1
The Ruining
Jenna
Age sixteen
“And now, for the senior division, ages sixteen to eighteen, the winner is...”
I wring my hands as the announcer opens the envelope. I already know which name he’s going to call. Killian Ashcroft. It’s always him. Every single time since I started competing four years ago. Yet I can’t stop hoping.
He pulls out the piece of paper, and disappointment churns in my stomach even before he reads the name.
“Jenna Winters,” he announces.
It takes me a moment to realize what he’s saying, and when the words register, they stun me into place.I just sit there, gawking.
“Jenna, where are you? Come up here,” the man on the stage says.
The girl beside me, who won the intermediate division for her beautiful interpretation of Chopin’s Nocturne in A-flat Major, leans in. “Isn’t that you?”
Turning my head, I meet a warm, friendly smile.
“Congratulations,” she says. “I was rooting for you. Now get up there and claim your prize.” She waves her own trophy.
I get up on shaky legs and approach the stage. The concert hall becomes a blur around me, clapping beating all around me, urging me on. My multi-layered dusty pink dress sways around my hips as I ascend the stairs, the silver streaks glittering under the lights.
Realization kicks in when I set foot on the stage and walk toward the trophy the announcer is holding toward me. Taking it in my hands is surreal. My first golden trophy. I have plenty of silver and bronze ones on my shelf at home, but I’d almost given up the hopes of adding a golden one to the collection.
A smile spreads over my face when I turn toward the audience and take a bow.Finally.Hours upon hours of arduous practice since I was six have paid off. My heart skips a beat as I take in the moment.Mymoment. The clapping, the sleek metal in my hand, and the lights.
But my smile withers when I straighten and my eyes catch on Killian. The guy whoalwaysbeats me. The guy whose attention I crave even more than this trophy. I thought winning would finally make him look at me differently, but his expression remains hard and unforgiving as usual. No, worse. Almost angry.
Why couldn’t I be one year younger than him, so I could win without beating him?
Guilt washes over me as I walk over the stage, feeling his gaze fix on me.This is his trophy, and I somehow took it.
When I reach the floor and look again, his dad is watching me too. Ian Ashcroft.World-renowned pianist and the one massive advantage Killian has over me, making him unbeatable.
Meeting Ian’s gaze knocks the air from my lungs. It’s even worse than Killian’s. Severe, almost castigating, bearing theweight of mature authority. I feel it lingering—a palpable threat—even as I avert my gaze.
I swallow hard, feeling like I’ve done something wrong. Yet I can’t help looking again, pausing by my seat. Something about him draws me in. Maybe it’s the eerie similarities to his son—my crush since I was six. If it wasn’t for the white streaks in his dark hair, the lines in his face, and the competent authority he exudes, it would be easy to mistake the two for brothers. They share the same sharp bone structure, piercing blue eyes, and an arrogant dismissiveness toward people they consider below them. Even their dark hair is combed back in the same sleek hairdo, and their suits are the same deep blue color.
Swallowing hard, I sink into my seat. The trophy is heavy in my hands as the girl beside me clinks hers against it, lifting her shoulders and smiling excitedly. I only manage a half smile. I feel like I’m holding something that doesn’t belong to me—like I’ve stolen it. The feeling lingers when the event ends and I make my way out of the concert hall, down the pavement, toward my bus.
I’m surprised when I hear a familiar voice call out for me.
“Congratulations. You finally beat me.”
Turning on my heel, I find Killian leaning against a black Mercedes, arms crossed over his chest,smiling at me.
“Um, thanks,” I say, taking a few hesitant steps toward him.
Flashing an even brighter smile, he pushes off the car and approaches me. “Choosing that Rachmaninoff nocturne was a bold choice, but also what made you win. Who knows, maybe you’ll beat me again next time.”
Heat spreads into my cheeks. “Nah, I can’t possibly do that twice in a row.”
“Sure you can.” Something dark flickers across his face, but it’s gone before I can get a good look. “If you continue like this.” He closes the distance between us with another few steps, and Ilower my gaze, my heart picking up speed. For years, he hasn’t been this close while watching me. “Can I see your trophy?”
