Saurin Vale had learned early that wanting someone to choose you was one of the most dangerous things a person could do.
It made you stupid.
It made you hopeful.
It made you stand too close to windows on holidays, watching cars slow down outside a foster home and wondering if one of them might be for you.
It made you pack your backpack every time a caseworker said, “We’re still figuring things out,” because figuring things out usually meant someone else had figured out they didn’t want you.
It made you memorize the sound of footsteps in hallways. The pause before a bedroom door opened. The tone adults used when they were about to say something gentle and permanent.
You’re a great kid, Saurin.
This just isn’t the right fit.
It’s not your fault.
Another family will be lucky to have you.
He hated that sentence most.
Another family will be lucky to have you.
Because another family always sounded like tomorrow. And tomorrow had a habit of becoming next month, next year, another house, another school, another new mattress with a plastic cover that crinkled every time he moved.
By seventeen, Saurin had stopped expecting permanent things.
He did not stop wanting them.
That was the part he never admitted out loud.
He still wanted someone to save him a seat without being asked. Still wanted a house where his name belonged on the mail. Still wanted someone to look at him in a crowded room and relax, like he had finally arrived.
Most days, he buried that wanting so deep he could almost pretend it wasn’t there.
Then Audrey Calloway broke up with Kyle Benson in the hallway outside the athletics wing, and the whole school acted like a royal marriage had collapsed.
“I have to break up with you now,” Audrey said.
Her voice was soft, almost apologetic, but it landed like a slap.
Kyle stood there in his black championship hoodie, one hand still holding the strap of his gym bag. His hair was damp from practice. His face twisted with confusion.
“Because I lost one match?”
Audrey glanced over her shoulder.
Her friends stood near the trophy case, pretending not to listen while clearly listening to every word.
“It’s complicated,” she said.
Kyle laughed once, short and wounded. “No, it’s not. You’re embarrassed.”
Audrey flinched.
Saurin had not meant to hear any of it.
He had only come down that hall because the vending machine near the wrestling room was the one least likely to steal dollar bills, and he had skipped breakfast after oversleeping at his current foster placement. He stood ten feet away with a granola bar in one hand, frozen by the kind of scene everyone pretended not to watch.
Kyle lowered his voice.
“I lost by two points.”
“I know.”
“I made finals.”
“I know.”
“Then what, Audrey?”
Her mouth trembled.
One of her friends, Bianca, folded her arms like a guard at a palace gate.
Audrey looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
Kyle stared at her for another second, then turned and walked away so fast his shoulder clipped the trophy case. A small gold soccer player rattled behind the glass.
The hallway stayed silent until Kyle disappeared around the corner.
Then the whispers exploded.
“No way.”
“She actually did it.”
“Over one match?”
“Her parents are insane.”
“She’s insane.”
Saurin looked at Audrey.
She stood in the center of all that noise with a perfect pale sweater, glossy hair, and a face that looked less cruel than trapped.
Then Bianca noticed him.
“Well,” she said, her mouth curling into a smile. “Look who’s staring.”
Saurin snapped his eyes away and pretended the vending machine instructions had become fascinating.
Another girl, Vanessa, laughed. “Careful. He probably thinks this is his chance.”
Heat crawled up Saurin’s neck.
It wasn’t fair, because the thought had already flickered through his mind. Not fully. Not seriously. Just the stupid spark of a boy who had liked Audrey Calloway from a distance since sophomore year.
Audrey was not just pretty. Pretty was everywhere at Ridgewood High. Audrey was graceful. Controlled. She moved like every room expected something from her and she had been trained not to disappoint it.
Saurin had watched her win jiu-jitsu tournaments with quiet precision, watched her help freshmen find classes, watched her sit alone sometimes near the courtyard with earbuds in and her eyes fixed on nothing.
He had tried to talk to her three times.
The first time, Kyle walked up before Saurin got a full sentence out.
