Along For the Ride

Chapter 2

Los Angeles, CA

"You're not answering my texts." Jenica plopped down on my bed.

My phone was sitting facedown on my nightstand. "I'm trying to focus." I was standing in front of my closet, with piles of clothes around the room, trying to figure out what I could fit into a single large suitcase that would last me most of the summer.

"I didn't come over just to watch you pack," Jenica said. "The Limitless Showcase emails are supposed to come out today."

Shit. How had I forgotten? I bolted upright. "Have you gotten yours yet?"

She shook her head in response. "Still refreshing my email every sixty seconds."

I grabbed my phone, doing the same. Nothing. The Limitless Showcase was the most renowned soccer showcase of the year. All of the top-ranked Division One soccer coaches come to scout, and the U.S. Women's National Team notoriously chooses recruits from the Showcase. To be invited was an honor in itself.

"It's going to be a long day," Jenica said. "I texted Coach Jefferson and he said he hasn't heard anything yet either."

Before I could answer, there was a knock on my bedroom door.

"I'm packing!" I shouted. "Jenica is helping."

"I don't really care about that," Connor called back through my door. We had stayed away from each other since our sort-of fight after his interview yesterday.

"What do you want?" I called.

"To talk."

"I'm busy!"

There was a clicking noise, and then my door opened. Connor came in, shutting the door behind him.

"I have pizza," he said, holding up the plate for me to see. "It's my peace offering." He placed it on my bed, flashing Jenica a smile. "Hey, Jenny."

"You know I hate that nickname," she said.

"But it's cute," he teased.

"I'm cute," Jenica corrected. "Let's not get that mixed up."

"What do you want?" I asked, interrupting their flirtatious banter. I wasn't in the mood to be a third wheel in my own bedroom.

"To talk," he repeated. "Can we step outside for a sec?"

"I'll start sorting Kate's piles of clothes. You guys go on."

I pushed myself up off my bed with a groan, following Connor over to his room.

"I have more pizza in here, don't worry," he said, shutting the door behind him.

I took a slice as I sat down on the edge of his bed. "What's up, pop star?"

His face soured. "Don't call me that."

"You're famous now."

"Shut up," Connor said. "Are you going to come to rehearsals with me today?"

"Why should I?"

I didn't know anything about the show. I didn't even know the setlist. Dad micromanaged all of that.

"There's a closing number that I want a second pair of eyes on," he said. "It's the encore written for the show, and Mackenzie, Skyline, and I all perform it together. And you're the only one I trust to give an honest review."

"Why?"

Connor hadn't asked for my opinion on anything since his very first live performance, when he wanted to know which song he should go with. Since then, it's always been him, Mom, and Dad. And I've been the bystander to the Connor Jackson show.