PART ONE: THE GRASS IS ALWAYS GREENER ON THE OTHER SIDE

This story started when everything crumbled around me.

Mr. Davies, counsellor of Metropolitan High School, called me into his office during homeroom the second week of senior year. Mr. Davies was my favorite teacher through the four years of high school. He was strict but fair, and had understood my papa's ambitions from the first time I walked into his office as a freshman, demanding his best possible guidance to ensure a smooth admission into a business school program with a full scholarship. I needed all the extra help I could get, considering Metro High was not a top tier institution and my parents couldn't really afford putting my sister or I in one. It was a catch-22 with a goal that still had to be met.

So we created a plan. Straight A's were a given, but what would really help me stand out was the extra curricular activities. And boy, did I get involved in many.

During my freshman year I got into the school newspaper, which I'd kept up ever since. I also volunteered for fundraising projects for the school's sports teams. The highlight was last year when, as a junior, I was part of the committee that raised money to send our team to State, but even though I made sure there was a nice article on the paper highlighting my participation, the entire spotlight went to the baseball team's assistant manager, a senior girl whose baseball-craze put her in the real papers and news outlets, courtesy of the efforts of her best friend. The whole thing ensured them super easy admissions to college. I tried not to be bitter about it, because it wasn't like she and I were competing for the same spot. After graduation she and her boyfriend became school legends and I realized I had to step up my efforts to shine as well.

Over the last summer I volunteered at a retirement home and hated every second of it. The residents were such lovely people that it was easy to get attached to them. Mistake. After the second death during my tenure I started brainstorming other ideas that were less emotionally taxing but just as touching.

I came up blank.

As soon as senior year started I ran into Mr. Davies' office with the plight, and he vowed to mull it over. One week later and as I marched through the hallways towards his office, my heart beating at the same rhythm as my feet, I hoped to God that he'd found a killer idea. Pun not intended.

I knocked on his door and entered as he called me in. I sat down across his desk and lowered my tote bag to the floor and waited while he rifled through the contents of a folder labelled AURORA MARIA MARTINEZ FERNANDEZ. My file.

"Rory," he said with a sigh, flipping the pages. "Let me just say that I don't really see what the problem is."

I drew in a sharp breath and reminded myself that nothing would come out of lashing out at my best ally.

"I'm sorry, what do you mean?"

He looked up and pushed his dark rimmed glasses up his nose. "Your grades are flawless, you've been consistent in your extracurriculars and your application is really good. Why do you think you're not ready?"

"Because I'm not."

This was obvious to me, but it seemed like I was going to have to explain myself further.

"Mr. Davies," I started. "Have you seen the admission statistics for the main colleges in the state?" I leaned forward, eyes wide. "UCF, UF, even Rollins are receiving tens of thousands more applicants every year. They're starting to give more weight to out of state applicants because they bring in more money into the state. Scholarships are being reduced. Really good is just not going to cut it anymore."

He cringed, and even though I caught the crazy tone in my voice I didn't hold it back. He needed to understand.

"I need to have a story that makes me stand out." I wrung my hands because admitting this aloud was a huge deal, but here it was. I took a deep breath and said, "I need a story as cool as Peyton O'Hare's or Ellen Young's."

His eyebrows went up.

A beat of silence passed where I folded my hands on my lap. Mr. Davies' chair squeaked as he leaned back.

"Not every application has to be like theirs to stand out, you know?"

I gritted my teeth just so that I wouldn't roll my eyes.

"You're right," I said diplomatically. "Why stop at a Peyton when colleges can have a Rory too, am I right?"

This finally wrenched a smile out of him and I knew I finally made him see the light.

"Okay, okay." He lifted his palms up. "I'm not saying I'm not going to help. I don't think you need it, but there's no harm in trying."

"Thank you," I said.

"But, you may not like what I've come up with."

This time my eyebrows were the ones going up. "What do you have in mind?"

Mr. Davies looked down at my file and closed it. By now he probably had memorized the whole thing. Just like I had.

"Everything in this file is good, but the one thing that you're missing is something like..."

As he trailed off in search of the words, I leaned forward, hoping I could catch them. His attention came back to me and I wasn't sure what the look on his face was supposed to be. Pity? Fear?

"Something selfless."

I scrunched up my face. "I don't understand."