The second time, a group of her friends swept her away to a team dinner.
The third time, Saurin had spent twenty minutes rehearsing “Good match today” only for her father to appear beside her and say, “We’re late, Audrey,” in a tone that made even teachers straighten.
So when Bianca laughed at him, something defensive rose in his chest.
“I didn’t say anything,” he said.
Vanessa tilted her head. “You didn’t have to.”
Audrey looked at him then.
Really looked.
For one second, her expression softened, like she wanted to apologize for them. But she didn’t say anything.
That was another thing Saurin understood too well.
Sometimes silence hurt because someone didn’t know how to choose you in public.
He tossed his dollar into the vending machine.
It swallowed it.
No granola bar.
Bianca laughed harder.
“Universe says no, champ.”
Saurin hit the coin return.
Nothing.
“Great,” he muttered.
Behind him, Margot Reyes said, “That machine has been emotionally unstable since September.”
Saurin turned.
Margot stood with two textbooks hugged against her chest and a pencil tucked behind one ear. Her dark curls were pulled into a messy bun that had somehow survived the morning but probably wouldn’t last until lunch. She wore her usual oversized denim jacket with tiny embroidered suns on the sleeves. Her face held that particular expression she used when she was about to make fun of him because she cared.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she answered. Her eyes slid past him to Audrey’s group, then back. “Please tell me you were not considering whatever nonsense they were about to offer.”
“I wasn’t considering anything.”
Margot raised an eyebrow.
Saurin looked away.
“I was maybe… thinking.”
“That’s worse.”
Bianca, who had the hearing of someone professionally trained in drama, stepped closer.
“Oh, this is perfect,” she said. “Margot, your bestie wants to date Audrey.”
Saurin’s stomach dropped.
Margot’s mouth opened slightly.
Audrey’s friends made little noises of excitement, the kind people made when a boring morning suddenly became entertainment.
“I didn’t say that,” Saurin said.
Vanessa tapped her chin. “But would you?”
Audrey looked mortified. “Guys, stop.”
Bianca ignored her. “Easy there, champ. Audrey can only date someone better than her exes.”
Saurin hated himself for answering.
“I beat Kyle at a tournament last year.”
Bianca’s smile widened.
“Oh, her exes,” she said. “Plural.”
Vanessa snapped her fingers. “Actually, that gives me an idea.”
Margot muttered, “Nothing good has ever followed that sentence.”
Bianca stepped in front of Saurin like she was announcing a competition show.
“If you want even a chance with Audrey, you pass five challenges. One for each quality her parents expect.”
Audrey’s face went pale. “Bianca.”
“What?” Bianca said. “It’s not like he’ll actually do it.”
Saurin should have laughed.
He should have walked away.
He should have said, “I’m not auditioning for someone’s approval,” and kept the little dignity he had.
Instead, he heard the word chance again.
A chance.
Not a promise.
Not a guarantee.
Just a door cracked open.
“What are the challenges?” he asked.
Margot turned on him. “Saurin.”
Bianca looked delighted.
Vanessa clapped once. “Oh, he’s serious.”
Audrey shook her head. “You don’t have to do this.”
Saurin looked at her.
Then at Margot.
Margot’s eyes were full of warning.
But he could not explain to her, not in that hallway, what the word chance did to a person who had spent his whole life outside closed doors.
So he shrugged and tried to sound casual.
“What do you think my odds are?”
Margot stared at him like he had just stepped into traffic.
“Of passing all five? Or of keeping your brain cells?”
Bianca smiled.
“First challenge. Tug-of-war. Gym. Lunch.”
The story reached the cafeteria before Saurin did.
By the time he sat across from Margot with a tray of overcooked pasta, three people had already asked if he was “really doing Audrey’s trials,” and one freshman had called him “the Bachelor but tragic.”
Margot stabbed her salad with unnecessary violence.
“You’re seriously considering this.”
