The Sophomore Read online

  The Sophomore

  Monica Murphy

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  The Junior Sneak Peek

  Playlist

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  Acknowledgements

  Also by Monica Murphy

  About the Author

  One

  Ellie

  The text notification shows up every night at approximately the same time. I anxiously wait up for it, anticipation racing through my veins. Anything to do with him leaves me giddy with nervous excitement, which is ridiculous.

  He doesn’t feel the same way about me. It’s clear. It’s been clear for a while, since he graduated high school and went off to college. My friends tell me I’m wasting my time on him, but I can’t help it. My heart won’t let him go no matter how hard I try. I care about him.

  Too much.

  I lie in bed with the lights off, my phone in my hand as I scroll TikTok. I work mostly nights during the summer anyway, so I’m usually up till the early morning hours, still wide awake. He knows this. He’s currently traveling the West Coast and has a hard time sleeping too.

  Jackson: You around?

  I smile, my heart rate kicking up. I decide to make him wait until the two-minute repeat notification pops up, and then I’ll answer him. Not like he’s sitting around waiting for my reply anyway. I get this image of him living this glamorous, bohemian life. Traveling in a tour bus, his dad actually bought for him, writing beautiful lyrics inspired by his travels and having spontaneous jam sessions with his newfound band members.

  What I don’t try and think about are the groupies who he could be getting with on a nightly basis. The girls go crazy for him, and I understand why. I go crazy for him too. I have for a long time.

  Too long, according to my closest friends.

  His social media has blown up since he’s gone on tour this summer, and most of his followers—and fans—are women. They blatantly flirt in the comments. They blow up his DMs with blatant propositions and even naked photos. I’m sure they say all sorts of dirty, lewd things to him, what they’d do to him, for him. What they want him to do to them.

  I’m not like that. Sure, I want him to do dirty, sexy things to me, I can’t lie. But I could never say those things to him. I’m too shy. I don’t think I could ever be that bold, even with Jackson.

  Besides, he always keeps me at an arm’s length when we’re in public together, the asshole.

  In private? Via text? We’re as close as two people can be—as friends. He shares his hopes and dreams and worries with me, and I do the same. It’s not one-sided. He listens to me. He makes me feel like he cares.

  And that is the most wonderful thing in the world, to be cared for by Jackson Rivers.

  Now that he’s gone, I miss him fiercely. I’m scared he’ll find so much success, he won’t come back here.

  Worse, I’m scared I’ll never see the real him again. The version of himself that he only shares with me.

  This is why I live for our nightly text conversations. Just like we used to have when we were in high school. Back then, they meant so much more to me than they did to him, and that secretly devastated me. Especially when we’d be together at a party or whatever, and sometimes, he’d act like I didn’t exist.

  He doesn’t do that anymore, thank goodness. We’re friends. He’s friendly toward me, always careful not to lead me on though. And there’s something about him that’s just so damn appealing. He’s charming. A natural charisma you can’t help but be drawn to. Male or female, it doesn’t matter. You either want to be his friend or be with him, if you know what I mean.

  I fall under both categories. I’m sure plenty of others do too.

  Oh, and then there’s his face. Gorgeous. Blue eyes. The blond hair. The cheekbones, the lips and the little curve upward they always have when he’s performing. The way he looks at me when he sings his songs.

  As if he’s singing them to me.

  According to my best friend Ava, I let him take advantage of my kindness. She’s probably right. I’m a nice person. Too nice. Tony Sorrento’s girlfriend Hayden has been giving me lessons lately in standing up for myself and learning how not to take any shit. I’m trying my best to stand by what she says, but it’s so hard. Especially when it comes to Jackson.

  I do love Hayden, though. We’ve spent a lot of time together since she started dating Tony, and when our friend group gets together, us girls always gravitate toward each other. I call her my mentor. I hope to be just like her when I grow up. I mean, she’s only around three years older than me, but still. She’s strong and smart and she doesn’t back down from anything. While I’m quiet and shy and sometimes a little scared of trying something new.

  Ava doesn’t take any crap either. She stands up for what she believes in, no matter what. I’m going to miss her. She’s going away to college. Her boyfriend isn’t too happy about it either, but we can’t convince her to stick around. If we try that, it’ll push her to leave even more. She’s kind of stubborn.

  I wish I was more like her.

  Jackson’s text pops up again and I tap it, contemplating my reply. I decide to keep it simple.

  Me: Hey! What’s up?

  The gray bubble pops up immediately, surprising me. Maybe he was waiting for me to respond.

  Jackson: Nothing much. Tired. Homesick.

  Me: Getting tired of traveling already?

