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I felt so lucky. I had Zack in two more afternoon classes, and that constant exposure to one another—in addition to going weekly to Chess Club—solidified our growing friendship. But my last class of the day had Ava in it.

The class was Biology II, a class I hadn’t been that thrilled about taking in the first place, but my counselor told me I couldn’t “go backwards” and take Earth Science now—bad enough that I was taking a non-honors version of English.

But if I took Earth Science, I’d be surrounded by freshmen, and I wouldn’t be building on knowledge from last year.

At least Mr. Lopez was my teacher. Of course, my counselor was pushing college track classes, but I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life. My mom really wanted me to get a college degree, but the occupations I was considering wouldn’t require a higher education.

But I’d signed up for biology and now I regretted it.

I’d sat near the front of the class, so I couldn’t miss Ava’s entrance.

When she walked in, I didn’t think to avert my eyes to give myself a minute to think of how to handle this awkward moment.

After all, she’d ignored the last three text messages I’d sent her.

It felt like betrayal.

So when our eyes locked, I made the effort to smile—and I was rewarded for the effort.

She smiled back, but it didn’t feel like an old friend smile.

It appeared phony—and I only knew that because Ava and I had been friends for so long.

But I told myself that it didn’t matter anymore, and I believed she no longer had a hold on me.

What I didn’t realize was how wrong I was.

Even though our friendship had fizzled, she still held sway over my emotions.

I still cared what she thought. Would I ever be able to let that go?

“Hi, Dani!” she said, sitting at a table away from me, communicating clearly that we would not be lab partners if she had any say in the matter. But she sat close enough to chat, and I got the feeling she did that simply so she’d have a diversion until something more interesting came along.

That pissed me off. I was only her friend or acquaintance or whatever when it suited her.

But there was still a tiny part of me that found it natural to defer to her and maybe even wanted her acceptance. “Hi, Ava. How’s it going?”

“Fabulous. I always knew I could do this.”

I knew what she meant by this , so I wasn’t going to ask. I didn’t want to hear how fabulous her life was without me. “What other classes are you taking?”

“History, English, dance, computer apps, choir.” Her choices didn’t surprise me, probably any more than mine would surprise her. But she didn’t reciprocate by asking me the same question. That, too, didn’t come as much of a shock.

But then a football player walked in the room, looked at Ava’s knee as she bounced her crossed leg up and down a few inches, then smiled the entire time his eyes traveled upward.

And, he, predictably, sat right behind her, helpless to resist. She took that as an invitation to talk.

Of course, he was more interesting than I was.

Why would my old friend treat me any better today?

It made me think of how different my friendship was with Zack and Braden.

With them, there were no games, no manipulation or backstabbing.

My friendship with them was honest. What I had with Ava was phony.

Even though her rejection hurt, it was a good lesson for me—identifying genuine relationships and separating them from ones that could damage.

The next day brought another huge moment.

At the time, it seemed like just another fun day at school, and if it was important for anyone, it was important for Zack.

But, really, it wasn’t. The boy had already made up his mind about where his life was going.

What I saw that Tuesday was simply the manifestation of the belief he had in his abilities.

Not only did he bring his sweet Schecter, he also brought along a decent, though small, amp that I later learned was a Boss Katana.

Instead of going to the cafeteria, we ate the crackers and cheese Zack had packed (having taken my advice the day before) and sat in the quad to hear him play.

Without asking for permission, he’d plugged in to the nearest outlet and played instrumental renditions of Ozzy’s “Crazy Train,” Korn’s “Blind,” and Guns and Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle” before a grouchy teacher ragged us out for noise and disrespect.

In defiance, Zack played with more fury until she actually unplugged his amp and continued playing the remainder of the song even without the juice.

Flipping off the teacher wouldn’t have had as much effect as that act. From that day on, Zack had the respect of many of our classmates. He was the kid who played, no matter what. He was a legend already.

Later on, he’d say that moment was in his top ten rebellious moments .