"Everything you've done has brought you a benefit." When it was clear I did not compute, he continued, "The school paper you're part of coincidentally put you on the spotlight for your involvement in fundraising activities-"

I muttered, "I wasn't the only one in the spotlight."

He gave me a look as he continued, "And you only volunteered at that retirement home because the grandmother of the principal lives there. You were hoping for a recommendation from him."

I sank into my chair as my face burned. I didn't think he'd catch onto that little tidbit.

"Okay, okay, I see your point," I said, folding my arms. "Then what should I do?"

Mr. Davies smiled. "I know just the thing. It's big, bold and selfless because it will help someone else more than it'll help you. And whatever you learn from that experience—which, trust me, will be a lot—can make your application sing."

I was on the edge of my seat now. "Tell me."

"You could help Sawyer Logan graduate."

And just as quickly he lost me.

I picked up my bag and stood up.

"Well, I guess we still have time to think about it a little," I said as I hoisted it on my shoulder. "There's one month until early admissions begin."

"Rory."

I was aghast that he'd use the same tone of voice on me as he would on... Sawyer Logan! Or any other kid in this school who had no respect for authority, basic manners and punctuality.

I stomped my foot. "No."

"Why not?" my former-favorite teacher asked all calm and smooth. "He just needs some tutoring-"

My eyes bulged. "He's beyond tutoring and you know it. It'll be a complete waste of my time and I'm not about to risk my grades to try to get his on track."

Mr. Davies shrugged. "Like I said, something selfless."

"This is unreasonable."

"Such is life," he said with a shrug. The bell went off at that moment, which was lucky or he'd have heard the sound of my teeth sawing off their own enamel. "I'll put together a study plan for you to try."

I turned at the door and looked at him, "I haven't said yes."

But he smiled. "Come see me when you make up your mind."

The fact that in between the lines he was assuming I'd accept kept my temperature up the rest of the day. I was so mad that I couldn't take notes during class. Instead my pen started stroking lines on the paper of my notebook, as if driven by itself to paint a picture of my anger. It wasn't fair, I thought as I traced figures in black ink. It wasn't fair that I worked so hard, both at home and at school, and there was still nothing that could make anyone pick me apart from the crowd. Or that the one option I'd been given was a landmine.

I understood Mr. Davies' point. There were hundreds, if not thousands of other kids out there who had an education just like mine or better, vying for the same goals. Some of them had more money, and with that the liberty to pick and choose their school, so I had to compete with the ones who didn't, the desperate ones, the ones with sob stories. The problem was that I didn't have a sob story, and that was also what hadn't got me that elusive scholarship I applied for at Trinity High School last year.

I released a breath so harsh that my best friend Lina Tachibana, sitting across from me, turned and gave me a concerned glance. The scribbles on my notebook caught her attention until I closed it and gave her a smile. Enough that she'd stop paying attention.

Once class was over she confirmed just how not over it that she was.

"You're drawing again," she said as we walked down the hallway, trying to find Courtney so we could grab lunch. I pretended to be more interested in the search of our friend than on what she was saying. "That's good, but it means something's got you in a twist."

"Ah, there she is," I said with the snap of my fingers, completely ignoring what she said.

The masses parted to give way to Courtney Johnson. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as she turned, the sweep of her blonde hair following after her like a breeze brought it to life. Her rosy lips stretched into a smile as she saw us and pushed a guy out of her way so that she could make way for us. I noticed how the guy stumbled on his own feet and slammed back against the lockers, but it didn't matter, because if the besotted look on his face was anything to go by, the fact that she put her hand on him was the best thing that had happened to him all week.

"Hello, bitches," she greeted us with a hug that contradicted her choice of words. "I'm so glad we have the same lunch period, otherwise I'd go insane."

Lina and I exchanged a smile.

"Insane from all the adoration?" Lina asked her.

"Or maybe from the suffocating boy cologne from your admirers?" I asked.

Courtney rolled her blue eyes to the sky. "From boredom. They're all so basic."

We linked our arms without caring that this narrowed the hallways down for everybody. With Courtney in the middle, people just made way for us. The three of us hadn't always been a unit and what brought us together wasn't anything to write home about, but a simple school project at the start of sophomore year. Ever since we were inseparable.

We sat at our usual table by the window, and while I busied myself setting up my lunch, Lina sneaked past my defenses and pulled out my notepad.