  He’s been gone over a month. He said he’d come back at the end of July, so he could be back at school in time for football practice, which is about three weeks before classes start. He claims he’s going to be on the team again this season, but I don’t know. How is he going to do that? His entire life is changing, and he’s currently split in two directions. Something will have to give. He’ll have to make a choice soon, and I’m thinking he’ll let go of football.

  Jackson: Yeah. I miss sleeping in my own bed.

  I wish for once he’d say he misses me. He misses my smiling face. Something, anything like that would send me over the moon.

  Of course, it would also send my expectations soaring sky high and I’d end up sorely disappointed when I realized, yet again, that Jackson isn’t interested in me like that. In his eyes, I’m a friend. Nothing more. Even if I desperately want there to be.

  That. Is. It.

  Shoving all negative thoughts aside, I focus on our conversation.

  Me: Where did you perform tonight?

  Jackson: At an outdoor music festival on the outskirts of Seattle. It was so fuckin cool, E. We went to the place where Kurt Cobain killed himself.

  Me: Uh, that’s gruesome.

  Jackson: He’s my fuckin idol, you know this. Anything that has to do with him, I want to see. Fuck, I want to absorb whatever I can, wherever I’m at. Seattle is an amazing city.

  I’ve never been there. I haven’t been many places, really. Grew up in the same small town
. Never traveled out of the state. My parents don’t have a lot of money, though we’re not what I would call poor. I feel poor though, compared to all the people I hang out with. They mostly all come from money.

  I didn’t even bother applying to colleges anywhere else. I chose Fresno State because it’s close and not too expensive, and thank God I got in. I’m not adventurous. Not even close.

  Me: I can see you living in Seattle.

  Jackson: I would’ve moved to Seattle in a heartbeat if it was the 90s. But it’s not. The music scene is cool here, but not like back then. Those were the good days.

  Me: I think you were meant for another time.

  Jackson: I think you’re right.

  We talk a little more about his travels. Where he’s going next. When he’s coming home. He says record executives are still chasing after him, trying to get him to sign deals, which has been going on for a while, ever since he started performing regularly at one of the local venues in Fresno. But he’s not ready to tie himself down with anything. He claims he’s not sure if this is what he really wants.

  Me: You’re going to have to make a choice sometime.

  Jackson: I’ll keep up the dual life as long as I can. I’m only nineteen. I want to go party with my friends too, you know? This is starting to feel like a grind. Like a job.

  Me: Are you performing at Strummers when you come back home?

  Jackson: Yeah. I have a performance lined up for July 31st. Didn’t I tell you? Though I’m coming home on the 27th so I can have a little time to relax. I can’t wait.

  My heart cracks wide open. He’ll be home in less than three weeks. I can’t wait to see him.

  Me: It’ll be nice to have you back.

  Jackson: Can’t wait to see you.

  He sends me a heart emoji.

  Don’t read too much into that. Don’t do it. Don’t.

  Me: I’m sure you have plenty of female company.

  Jackson: They’re not you though.

  He doesn’t deny he’s with other girls, which I’m sure he is. Can’t focus on that though. That’s a downward spiral I don’t want to experience right now.

  Me: I’m glad we’re friends.

  There. What can he say to that? We are friends. And that’s all we’re gonna be. That’s all he’ll allow.

  He doesn’t respond and I keep scrolling TikTok, my eyelids growing heavier and heavier. I’m tired. It’s already past two. I need to go to sleep. I work at eleven tomorrow, so I won’t get to sleep in as much as I usually do when I close.

  Jackson: Sometimes I wonder why we’re not more than that, E. Why are you always so good to me? I don’t deserve you.

  I stare at what he wrote, reading it again and again. He’s right. He doesn’t deserve me. And he probably doesn’t mean it when he says he wonders why we’re not more than that. He’s said that type of thing to me before, when we were younger and he’d flirt with me, always getting my hopes up.

  I’m trying to not let that happen anymore.

  Me: Because we both know it would never work.

  Jackson: Right. I’d mess it up.

  Me: You would. Oh, and you’re right.

  Jackson: What about?

  I contemplate telling him the truth. Will he get angry? Do I care if he does? For once, I should stand up for myself. Call him out for his crap. He needs to hear it.

  He needs to hear me.

  Me: You don’t deserve me.

  Me: You never really have.

  Two

  Ellie

  One month later

  I’m at the front of the growing crowd, my gaze on the darkened stage directly in front of me and nowhere else. The air is thick with anticipation, and it settles just beneath my skin, making it buzz. I can’t help but smile at people I don’t really know, considering we’re all here for the same thing. They smile at me in return, nodding their heads to the faint music playing in the background. Everyone else is buzzing too. We can feel it.

  Feel him.

  I arrived at Strummers early, saving a spot near the front of the stage for our group of friends. A group that has completely embraced me and made me feel a part of them, even if the boy I want to embrace me the most is totally blind to my loyalty. Not that he’s been around to see it lately, considering he’s been on tour for the last two months.

