Worth the Fall

Chapter 2

Five Years Ago

“Mom, hurry up! I’m gonna be late! It’s my first day!” I shout from downstairs.

“I’m coming!” she yells back. “I had to make sure Stacy and Sierra had everything they need. Your dad’s taking Nathan, so that leaves me with you.”

A second later, she comes rushing down the stairs, purse halfway on her shoulder, hair still in a claw clip, looking exactly like every overworked mother in America.

She kisses the top of my head in passing before darting toward the kitchen.

“Mom,” I groan, following after her, “let’s go. We’re gonna be late.”

“I need coffee,” she says, already reaching for the Keurig like it’s life support. “Take the keys and start the car. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Mom.”

“No caffeine, no parenting.”

Honestly? Fair.

I grab the keys off the counter and head outside.

The morning air is cool, crisp enough to make my stomach twist harder.

Today is the first day of forever.

Today is the day everything changes.

Today is my first day of senior year at my new school.

Which sounds exciting in theory and mildly nauseating in practice.

I used to go to public school with my twin sisters, Stacy and Sierra. Our older brother, Nathan, is already in college, living his best life and probably not thinking about us at all unless he needs gas money.

As for me, I’ve been working toward one thing for as long as I can remember.

Dartmouth.

That has always been the dream.

I have a 4.3 GPA, a color-coded planner that could qualify as a controlled substance, and enough academic anxiety to power a small city.

Valedictorian is within reach.

Or at least it was.

Then my old counselor sat me down last year and politely informed me that getting into Harvard from a public school—even with my grades—would be an uphill battle.

Which was a super fun thing to hear at sixteen.

So she encouraged me to apply for private schools across California—schools known for sending students straight into Ivy Leagues like it’s some kind of assembly line for overachievers and future politicians.

I applied.

Mostly because she told me to.

Not because I thought I’d actually get in.

And definitely not because I thought we could afford it.

My dad is a dentist, and my mom is a realtor, so we’ve never been poor by any means—but a family of six is expensive. We’ve always had what we needed, and honestly, I never wanted much more than that.

I just wanted a future.

A really specific, aggressively ambitious future.

Then, four weeks ago, right in the middle of summer, a letter showed up in the mail.

Not only had I been accepted to Pacific Sands Academy—

I got a full scholarship.

And just like that, the future I had been clawing toward my entire life suddenly felt real.

Possible.

Close enough to touch.

The drive to school is an hour each way.

Which means my parents are basically donating four hours of their lives to my education every single day, and if that doesn’t motivate me to succeed, honestly, nothing will.

I worry it’ll become too much eventually.

That they’ll get tired.

That the gas money, the time, the exhaustion, all of it will pile up until one day we decide this was a nice idea in theory and I’ll end up right back where I started.

But my parents believe in my future just as much as I do.

And one day, I’ll make sure every second of this was worth it.

Walking through the front doors of Pacific Sands feels like stepping into another world.

Everything is bigger.

Brighter.

Cleaner.

More expensive.

Like someone built an entire school out of generational wealth and passive aggression.

I head to the administration office first, where I talk to the dean, meet some of the faculty, and try not to visibly sweat through my shirt while my guidance counselor explains my course load and all the academic expectations tied to my scholarship.

Apparently, if my GPA falls below a 3.8, I’m out.

No pressure.

No pressure at all.

Just one tiny misstep away from total academic annihilation.

Love that for me.

By the time I leave the office, I’m already running late for first period.

And then I get lost.

Immediately.

Because apparently Pacific Sands is less of a school and more of a small private university for rich teenagers.

The hallways stretch forever. The buildings connect in ways that make no architectural sense. There are courtyards, fountains, and at least one staircase that looked decorative and emotionally judgmental.

I’m halfway to a panic spiral when I spot a guy and a girl leaning against a row of lockers.

Not in class.

Of course.

I hesitate for half a second before heading their way.

The girl is pretty in a polished, intimidating kind of way, but it’s the guy that catches my attention first.

Mostly because I can only see him from the back—and even from behind, he looks like trouble.

Messy jet black hair.

Broad shoulders.

Tattoos curling down one arm.

I blink.

He can’t be older than seventeen, and yet he already looks like someone’s regrettable life choice.

Interesting.

I clear my throat, trying not to interrupt… whatever this is.

The guy turns around.

And the air leaves my lungs so fast I’m surprised I don’t actually tip over.

Oh.

Oh, wow.

His hair is dark and messy, hanging just over eyes so blue they almost don’t look real.

His skin is pale, his features sharp but unfairly beautiful, and there’s something about the way he looks at me—half bored, half curious—that makes my brain completely short-circuit.

For one deeply humiliating second, I forget how to be a person.

Then, because apparently my survival instincts have abandoned me, I open my mouth and say the dumbest thing possible.

“Hello, can you help me?”

(Chapter Theme song: Say You Won't Let Go by James Arthur)