And maybe that was just the challenge I needed.
Chapter Two
Two junior football players scuffling over the last slice of pizza nearly upended my lunch tray as I made my way to my usual table on the far side of the cafeteria. It was always like this on the first day back at school after the winter holidays, but this day had a bittersweet quality about it.
Today, we were seniors.
It was our last first day back. I’d never get to experience this again.
“Uh, oh, she’s wearing it again,” my best friend, Mandy, announced as I set my tray on the table across from her. She looked me up and down, her long, blonde ponytail draped over her shoulder and her blue eyes twinkling with laughter. “It’s the look.”
Mandy practically lived year-round in yoga pants and sporty jackets that popped at the collar, and today was no exception. As a state-champion long distance runner, she liked to stay work-out ready—whatever that meant. The only times I liked to sweat were summer days spent on the beach or during the season finale of The Bachelor.
“What look?” I asked, confused.
Audrey Black, the final piece of our BFF trio, sat beside Mandy. She was already halfway through a burrito bowl with extra guac. While Audrey and I both shared long, brunette curls, she was the shorter of the two of us, with large, brown eyes, a porcelain complexion, and a biting wit. She was the rock star of our group, and the owner of a killer voice and song-writing talent to boot.
Wagging her eyebrows, Audrey shot me a smile. “The I-can’t-believe-we’re-graduating-life-is-officially-over look?”
They both tried to suppress their giggles as I sat daintily on the edge of my seat and blinked at them.
“I know you guys think I’m pathetic, but this is serious. We’re experiencing a year of lasts. Last first day. Last winter break. Last semester. And pretty soon, it’ll be our last lunch together at this very table. I’m going to miss it so much, I think my heart might break.”
I didn’t like being negative. Usually, I was the one telling everyone to look on the bright side. Be the light. It was all a part of my vision board at home.
This summer, I’d cut out pictures of everything I wanted to accomplish for the year and tacked them above my desk. It reminded me daily of the art pieces I wanted to create, the fun times I wanted to have with my best friends, and the colleges my parents wanted me to get into. Smack dab in the middle was a Bob Marley graphic with the don’t worry, be happy quote. And written in my neat handwriting below it was a goal to bring everyone in my life a little bit of happiness – including myself.
Apparently, I needed to start staring at my vision board a little longer.
Audrey and Mandy exchanged a look, their smiles dissolving. They reached across the table and each took one of my hands, holding them tight.
“This might be our last year, but we’ve still got a lot of firsts coming our way,” Audrey said, her lips curving into a hopeful smile. “I mean, look at me. Just this year alone, I’ve had my first performance. First kiss. First boyfriend.”
She blushed and ducked her head, no doubt thinking about her stud of a boyfriend, Collin Preston. They were perfect for each other and I just couldn’t handle the cuteness.
Mandy squeezed my hand and leaned closer, her eyebrows raising. “And so you know, just because it’s our last year, doesn’t mean it’s over for us. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Or me,” Audrey added.
“Okay, okay, I’m convinced.” Laughter burst from my mouth, at once easing the heavy mood that had fallen on me that morning. They were right. It may be our last year at Rock Valley High, but we had a lot of new things to experience. “And speaking of firsts, I’m starting on the senior class project today with Mrs. Drew, so I guess I can’t be in such a bad mood after all.”
“I can’t wait to see what it looks like when you’re finished.” Audrey made a face. “Because honestly, I don’t know how you can see art in a bunch of scrap metal. Seriously, I would be more likely to get tetanus in that heap.”
I laughed again and thought fondly of my little heap of twisted metal. Mrs. Drew had agreed to store it for me in the art room supply closet so that I could work on it during my Advanced Art class in third period. Every year, the graduating class gifted something to the school and this year the seniors had voted on a sculpture made by yours truly to grace the prestigious lawns of Rock Valley High. It was my very first art commission. I couldn’t have been more happy and nervous at the same time.
Art was in my blood. In my soul. I couldn’t imagine going a day without creating something. My fingers itched if I didn’t put a paintbrush to canvas or dig my hands into some modeling clay. It was an addiction of the best kind. And this was the first time I felt like a true artist.
At least that part of my vision board was coming true.
As I thought about my life as an artist, my gaze drifted across the lunch room. It landed on Mason Finnick, sitting at the table mostly settled by his fellow basketball players. He seemed focused on his lunch, hardly caring to look up and join in the conversations buzzing around him. As usual, he wore a dark and brooding expression. He wouldn’t have looked out of place at a funeral.
I allowed myself to stare at him as he chomped on his burger and fries. Mason had popped up into my thoughts a lot over the last weekend of winter break. I’d never met someone so surly. So stubbornly moody.
It made me wonder if he’d been born that way, like he’d come straight out of his mom with heavy eyebrows and a disapproving look for the nurses. Maybe he had a collage of school pictures hanging up at his home, each of them featuring a scowling little Mason in miniature. The thought nearly made me snort into my glass of water.
But then Mason looked up suddenly from his meal, our gazes met, and I ended up choking on a gulp of water instead. Mandy reached across the table to pat me hard on the back as my face turned red and my lungs tried to eject the fluid into my napkin. When it was all clear and I could breathe again, I finally had to the nerve to look up. Mason was gone, his seat abandoned, and his tray nowhere to be seen.
“He’s a ninja,” I whispered.