“But really, are we going to let Taylor win?” I say, sliding my paintbrush against the blank background.
Ella doesn’t look away from her work. “I think we might. Like you said, we’re both busy with everything else, and now that grades don’t matter for…”
Her voice trails off. This is the closest we’ve gotten to discussing Citrus Scholar since our newfound truce. It would be easier to let the words disappear and then move onto another subject, but we can only avoid this topic for so long. We’re almost halfway through the year. One of us is going to be awarded the scholarship whether or not we talk about it. But not talking about it? It might ruin whatever is happening here.
I set my paintbrush down. “Why do you want to be Citrus Scholar so badly?’
Her head snaps toward me. Wariness fills her narrowed eyes. I get it. Our history is rocky between lifelong competition and family drama. We have to tread lightly every time we hang out. I don’t fault her for being suspicious.
“I’ll go first,” I say. “Part of it was beating you. I don’t know why you get under my skin, but you do. Even now.”
Ella’s knuckles turn white as she grips her paintbrush. That was a terrible opener, but it’s true. Some of winning was just making sure she lost. While I don’t say that part outright, I know she understands. There’s a certain expectation that comes from a rivalry that started before you were even born.
“But it’s not just that. As you know, my grandma started the trust. My parents have never come out and said what would happen if one of us didn’t get Citrus Scholar because I don’t think the thought of us failing has ever crossed their minds.”
Ella’s body relaxes slightly. She sets the paintbrush down, but she still doesn’t say anything.
“My parents aren’t the warm and fuzzy type. They put on a show for the public, but I wonder how much of their love is conditional on my performance. I wonder what will happen to me, to David, if we don’t meet their expectations.” A drop of paint falls onto the concrete floor. I use my fingers to clean it up. “I’ve never said that to anyone, not even David. It’s too embarrassing to think that your parents might not love you.”
“I won’t say anything,” Ella says.
I look up at her with a sad smile. “I know.”
We sit in silence for a moment before Ella speaks. “I also wanted to win so I could beat you.”
I raise my brows.
“Don’t act surprised. There’s a certain pleasure that comes from seeing you dumbfounded.”
“Wow. That is savage.” I whistle low. “So other than our rivalry and enjoying inflicting pain on me, why do you want it so much?”
“It’s a full ride to college.”
“But you’re smart enough to get a full ride to lots of places. Why do you want to be Citrus Scholar?”
“Because I need to know that I can go anywhere I want.” She rubs her hand over her face, leaving a small smudge of green paint on her cheek. “I need to get away from my crazy family. From my convict dad and my mom who…” She stops and shakes her head. “I need to get out of Florida. And I’m afraid that I can’t do that without Citrus Scholar. I don’t have a safety net, Connor. My mom doesn’t have any money, and I can only save so much from tutoring.” Her eyes shine with unshed tears.
For the first time, I understand why this scholarship is so important to her. That doesn't mean I can concede, though. I was serious when I said I don't know how my parents will react if I don’t get it. I may end up in a similar situation as Ella, with no safety net.
“I wish we weren’t competing against each other. I hate that one of us winning means the other loses.”
“Yeah, me too.”
This really sucks. I hate that there’s no easy solution.One of us will not get the scholarship in the end, and the idea of that person being Ella actually hurts. Before I can count all the reasons why this is a bad idea, I scoot over and take her hand. Surprisingly, she lets me. Her skin is warm as I give her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re so smart, Ella. You can get a full-ride to a college in another state. I know it.”
“Thanks.”
“No matter where you end up, they’ll be lucky to have you.”
When she smiles up at me, my heart skips a beat.
I don’t know how I didn’t see it before, but she’s gorgeous. Her eyes are the same shade as the water at Anna Maria Island—a perfect, clear blue. The hint of freckles that cover the bridge of her nose like seashells coating the beach after a storm. And her blond hair, light like the first rays of sunshine that come with sunrise.
It’s pulled back right now, but she always has stubborn pieces that fall loose. A couple of strands are dangerously close to the green paint that’s still on her cheek. I lean forward so I can reach her face with my free hand and push the strands back. Then I use my thumb to wipe the paint away. Her skin is so soft, and my fingers tingle as they linger on her face. Then she wets her lips.
Ella thinks I’m going to kiss her.
My stomach flips as I realize I want to.
