Page 6 of As You Walk On

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PROMPOSAL GONE WRONG

“Chloe Campbell’s SpringBreak Bash.”

Brook-Oak’s north wing hall is eternally crowded. Students collide in every direction trying to get to their next class. I almost don’t hear Jay over the after-lunch rush.

“Huh?” I ask, head mostly buried in my locker.

The walls and lockers are striped cerulean, gold, and ivory, our school’s colors. Please don’t refer to them as blue-green, amber, or white unless you want to face the wrath of alumni donors or a barrage ofThe Devil Wears Pradamemes.

I pluck out my beat-up copy ofThe Catcher in the Ryefor Mr.London’s class. Not my favorite book. At least he’s letting us pair it withAristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, which I’m loving. I stuff the paperback into my JanSport before shouldering my door closed, pivoting to face Jay.

“Second chance!” he announces. “Tomorrow night.”

“At Chloe’s party?”

“Yes!”

“Sounds like a scam,” Darren says before I can, sidling up to us.

“It’s happening, my dudes,” Jay insists.

“How?” I ask.

He tightens his topknot, then beams as if he’s not just insinuated we waltz into a party hosted by the senior captain of the girls’ varsity basketball team.

Brook-Oak isn’t as cliquey as it appears on the surface. From the beginning of freshman year, students are divvied up into our respective programs: High School University; Science, Math, and Technology; Journalism/Media; Visionary Arts; and Young Performers of Tomorrow. Yearly, hundreds of kids from across Jefferson County apply. Acceptance for the first three programs is decided by your academic performance in middle school, plus testing in. Auditions are required for the VA and YPT programs.

After that, everyone’s in survival mode. Magnet schools are competitive. You tend to figure out who your people are after seeing the same faces for a minimum of 180 days a year. Drama kids socialize with other YPT kids. STEM students chill with other science-y, tech-y, engineer-y, and math-y students. Band kids are tight-knit. Athletes befriend other athletes.

Chloe’s never hovered in TNT’s little social hemisphere, though. And I avoid the basketball team for... reasons.

“It doesn’t matter how,” says Jay. “We’re in!”

“That means Jayla’s involved,” teases Darren.

Jay doesn’t deny it.

“Perfect,” I sigh.

Jayla Owens is a junior on the cheer squad. She’s pretty with pale brown eyes almost the same color as her complexion. Flocks of guys have been thirsting over her since forever. How she ended up with Jay is beyond me.

Especially since Jayla and I briefly dated.

I mean, what’s dating in sixth grade other than a kiss on the cheek at a school dance, then a “Check yes if you like me” note passed around the following Monday morning?

Anyway, our tweenmance didn’t end amicably.

I broke things off. Every day was nausea-inducing, knowing I didn’tlike-likeher back. Guilt is so exhausting. After I told her, she shoved me in the chest, and I cried behind the jungle gym at recess. Two understandable, if not dramatic, reactions.

A year later, I came out.

I’ve heard that’s why she’s not my biggest fan. We haven’t talked much, despite her dating my best friend.

“Tomorrow night. The dare’s still on,” Jay says, unearthing two energy bars from his backpack. He passes both to me. “You can’t maintain proper energy off just pretzel bites, bro.”

“Thanks.” I tear into a bar. Peanut butter caramel, my favorite. Damn, Jay’s always looking out for me.

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