"Ah hah!" she said, flipping it open to the scribbles that I could now tell made a collage of angst. I groaned and tried to take it from her, but she was fast and tossed it over to Courtney.

"Hmm." Her eyes scanned the whole page. "These would make cool tattoos. I keep saying you should draw more."

"Stop," I told them. "Give me that."

"I agree," Lina said as she bit into her tuna sandwich. "You're wasting your talents."

"I'm not-"

She cut me off with, "Occasional illustrations for the school paper don't count."

I rolled my eyes and extended my hand toward Courtney, trying to imbue my tone of voice with all the finality in the world. "Return my notebook right now."

"Geez, have at it."

I put it back in my bag, zipped it closed and sat on it. Just in case they had any more ideas.

"Not a word," I told them.

I could tell that they were bursting with more than one word. Ever since they discovered two summers ago that I liked to draw, they were bent on me making something out of it. It didn't matter that I told them I was not good at it and not interested, if I had a smudge of pencil or ink on my hand it guaranteed funny looks from the two of them. Especially since they knew I mostly drew when I was upset.

"Rory," Courtney said, trailing off my name in a nasal way that made me bite into my arepa with more furor.

Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I caved.

"Okay, fine. I'm mad," I said. My friends positioned themselves the better to receive the gospel, and so I told them about the conversation with Mr. Davies. My temper took a turn for the worse when all they did was laugh.

"Oh my God, that is so rich." Courtney grabbed onto her stomach like it hurt.

Lina was in the middle of her gasp, choke, laughter combo. "No way."

"Exactly," I said as I folded my arms. "It's ridiculous."

"No, you are ridiculous." My jaw dropped as Courtney said this. She wiped a tear from her eye and still chuckling said. "The bar is set so low. All you have to do is prove that you tried to help someone in need, and how great of a person that makes you. It doesn't matter if he passes his classes or not."

My mouth flapped closed and open. I hadn't thought of it that way. I'd been too focused on how much of a pain tutoring him would be to realize this.

"Plus, there's another key fact," Lina picked up from where Courtney had left. She looked around before leaning forward, pulling us along as though she were about to share a great secret. "He's not hard to look at, you know?"

I pulled back with a grimace. "Ugh, who cares?"

The murmur that travelled through the cafeteria at that instant seemed to answer that... everybody did. The whole school.

As if on cue, we turned to the source to find him, Sawyer Logan, strutting into the place like he owned it.

He was one of those guys who had to do absolutely nothing to command attention. It was all in the ever present curve of his lips, the deep set of his lead grey eyes that seemed to penetrate through walls. He walked nimble, like an athlete, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist that didn't seem to belong to a seventeen year old teenage boy. I had seen grown ass women melt in his presence. I had seen grown ass men bend over backwards to feel cool in his presence. Most of our classmates worshipped him as much as they feared him. The faculty members avoided him. Girls fought for him and some had even broken up with their boyfriends for a chance with him.

I'd made it a principle in life to not fall for the facade. I knew better than anyone in this school where he came from. His dad was a scoundrel, a drunk, and papa should never have hired him from his job at our first car shop.

Papa had recently decided to give Sawyer a chance to prove he did fall far from the tree by hiring him as an apprentice at the old shop as he transferred some of our veteran mechanics to the new franchise we opened last year. I thought it was a terrible mistake—just like everything about Sawyer was.

Somehow his eyes found me as he made his way to the vending machines and I froze, fearing that somehow he was able to read my mind. But I needn't have worried, because the next second his attention was pulled away when he bumped into Taylor Banks, the new catcher of the baseball team, and the excitement in the cafeteria ratcheted up at the confrontation between two of the hottest male commodities.

"Think they'll finally come to blows?" Courtney asked, resting her chin on her hand. "I mean, their feud's been going strong and it's about time."

Lina swiveled around and her eyes lit up, spotting her boyfriend among the group of boys. "Oh, there's Matt. I asked him to bring me some chips."

I snorted and bit into my food, from the corner of my eye catching as Taylor looked down at Sawyer, never mind the fact that the latter was taller.

Lexie Cooper emerged from the throngs of people like the leading character of a play. She stood between her ex and her new beau with such drama that it clogged the air I was breathing. While they squabbled over their petty grudges, I had more important things to worry about and I didn't see how Sawyer was the solution to any of them.