Chapter Two
Chapter
two
“YOU LOOK LIKE YOU’RE GOING to puke,” my best friend, Deja, said when I found her in her first-period class. I waved to Mrs.Burns and pointed to Deja, asking without words if I could take her. Mrs.Burns nodded, probably thinking I was here on some official school business. I was not. This was absolutely personal.
I pulled her out of her seat and toward the door.
“What’s happening?” she whispered as we went.
I didn’t speak until we were all the way out of the room, down the hall, and outside under the nearest tree—a tall eucalyptus, its bark peeling off in strips.
“Is your grandma okay?”
I nodded and wanted to use that question to snap my focus back into perspective, but I was on the verge of tears. “Do you know where Jensen is right now? Well, he’s probably done. It took me a while to get to this side of campus from the studio.”
I swung my backpack to my front and dug my phone out. I wanted to see a message, any message, from him explaining what just happened.
“You’re not making any sense,” Deja said.
There was no message. “Sorry.” I pointed in the general direction of the front office. “He tried out.”
“Still not following.”
“For the podcast. Jensen tried out for the school’s podcast.”
“Does try out mean something different than I think it means in the podcast world?”
“No.”
“Tell me you’re lying!” Of course Deja would be as shocked and confused about this as I was. As my best friend, she knew how long I’d been preparing for today. My preparation predated Jensen. It almost predated Deja. I’d met her in sixth grade when we both joined soccer. Unlike me, she was really good at it and had not quit last year. And although she wasn’t happy with my decision and constantly tried to convince me to rejoin the team, we were still as close as ever.
“I’m not lying.”
“Are you sure? Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe someone heard wrong…saw wrong.”
“Me. I was the eyeballs on the scene. He literally walked in after me and said, I’m going to try out. ” I said that last bit in a deep, stupid voice.
“A joke?” she said, still trying to make it make sense. “He’s pranking you.”
Was he? My sinking gut rose with that thought. “Maybe…” He wasn’t a big prankster, but occasionally we played jokes on each other. “Do you think he’s pranking me? Our one-year anniversary is this week. Maybe it’s some anniversary joke?” I pushed my knuckle under my nose to relieve my burning eyes.
“It would be a good one.”
“You’re right.” I sniffled, kicking at a strip of tree bark on the ground. “It would be. That has to be it. There is no other logical explanation.”
“I mean, the only other logical explanation is that he’s a terrible boyfriend, and person, but he’s not. He’s been decent.”
“A ringing endorsement,” I said.
“Well, anyone who hogs half my best friend’s time isn’t my favorite person.”
He was one of my favorite people, though, and I needed what she was saying now to be true. He wouldn’t do this to me.
My phone, which I was loosely holding in my hand, buzzed with a text from Jensen.
Where did you go?
“What is he saying?” Deja asked.
I turned my phone toward her.
“Hmm. That doesn’t read like Just kidding. Gotcha. You should’ve seen your face. ”
“If this is a joke, he’d play the long game. It’s a joke.”
To class, I typed back. Why?
Deja laughed. “You’re going to pretend his joke is no big deal. I like it.”
“He deserves it,” I huffed. “I don’t find this very funny at all.”
“It’s a little bit funny.” She squeezed my arm. “Tell me how it plays out. I need to go back to the class you just pulled me from.”
“Right…class. See you later when we can both laugh aboutthis.”
IT WAS LATER. I WASN’T laughing. At all.
It was lunch hour, and we, the group of juniors who had tried out that morning, sat outside the studio under some big shade trees. The studio was too small for us all to squeeze inside. Probably another reason the senior team was pretty small—two behind the mics, two on the soundboard, two researchers. Six people. I quickly counted the people sitting around me. There were twenty-five of us. I had about a one in four chance of making it on the team and a one in twelve chance of making it into my dream spot as one of the hosts.
Jensen, who was apparently going to play out this joke to the bitter end, was sitting next to me. He took my hand in his. When I saw him on the break between second and third period, he spent the whole ten minutes complaining about how his English teacher made them write poetry today and not a single word about his audition or why he decided to try out. Since I was not going to give his joke the satisfaction of a huge reaction, I didn’t say a word either.