It was the first time I remembered feeling insanely jealous, because I saw the way some of the other girls were eyeing him. That covetous feeling in my gut, like an out-of-control monster quickly turned to silent anger smoldering under the surface.

Zack Ryan was mine. I liked him first.

Zack might have been drawing the ladies’ attention, but he was still a shy kid with little confidence. Although his maniacal guitar playing caught the eyes and captured the imaginations of most of the kids in our school, Zack still wasn’t convinced of his talent.

But I saw it. So did Braden.

And time flew. Zack got better and better and our friendship grew tighter.

Don’t get me wrong—I was lassoed into his friend zone big time, but by the end of our sophomore year, Zack, Braden, and I were considered a group of friends, officially recognized by the clique watchers in our school.

And both of them had their driver’s permits by the end of the school year.

I got mine over the summer, and grandpa practiced with me every day. Or, I should say, grandpa tolerated my horrible driving on a daily basis—but I got better at it.

Before I knew it, I was back at home and back in school for my junior year.

The atmosphere felt totally different, though.

Our class was no longer the underdogs, the unappreciated underclassmen.

We were now the class who would organize prom and prepare to lead the school once the seniors hit the road.

As always, my friend Zack never ceased to amaze me. The boy’s hair was almost longer than mine, he’d grown even taller than last year, and he’d become muscular.

He’d been cute before but now…he was hot .

Just as I’d felt jealous most of the previous year when other females were starting to notice him, I felt a bile churning in my gut as lots of girls eyed him that first day on the lawn in front of the school.

It was then that I had to admit to myself just how big a crush I had on my friend—and I had to ask myself just how fair it was to carry that torch for him when, first, I hadn’t completely expressed my feelings for him and, second, he didn’t seem like he would have been interested anyway.

From what I could tell from where his eyes wandered, Zack liked the cheerleader type.

Definitely not me.

He didn’t much seem to mind what her hair color or ethnicity were, just so long as she had a thin, flat waist, a bit of a butt, and large breasts.

He seemed to like heavy makeup, too. I didn’t stand a chance.

I was thin, sure, and my breasts were average, but I didn’t have an ass at all.

But maybe I could take care of the makeup part.

I couldn’t really blame Zack for loving the attention he was getting.

Until he’d wowed the school with his guitar-playing prowess, he’d been the fringe-nerdy kid, and even though Dalton was bigger than Nopal, he’d struggled with the same problem I had of having gone to school with mostly the same kids his whole life.

Now that he’d found his passion and shared it with the school, he was being viewed almost as though he was someone new entirely.

And how could I hold it against him that he was lapping it up like a thirsty dog?

Sometime in September, Zack, Braden, and I were in Chess Club.

There were a few more kids in there that year, and, even though Mr. Lopez was out sick that day, the librarian unlocked the door for us, because she figured we’d behave ourselves.

Still, she gave Zack a side eye on our way in.

Without Mr. Lopez, we had an odd man out (because even though Mr. Lopez didn’t always play, he did when a kid wouldn’t be able to without him), but Braden said he’d just watch Zack and me.

It was funny, because even though we’d both played chess with other people off and on, I wound up playing against Zack more often than not and I was doing it again.

Zack usually won.

As we were setting up the pieces, Braden asked, “Have you guys ever played three-dimensional chess?”

“Like from Star Trek?”

“Yeah.” Braden pushed his caramel hair out of his eyes, growing it out just like his best friend.

Maybe he felt strange being a clean-cut boy next to his shaggy friend, or maybe he thought it could score him some chicks like Zack.

With his cute baby face, Braden could get away with just about anything.

I shook my head to Braden’s question, but Zack said, “Once. I’m lucky to be able to keep regular chess straight. Three-dimensional is too much.”

Once the pieces were set up, I swiveled the board around so that the black pieces that Zack had placed on his side were now on mine. “You go first this time.”

The way he arched an eyebrow made me melt. Damn. These feelings I had for this boy were going to kill me. “It’s supposed to be ladies first.”

“No more. I want to change my luck. If you really care about making me happy just because I’m female, then let me play black this time.”