The evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of fresh-cut grass and spring blossoms drifting from the gardens that lined Eastbridge High. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and lavender, while the students trickled out of the library, chattering about prom night, dresses, and who was going with whom.
Jacob Whitaker lingered by the side of the library building, his back against the wall, his hands jammed deep into his pockets. He had spent the entire day wrestling with his nerves, running through dozens of scenarios in his head—what he would say, how she might respond, how he could make the whole thing less awkward.
Paul’s words echoed in his mind like a mantra. “You’ve got nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Give it a shot.”
Jacob exhaled