The six outgoing seniors stood in front of us. Nolen, the leader of the group, held a paper in his hand. He was well loved by the entire school, one of the voices we heard every morning and afternoon over the announcements and twice a week on the podcast, which was broadcast after school hours and I’d listened to religiously for the last five years.
“This year was very competitive. I know you’ve all been thinking about this moment for years, and it’s not a decision we’ve taken lightly. We’ve analyzed and rearranged and debated. But we’ve finally come to a nearly unanimous decision.”
Susie, the cohost, added, “We almost had two girls hosting the podcast next year. It was this close.” She held up her pointer finger and thumb millimeters apart. “But we decided to go another way. We decided to think outside the box, perhaps bring a new audience to our show.”
New audience? As in, they hoped some of the students who didn’t listen to the show now would start listening because there was new blood involved? My stomach felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
A smile broke out on Nolen’s face. “Jensen Ballard, dude, you made it as one of our hosts.”
Jensen dropped my hand to pump his fist in the air and let out a loud whoop. The rest of the group clapped. One of the senior soundboard techs, standing on the far right, kept her hands firmly in her pockets. She looked angry. Guess I knew who kept the vote from being unanimous.
And I guess I knew this most definitely wasn’t some elaborate prank Jensen had thought up. My stomach was sinking again. The only thing that could salvage this now was if I made it too. Jensen and I hosting the podcast our senior year together could be epic. Maybe Jensen had pitched some sort of love hotline where we could dole out relationship advice. Our sister school had done that a couple years ago on their podcast. We’d be pretty good candidates for something like that. We had been rocking our relationship…until today…maybe.
I felt eyes on me, as if my friends thought one less hosting spot was my fault. I wanted to assure them that I was just as shocked as they were. That the big guy sitting next to me with the wide smile on his face had not run this by me first.
“Ava Lester,” Susie said. “You made the other hosting spot. Congrats!”
Even though my stomach was now rock hard, I smiled over at Ava through the pain. Would it have been me and her if not for Jensen?
He mumbled something from beside me, but I couldn’t hear him because blood seemed to be pumping a direct route through my ears. My eyes were stinging again. I was not going to cry over this. At least not in front of everyone.
Nolen said my name, maybe announcing another spot filled, but I didn’t hear any recognizable words beyond that. There was more clapping as someone behind me gave an excited shout. My head throbbed to the beat of my pumping blood. Jensen grabbed my hand and squeezed. I pulled it free.
He gave me a confused look. Was he really confused?
Oh no. I was going to cry. I couldn’t be here anymore. I stood. Nolen had obviously been in the middle of a sentence because he stopped.
“Finley?” he asked, waiting.
“Nothing, sorry, I have an appointment.”
“Okay, thanks for your time.”
I gave a short wave and left the group. I half walked, half stumbled my way over a grassy hill that led to the main corridor. Near the closest building, a group of students sat around eating lunch. The girls were showing each other videos on their phones, and some guys in their football jerseys were throwing empty chip bags and watching seagulls chase after them. Theo, the starting kicker, and Jensen’s mortal enemy, leaned against the building, one earbud in, as if he was only barely interested in being with his friends. As if he was too good for everyone.
His eyes danced around me but never landed. I was invisible to him. Not that I cared.
I clenched my teeth, the football jersey he wore making my stomach even tighter. I pulled out my phone. It wasn’t a prank, I typed into a text message to Deja as I walked past the squawking seagulls.
He’s dead to me, she responded back fast. Then just as quickly added, Wait, does this mean he actually made it?
Yes.
My phone buzzed with another text. This one from Jensen. Congrats on the research spot.
I had made the team. I was one of the two researchers. This meant they liked my idea, just not the way I presented it? I wasn’t good enough. This meant my senior year would be spent researching and developing potential podcast ideas for someone else. Would I feel just as upset if that someone else wasn’t Jensen? The first tear escaped my eye and trickled down my cheek.
Another Jensen text buzzed through. I know this was all unexpected, for me too, but I hope you can be happy for me.
I stared at those words he had typed into his phone while sitting under that tree, surrounded by my friends. Was I being selfish? Jealous? Definitely that last one.
Is this something you even want? Like really want? I finally typedback.
Yes.
I released a sigh. Maybe I could eventually be happy for him. Just not today. Today I was sad for me.
