon, Zach saunters toward me, his arm snaking around my neck in a forced, bro-like hug.

"So, Slate..." He lowers his voice, a conspiratorial whisper. "I need to know if you have any updates on the real Kooky Abbie? Do you?!" There's a sharp edge to his tone now, a hint of suspicion.

I hesitate, my mind racing, trying to construct a believable lie. Doing my best to keep my promise to Abigail, I need to steer away from hinting at her diagnosis. "She is... she is just a girl who loves astronomy and helps at a soup kitchen. There is nothing else to it."

Zach's eyes narrow, his grip tightening slightly around my neck. "You are hiding something." He examines me quickly, his gaze intense, and even some of the senior judges – Bryant and Joshua – lean forward, their curiosity piqued, trying to examine me as well. While this weird TSA-like scanning freaks me out a little, I manage to keep my cool. The urge to blurt out, 'Chill, dude, she's just... Abigail,' is strong, but I resist. Soon, the weird once-over is over, and Zach continues, a strange glint in his eye. "It doesn't matter anyway. I want to see how determined you really are."

"Meaning what?" The question hangs in the air.

"Meaning, I want Abigail at prom. One way or another." His words hit me like a punch to the gut.

I can't help but react to what he just said. A sudden chill runs down my spine. "Um... why?! Why do you care so much who I bring to prom?"

"It's about commitment, Wilcox." Zach says, his voice regaining its usual smugness. "Prove you are in this for real. Do it for your family's reputation. Become that eighth Wilcox to win." As he quickly turns to Riley and Oliver, his tone shifting, not wanting them to think he's fully invested in my success, pushing them to bring their A-game. He then turns back to me, his eyes locking with mine. "You cannot fail now."

I feel a knot tighten in my stomach, a cold dread spreading through me. Not wanting to make him or the senior judges enemies, even though I privately beg for a meteor to strike this classroom and end this ridiculous competition. Except there is no lifeline. "Fine," I grumble, the word tasting like defeat, though deep down, I hate every second of this.

As he then goes on to root for Riley and then to Oliver, sharing the same manipulative passion, needing them to step up, try to do whatever it takes to make sure there won't be an eighth Wilcox, I tune him out. Months ago, I would've loved to see them try, would've relished the competition. But now... I simply don't care. I want this stupid game to end.

After a few more excruciating minutes, Zach – thankfully – adjourns the meeting just as he wishes all of us good luck and gives us an early "good luck" to our junior prom, which is just a few weeks away. While Riley stays behind to do something only Riley would love to do – probably beg for extra credit with the judges or try to sabotage Oliver – I waste no time but to leave. Oliver quickly joins me as we exit the stuffy classroom.

"You're nervous," he ponders curiously, his brow furrowed.

"Nervous about what?" I react a bit too quickly.

"About you being forced to bring Abigail to the dance."

"I hope not. I would rather keep her away..."

"And focus on Lily."

I pause, turning to him, surprised by his perceptiveness. "Why do you care? Aren't you one of those 'Kooky Abbie' fanatics?"

"I used to be," Oliver admits, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "But I've seen you and her these past two months. And plus... what you did, being that astro-knight." He shudders slightly, a mixture of amusement and secondhand embarrassment on his face.

Reminiscing about that suit, oh yes, I surely miss that magnificent, albeit slightly itchy, creation.

"You care for her, I see that now," Oliver comes closer, patting me awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'm on your side, regardless of what you do."

"Thanks, man," I say, genuinely impressed by his unexpected support. And then, being so lost in the whole Abigail mess and my personal chaos, I totally whiff on something obvious. "What was your dare again?"

Oliver laughs, a slightly manic edge to it. "I have to be every teacher's pet and be their assistant for everyone in the Sophomore and Freshman class."

"Wait, what?!" I smirk, picturing Oliver lugging textbooks and running errands for hordes of underclassmen.

"Yup. I mean, it has been chaotic, but I do what they say. And I'm doing my best. So well, I guess Zach sees it and is quite impressed."

"So what do you have to do by Junior prom?"

Oliver sighs dramatically. "I may have to be Mr. Charles's assistant for the entire week leading up to it."

"Yikes," I whisper, a genuine shudder running down my spine. "Good luck with that. You'll need a hazmat suit."

"Thanks. Good luck with you and Abigail. I do share your worries, I hope she doesn't get hurt in all this."

"You and me both, man. You and me both."

As I dap Oliver, we go our separate ways. Even though I appreciate his stand, I can't shake the feeling of dread. The worry about why Zach and his minions want Abigail at prom gnaws at me. Soon, I think about Otto. Knowing how initially I tried to put them together before this whole dare thing spiraled out of control – mostly because of me and the pressure – I need to try again. Hopefully, he can lure Abigail away from prom, be her unexpected knight in shining... well, probably just regular clothes. Needing to find Otto, I spot him in his usual habitat, the computer lab, just as the computer club has been dismissed. As the other nerds – a co-ed mix of socially awkward brilliance – pass me by, I slightly nod, but like most of the nerd herd, they ignore me. Typical. Spotting Otto getting his backpack ready, I rush to see him.

