Chapter 1
The hallway smells like floor wax and cheap cologne, but for me, it always smells like a challenge. I’m leaning against my locker, adjusting my volleyball knee pads, when the familiar sound of heavy cleats hits the linoleum. I don’t even have to look up to know it’s Andrew. He stops right in front of me, blocking the light, his shadow looming over my locker like he owns the wing. He’s wearing his varsity jacket—the one he knows makes him look twice as wide—and he’s tossing his Yamaha R7 keys in the air with that annoying, effortless rhythm.
“You’re in my way, Olivia,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly hum that usually makes the freshmen girls melt. For me, it’s just noise. I finally look up, meeting his smug gaze. He’s got that one lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, and his eyes are tracing my face with a look that’s half-mockery, half-interest. I tell him he’s the one with the vision problem if he thinks I’m the one moving. The tension between us is a physical thing, thick and warm, like a wire about to snap. We’ve been at this since middle school—the “Golden Boy” quarterback and the “Star Libero”—and every conversation is a game of chicken where nobody ever blinks.