  If my friends were here, they’d all tell me he was an idiot for not seeing me for what I really am. They’d be on my side, though they adore him just as much as they like me. Maybe even more so.

  But no one adores him as much as me. I’m his biggest fan. None of these girls in this room can say they’ve personally spoken to him. They’ve held him in their arms. They’ve kissed him.

  Well, it was a kiss on the cheek but damn it, I’m counting it.

  A sigh leaves me and my butt buzzes. I reach for my phone, pulling it out of my pocket to see I have a text from Ava.

  We’re coming inside right now! Where are you?

  I text her a response.

  At the very front of the stage, more on the right side. Good luck fighting the crowd to get to me.

  Ava: We have Caleb with us. He’ll bully his way through the pack of girls.

  I shove my phone back in my pocket, glancing over my shoulder to see if I can spot my friends. But it’s no use. I’m surrounded by nothing but girls.

  Overly excited, mostly teenaged girls who are wearing their most revealing clothes, hoping to catch Jackson’s eye when he comes on stage.

  Good luck. He definitely doesn’t like them underage. I know that for a fact.

  I hear a loud male voice that I recognize—Caleb’s—and the whiny protests of about a bazillion teenage girls who are pissed he’s shoving past them. He doesn’t care. Anything to make a path for his friends. When I feel hands settle on my waist, I glance over my shoulder to see it’s Ava standing there, and she wraps me up in a hug.

  “We made it!” she squeals near my ear.

  “Thank God,” I say, squeezing her in return before she shifts away. I’m surrounded by everyone who’s a part of our group. The boys. The girls. They’re all here tonight, in support of our beloved Jackson Rivers.

  AKA that ‘soulful motherfucker’—that’s what Eli always calls him.

  Eli is Jackson’s best friend, and he’s missed Jackson so much while he’s been on tour. He even went to Portland and hung out with him for a couple of days. Ava went too. I was so jealous, but I had to stay home to work. I’ve worked all summer, trying to save my money for college this fall. I got a few scholarships and community awards, but that won’t cover everything.

  Compared to everyone else in our group, I’m a broke ass joke. Well, Diego doesn’t come from money either, but he has Jocelyn and her dad is a lawyer so they do pretty well.

  Me? I’m scrambling for everything I’ve got. It was a big deal that I took today off, but this performance is special.

  I want to be here, in support of Jackson. After not seeing his face for the last couple of months, I miss it.

  Terribly.

  “Ellie. Baby.” Caleb wraps me up in his arms and squeezes me, lifting me up so my feet are dangling off the floor before he sets me back down. “You nabbed us the best spot in the entire place.”

  “You know it,” I say, my cheeks turning pink at the flirtatious way he talks to me. Looks at me. I’m not interested in Caleb. He’s naughty. There are no other words to describe him. He was a player in high school and he’s remained much the same in college.

  I’ve remained much the same so far too. I’m the girl all the guys view as just a friend. The one they can always count on, but never the one they’re interested in.

  “Leave her alone,” Ava says, slapping Caleb on the arm. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  I’ve been working a lot, that’s why. And okay, I’ve been avoiding her a little bit too, because though I don’t blame her, and I know she has to do what’s right for her, I’m sad.

  Because Ava is leaving us. Sh
e’s going to San Diego State. Eli is suffering mostly in silence too. We don’t want her to go.

  But we understand. This is what she wants. We can’t stand in her way.

  “Yeah. My work schedule has been really heavy with my new job. All the training,” I tell her when she pulls away.

  Ava frowns. “You’re working too much.”

  “I have to. I can’t afford tuition like the rest of you,” I say, immediately hating how…bitter I sound.

  “I’m with you on that,” Caleb says, holding out his hand for a high five.

  I give it to him, my slap and my smile weak, Ava’s careful gaze tracking my every movement.

  “We need to get together,” she tells me, her voice firm. “What’s your schedule like this week?”

  “Busy,” I say automatically.

  Eli magically appears, wrapping his arms around Ava and pulling her into him. These two have been together for almost two years, and they’re madly in love.

  “When is this concert going to start?” Eli asks me, as if he doesn’t know.

  Jackson and Eli are roommates. They play on the Bulldogs football team together. They spend almost all of their time together, though Jackson was sneaking around, performing at Strummers secretly, never telling any of us. We only found out thanks to Tony’s girlfriend taking him to a concert here where Jackson opened up for another band.

  Despite the secrecy, Eli wasn’t fazed. He loves his bro Jackson with his whole heart, and has missed him this summer almost as much as I have.

  “It should start at eight-thirty,” I tell him, glancing at my phone. It’s eight-fifteen now. “We’re getting closer.”