Chapter 4
MOST LIKELY TO BE LATE FOR CLASS
Coach Owens doesn’t bother asking me for a pass when I stroll into class twenty minutes late.
I’ve spent the last three years with weightlifting as my first period.
He knows me by now. Not that he’s ever been the most hands-on teacher.
He simply lifts his chin, acknowledging my arrival, and goes back to correcting a freshman’s form while he does RDLs.
Thanks to this morning’s assembly and my little pit stop at Dr. Freck’s office, there’s not enough time for me to dress out, exercise, and take a shower before second period.
I sit down and lean my back against one of the walls with my legs stretched out in front of me and close my eyes.
It’s hard to believe the school changed the requirements for Citrus Scholar and I might actually have a chance at beating Ella after all.
After deflecting conversations about Citrus Scholar all summer—always waiting for the moment that my parents would realize I’d failed them—I feel a new fire stir within me.
I reach up and massage the tension that has settled into a hard knot in my right shoulder Maybe with the new requirements, it’ll go away once and for all.
This is great news not just for me but for my little brother, too.
David’s a junior and struggling to keep his grades up.
Our parents have even hired a school-appointed tutor to make sure they don’t slip.
If grades don’t matter for Citrus Scholar, maybe he’ll be able to do some of the things he’s had to give up all for the sake of his GPA.
The thought of him enjoying life makes me happy.
I just need to figure out what exactly Dr. Freck and his secret committee are looking for so I can not only win the scholarship for myself but figure out some kind of blueprint to help my brother.
I’m pushing my thumb over a stubborn bump right next to my neck when Jonathan sits down next to me.
He’s got a friendly smile on his face when he elbows me and says, “Dr. Freck says they aren’t using GPA to determine the Citrus Scholar, and you decide you don’t have to show up to class?
” I barely hear him over the sounds of music, metal clanging, and the occasional grunt in the background.
If we hadn’t been friends for years, I’d be annoyed by his comment. Instead, I know he’s just curious about what this will mean for me. I crack my eyes open and look at him. “It’s one class. Besides, didn’t you hear? Grades don’t matter.”
“I’m sure they matter a little.”
Jonathan doesn’t understand the whiplash I’ve experienced this morning.
He doesn't know that I’ve gone from losing to Ella to having a shot.
He doesn't understand the pressure I feel from my parents to win or the need to make it look easy. I shrug and try to keep my voice casual. “Either way, it’s in the bag.”
“Really? ‘Cause I heard Taylor telling everyone after the assembly the scholarship was hers.”
“Taylor Brown?”
He nods.
She thinks she has a shot at Citrus Scholar?
I lift my back off the wall and cross my legs as I turn to face Jonathan.
“First of all, she’s ranked third in our class.
Second, in what universe is Taylor well-rounded?
” My brows crinkle. I can’t think of anything she does besides show up for class, and she still ranks behind me and Ella.
“I’m just telling you what I heard.” He shrugs. “You really think you’re still going to be named Citrus Scholar?”
“Of course I am,” I say, my voice filled with more confidence than before.
With every passing moment, I’m more convinced that I’m the only person who can get Citrus Scholar.
Not only do I have the grades, I have everything else the other top ranking students lack—athletics, extracurriculars, and a personality outside of academics.
“What about Ella? Everyone knows how badly she wants it. I feel bad after she reacted during the assembly.”
“Don’t feel bad for her.”
Jonathan, as well as everyone else in this town, knows what her father did. Ella is guilty by association. He doesn’t say anything else, and I smile to myself as I try to imagine how great it’s going to feel when I finally win.
The rest of the day goes by in a blur of introductions and syllabi.
We even got one of Ella's beloved rubrics in English for our first assignment on The Catcher in the Rye, our summer reading. When the final bell rings for the day, I head straight for the parking lot, exhausted from the day. While I’m thrilled that Citrus Scholar is within my grasp, my brain has been racing with how I can make it happen while also balancing first day activities and Ava’s unwelcome attention.
The senior spots are the closest to campus and were painted over the summer by each student, transforming the asphalt into a kaleidoscope of colors.
Different designs poke out from underneath a variety of vehicles ranging from high-end SUVs to sports cars, all practically new.
While there are a few older vehicles in the mix, nothing quite compares to the station wagon with peeling wood panels that’s parked just three spots down from my King Ranch.
Ella is already inside with the windows rolled down when I get to my truck.
Her eyes are closed tightly as she turns the key in the ignition.
It takes multiple attempts before her engine roars to life.
When it finally does, she visibly relaxes until her eyes find mine and narrow.
There’s murder in them. She shoots me a not-so-kind hand gesture before backing out and speeding off, narrowly missing a collision with another car backing out of its spot.
The space she vacates is one of only two in the senior section that was left unpainted this summer. The other one? It’s mine. I try not to think about that as I hoist myself into the driver’s seat and drive off.
I’m working on my CommonApp when there’s a knock at my bedroom door. I continue filling in some of the blanks about our family’s demographics but yell, “Come in,” over my shoulder.
It’s David. While most of us inherited our parents’ dark hair, the youngest of the Williams siblings ended up with the recessive gene from our great aunt and has auburn locks. It’s not just his looks that make him different, though. He’s more sensitive, less competitive.
“What’s up?” I ask, swiveling in my desk chair to face him.
He sits on the corner of my bed and rubs the back of his neck. “I heard you talked to Dr. Freck after the assembly.”
I had hoped that little tidbit of information wouldn’t get out. While I’m perfectly content to excel academically, and it is no secret I want to win Citrus Scholar, I don’t want to be thrown in the same camp as Ella. “Where did you hear that?”
He shrugs. “Just around. Is it true?”
I sigh and lean back in my chair. “Yeah. I talked to him.”
David leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “And?”
This is the most interested I’ve ever seen him in Citrus Scholar.
It’s obvious why. He’s looking for a way to break free from the constraints our parents have put on him.
He has a car but isn’t allowed to drive it except to school and tutoring.
He can’t participate in any clubs or sports.
I wish I could tell him that everything is going to be okay, but I still don’t know enough.
I pick up a pencil off my desk and start twirling it in my fingers.
“And I know about the same amount as I did after the assembly.”
“But it’s true?” He grabs the pencil from my hands, forcing me to look at him. “They aren’t basing it off of grades anymore?”
I snatch it back and put it on my desk. David was there. He heard the same announcement as everyone else, but I tell him the little more that I know. “Grades still count. They just aren’t the only thing that matters. There’s a team of teachers that chooses the winner.”
His eyes widen in excitement. I know why. He thinks he can influence their decision just like I did.
“I don’t know which teachers. No one does. It’s a secret.” The light leaves his features, and I hate the feeling that forms in my gut. I hurry to reassure him. “Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to figure out who they are in time for your senior year. Just keep working hard in the meantime.”
“This could be a really good thing. Maybe I could join theater again.” His eyes glaze over, and I know he’s already trying to figure out if it’s too late to audition this year. They’re doing Beauty and the Beast this year, and he wanted to play the candlestick thing.
“I’m sure once we tell Dad that Citrus Scholar is looking at other activities, he’ll make you rejoin.” I smile confidently at him, though I’m not sure how that conversation will go.
Telling our parents that the rules have changed will bring attention to me that I’ve been working hard to keep away.
I have to win now. If not, things might end up being even worse for David in the long-run.
They might tolerate one child not meeting their expectations, but if I don't get this award, that puts a new pressure on David. It would kill me to know I was responsible for it. Seeing the hope in his eyes for the first time in a while makes me realize what I already knew: I don’t have a choice but to beat Ella Adams.