I sneak a peek at the group currently competing. Their bot is doing well, and they’ve only knocked over one tube. Not bad, but I’ve seen others complete the task more quickly. They’re no threat.
I won’t be either if I pass out.
“Relax,” Enzo says, laying his free hand on my shoulder. The other holds our sizing box, which houses our robot, replacement batteries, and other supplies we might need while competing. “We’re going to kill it.”
“I like your confidence,” I tell him, my voice sounding pitchy. I press my hands to my thighs, wiping my sweaty palms on my black dress pants. This can’t be over soon enough. “I couldn’t have done this without you. Thanks for saving my butt.”
“Please,” he says, waving me off. “When we win first place and I add it to my resume, I’ll be thanking you.”
The team ahead of us collects their robot and vacates the arena. I swallow and force myself to put one foot in front of the other as Enzo and I move into position. The judges watch intently as we set up Sparky—Enzo’s pet name for our bot—and verify its remote is synced. We only have sixty seconds to set up. Then it’s on to the presentation portion. Once Sparky is powered up, I turn to the judges.
All eight of them.
Which is nothing compared to the countless bodies milling around the arena, pressing closer to hear about Sparky’s design.
Oh, God. This would be so much easier if I had a familiar face in the crowd. But Mom’s working and Becca’s got an away game and Austin…Austin’s abandoning me the one time I need him most. He promised to be here and he’s not. I’m alone. And I’m going to pass out and ruin our chances at winning. Everything we worked so hard for, out the window because of my stupid fear. No awards ceremony. No job offers. No—
Enzo squeezes my shoulder, and I realize we’re on the clock.
I lick my lips, trying to close the lid on my fear. The judges are just people. Super-smart engineering people, but people nonetheless. Even if they hate our presentation, it’ll be over soon.
I picture my mom in my mind’s eye. She may not be here to see me compete, but I can’t give up now. She didn’t raise a quitter.
I swallow the lump in my throat and force a smile to my lips.
Enzo smiles in return.
“Good afternoon,” I say, my voice warbling. “I’m Kennedy Carter.” My stomach rolls and I flatten my lips, praying I don’t lose my lunch. “This is my partner En—Lorenzo Gonzalez. We’re Team— We’re Team Spark.”
The judges smile and I force myself to push forward. I’ve practiced this speech more than a dozen times in front of the mirror. I can do this. It’s practically muscle memory at this point. I walk them through Sparky’s key design elements, while Enzo showcases the robot. My hands shake, but I don’t pass out and I breathe a sigh of relief when it’s over. The Q&A goes quickly and Enzo fields a particularly difficult question about the balance system, but otherwise, we survive unscathed and move on to the timed trial. My hands are still shaking, so despite all the prep work I’ve done to master the art of pick and place, I give Enzo the remote.
“You sure?” he asks, surprise etched on his face. “This is your baby.”
“Absolutely.” He’s worked just as hard as I have to prepare, and I trust him to have a steadier hand. “If we advance to the head-to-head round, I’ll get my shot.”
I watch, chewing my thumbnail, as he races to collect the balls one at a time and deposit them in the drop box. He does well, not dropping a single ball, but times won’t be posted until tomorrow afternoon, so it’s a waiting game. My gut says we’ll advance, but it could be wishful thinking.
Once Sparky is packed securely in his box, we decide to head out. No point hanging around to watch other teams compete, and we have football practice soon. Besides, now that the adrenaline’s faded, a familiar sense of disappointment’s creeped in to take its place.
Austin didn’t show.
He promised he’d be here to support me, and he didn’t show up. I check my phone, confirming what I already know. No missed calls. No texts. Nothing. The eternally naive part of my brain argues that maybe it’s not his fault. Maybe something happened, like a car accident, preventing him from being at the competition.
The more experienced part of my brain scoffs.
After all, I have enough experience with football players to know what it means to be stood up. To be left waiting with hope so powerful it cuts like a knife. I should have known better than to expect more from Austin. But no, I had to go and learn the hard way because maybe—just maybe—he’d be different.
I will not cry.
It’s the promise I make myself as Enzo and I push through the arena doors to the parking lot. The wind howls, but I hardly feel it as it scrapes across my skin. My eyes are stinging and tension rolls off my body in palpable waves. Enzo must feel it too because he’s gone silent.
We’re halfway to his car when I spot Austin jogging across the lot, cutting between rows of cars. My heart slams against my rib cage at the sight of him, and I’m reminded of the first time we met, when he chased me down to recruit me for the team. So much has changed since then, but not everything. Austin’s still as sexy as ever with his tone body, cocky grin, and crystalline blue eyes. There’s no denying he’s perfection.
Except in the way that matters most.
He slows to a stop in front of us, a bouquet of flowers hanging limply