NOPE. I COULDN’T BE HAPPY for him. Ever. Three things happened that afternoon that made it impossible.
Deja and I had seventh period together, and next to me, she was bouncing between scoffing and quietly cursing. We were listening to the afternoon announcements, where the current podcast seniors were introducing next year’s podcast team. Apparently, I was supposed to be there in the booth, but had fled the scene earlier so didn’t get those details. And Jensen hadn’t thought to tell me. Why would he? Secrets were his new thing, apparently.
That was the first thing that made happiness for his newfound success an impossibility.
The second thing was happening now while they interviewed him, the whole school, including Deja and me, forced to listen during the last fifteen minutes of our last class.
Susie had just asked him, “Tell the school, Jensen, the interesting idea you tried out with.”
“Well, Susie,” he said, “we thought it would be fun for the school to be given a weekly puzzle or challenge. It won’t be some easy brain teaser. It will be something you really have to think about. The first person to solve it will have a chance to win prizes like maybe signed football gear or extra credit points for classes. If you have cool teachers, that is.” He said this last bit with a charming laugh.
My fingers were curled around the edge of my desk, my knuckles white with the pressure.
“Am I just angry, or was that your idea?” Deja whisper-yelled next to me.
“Not the football gear stuff,” I mumbled. But the rest, yes. That jerk tried out with my idea. My sadness from before was slowly bubbling up into anger, making my eyeballs hot and my chest burn.
Over the speakers, Susie laughed, then directed a question to Ava. Our class was losing interest, and low-speaking voices filled the room. Mr.Vasquez, sitting at his desk up front, looking at his phone, didn’t seem to care.
“I hate him so much,” Deja said.
My first instinct was to defend my boyfriend, but my clenched teeth made that impossible.
Nolen’s voice rang out over the speaker, “Thanks for listening, everyone. I believe we have a killer team for next year.”
“But you’re stuck with us,” Susie said. “For the rest of this year. Tune in today after school for our regular podcast hour!”
“Have a great weekend,” Nolen said, and the others in the studio chimed in with goodbyes as well.
Deja turned her entire body toward me. “That was torture. I don’t believe we’ll have to hear his stupid voice every day next year.”
“Yeah,” I said, and was about to say more when the words “You all did great” came in Susie’s voice from the speaker in the corner of the classroom.
“Turn off the mics,” I said, as if Nolen or Susie would be able to hear me.
“Was it everything you always dreamed of?” Nolen asked.
“Yes,” Ava said with an excited squeal.
“Never thought about it until now,” Jensen said. “So not really.”
Mr.Vasquez was staring at the speaker too, probably wondering if there was a way he could disable it from our end. There wasn’t. It was controlled by the main panel in the studio.
“Did you and Finley break up or something?” Susie asked.
My heart jumped as I heard my name and registered the question. The rest of the class had quieted as well, suddenly interested in this unscripted conversation.
“No. Why?” he asked.
“Why?” Deja snorted from next to me. “Idiot.”
“She’s wanted this since freshman year,” Susie said.
Seventh grade, I corrected her in my head. I’ve wanted this since seventh grade.
“I figured since you…” She trailed off, and now all eyes in the room were on me. I could feel them drilling into me from all sides.
Jensen laughed a little. “It’s not my fault she doesn’t have the voice, charm, or quick-thinking skills to host a podcast.”
And there was the third thing. The nail in the coffin where our relationship would now lay to rest.
I wasn’t sure how Susie reacted to Jensen’s declaration, because everyone in the classroom, as though at once, let out a collection of noises: grunts, gasps, sighs, laughs.
“Settle down,” Mr.Vasquez said while giving me an assessing look. I wondered what he thought I was going to do. Cry? Scream? My face felt hot, so I knew that at the very least I was bright red.
“Yep,” I said aloud to lighten the mood and play this off like I wasn’t crushed. “I’m known for my troll voice.”
The class laughed, and I forced a smile.
“Hot mic,” the deep voice of Mr.Whitley rang out over the speaker. Finally.
Jensen cussed right into that hot mic; then there was a pop, followed by several seconds of complete silence. Everyone in the class burst out laughing again. Except me and Deja, of course.
“Emergency meeting after school where we plot our revenge?” I said.
“That or murder,” Deja said.
“Let’s start with revenge.”