"Otto," I say, getting his attention. "I need to talk to you about Abigail."

He stiffens, his fingers zipping up his bag with a decisive finality. "I told you, Slater. I am done."

"Listen, buddy, I get that you're mad at me. Rightfully so."

"Don't call me your buddy," he says, his voice surprisingly aggressive.

"Otto, please," I plead, desperation creeping in. "I can see you still care about her."

He doesn't look at me, but I notice a slight tremble in his hands as he clutches his backpack straps. "I don't want to get hurt again."

"I understand," I say softly, trying to convey a sincerity I actually feel. "But I need your help."

Otto finally meets my eyes, and I see the lingering sadness there, mixed with a healthy dose of resentment. "Leave her alone, Slater. Let her be."

"Otto..." I say, a bit frustrated, but he doesn't reply, his gaze hardening.

He quickly grabs his bag and skirts around me, not even interested in a polite goodbye. I slowly shake my head disappointedly, but deep down, I understand. I just wished he would have helped. Now I need to reset and refocus.

Frustrated by my unproductive encounter with Otto, I leave the sterile hum of the computer lab and rush to the gymnasium, hoping Lily is still there. Holding my bag firm, I eventually enter the echoing space just as Lily is finishing her dance practice with Megan and the other girls. I watch from the doorway as she runs through her routine, graceful and powerful, every movement a testament to her dedication. When she finally finishes, her chest rising and falling with exertion, I approach, feeling a pang of longing and a desperate, probably foolish, hope that I still have a chance with her for the dance.

"Lil, can we talk?" I ask, getting her attention immediately.

Before Lily can even respond, Megan steps forward, her arms crossed, ready to defend her friend like a loyal Rottweiler. "Don't do this, Slater. She doesn't..."

But Lily holds up a hand, stopping Megan mid-sentence. "It's fine, Megan. I got this."

Megan glares at me, her eyes daggers, and then pointedly heads to the bench area, grabbing her stuff with exaggerated movements. I turn back to Lily.

"Who let her off her leash?" I whisper sarcastically, the old habits dying hard.

"Stop it, Slater," Lily says, a small, almost sad smile playing on her lips as she playfully hits me on my arm.

We walk towards the top edge of the bleachers, finding a relatively private spot amidst the empty rows. We've got all the awkward silence in the world stretching between us, and I sure hope Lily can finally let go of whatever she's going through... though I know I still have a massive problem to fix. So, as I gather my thoughts, I need to tread carefully.

"I... I want us to go to the junior prom together, like we planned." The words feel clumsy and inadequate.

Lily sighs, looking utterly weary, the weight of our broken relationship evident in her slumped shoulders.

"What's wrong?" I ask, my voice laced with genuine concern.

"Slater... Cameron asked me to go with him," she finally responds, the words hanging in the air like a death knell to my hopes.

I feel like I've been punched in the gut by a Mike Tyson haymaker. Cameron Eurich, that preppy golf prodigy who thinks he's the next Tiger Woods, minus the scandals and the charisma. His parents are nothing but golf purists, and his grandmother was some famous golf professional decades ago. I've seen him eyeing my girl for a while now, that smug little smile whenever I wasn't around, just waiting to strike. And I guess he did.

"Cameron, really? I knew he had a crush on you, but still..." The disbelief is thick in my voice.

"What were you expecting, Slater?" Her voice is flat, devoid of emotion.

"I was expecting... for us to go to the dance together." The words sound pathetic even to my own ears.

"And we're not together anymore, remember?" Lily says, her voice tinged with a sadness that mirrors my own. "I can go with whoever I want. And so can you."

"Lil, you are the only one for me." I take a step closer, reaching out a hand, but she subtly pulls back, creating a small but significant distance between us.

She looks at me, tears starting to form in her eyes again, blurring her usually sharp gaze. "We have been through a lot, Slater. And... I do love you. However..." she pauses, a painful breath escaping her lips. "...it's too late. Slater, please... you just got to let me go."

I hesitate to respond, the reality of her words sinking in like a lead weight. "So this is it? Are we... this is really over?!"

"Yes," she replies, the word so small and painful it barely makes a sound.

She quickly leans in and presses a fleeting kiss on my cheek, a ghost of what we used to be, and whispers in a low, choked tone, "Goodbye," as she gets up and starts heading down the bleachers, her movements stiff and unnatural. She catches up with Megan and the other girls, their hushed whispers a stark contrast to the echoing silence I'm left in. I just watch, watching the girl I have loved since freshman year... the day I saw her dissecting a frog with an oddly serene expression in biology class... walk away from my sight. Feeling more lost and alone than ever, I place my head in my hands, the rough texture of the bleacher wood pressing against my forehead, wondering what in the actual hell I'm supposed to do next.

I eventually lean back, staring up at the high, vaulted ceiling of the gym, my mind racing, a chaotic jumble of Abigail, the dare, Zach's demands, and the gaping hole Lily has left in my life. The weight of everything feels unbearable, crushing. I don't know what's going to happen, but one thing is crystal clear: I need to figure out my next move, and fast.