“I already said I’d do it.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“It kind of does.”
She dropped her fork.
“She broke up with Kyle over one loss. One. Uno.”
Saurin picked at his pasta.
“At least he had a chance.”
Margot’s expression changed.
Saurin regretted the words immediately.
She softened, but not in a pitying way. Margot had never pitied him. That was one of the reasons he could breathe around her.
“Saurin,” she said quietly.
He looked down.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
He swallowed.
The cafeteria noise blurred around them.
Margot leaned forward. “This isn’t about Audrey.”
He forced a laugh. “Pretty sure the five public humiliation challenges are about Audrey.”
“No. They’re about you thinking you have to earn being picked.”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m just having fun.”
“Saurin.”
He hated when she said his name like that.
Like she saw him.
Not the version he performed. Not the easygoing foster kid who made jokes before anyone could ask hard questions. The real one underneath, still standing in old doorways with a backpack ready.
He pushed the pasta around his tray.
“I found another records site last night,” he said, changing the subject.
Margot let him, because she knew when not to push.
“Anything?”
“Maybe.” His voice dropped. “An old address connected to my birth mom’s name. It’s probably nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“It might be.”
“Then we check.”
He glanced up. “You don’t have to keep helping me.”
Margot looked offended. “I know.”
“That means you can stop.”
“I also know that.”
He smiled despite himself.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a folder, already thick with printed pages, sticky notes, and handwritten dates.
“I found county birth index records that match the name from your file,” she said. “There’s an address from when you were a baby, but she doesn’t live there anymore. Still, it’s the biggest lead we’ve had.”
His chest tightened.
“You did all that last night?”
Margot shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Because of my stuff?”
“Because of senior year, college applications, existential dread, and your stuff.” She took a sip from her iced coffee. “I multitask.”
Saurin ran his fingers over the edge of the folder.
The name inside it had lived in his head for years.
Elena Vale.
His mother.
A woman who existed mostly as blanks on forms, a faded hospital bracelet in his case file, and the question that woke him up on nights when a house was too quiet.
Why didn’t you keep me?
He had told himself he didn’t care anymore.
But lies worked best when nobody handed you a possible address.
“Thank you,” he said.
Margot’s voice softened. “You’re welcome.”
For one second, they sat there quietly.
Then Bianca appeared beside their table with Vanessa and two boys from Audrey’s jiu-jitsu team.
“Lunch is almost over,” Bianca said. “You ready?”
Margot closed the folder sharply.
“He’s busy.”
Saurin stood.
Margot looked up at him. “You don’t have to do this.”
He slipped the folder into his backpack.
“I know.”
“You really don’t.”
He tried to smile.
“That’s not the same as not wanting to.”
Her eyes searched his face.
Whatever she saw made her look sad.
The gym was packed.
Not officially. Teachers would have shut it down if they thought it was an event. But high school had a way of forming crowds without admitting it. Students drifted toward the bleachers “by accident.” Athletes lingered after lunch. Someone played music from a speaker until Coach Ramirez shouted for them to turn it off.
Audrey stood near the wall, arms crossed, looking miserable.
Bianca held the rope.
“Good old-fashioned game of tug-of-war,” she announced. “Strength challenge.”
Saurin looked at his opponent.
Trent Malloy.
Of course.
Trent was one of Audrey’s former almost-boyfriends, a senior wrestler with shoulders like a refrigerator and the personality of a slammed door. He rolled his neck and smirked.
“This is embarrassing for you already,” Trent said.
Saurin grabbed his end of the rope.
Margot appeared at the edge of the crowd.
She did not cheer.
She only watched with her arms folded, lips pressed tight.
That made him more nervous than if she had yelled.
Bianca lifted one hand.
“Ready?”
Trent leaned back, already grinning.
Audrey said, “You don’t have to—”
“Go!” Bianca shouted.
The rope snapped tight.
Pain flashed through Saurin’s palms.
Trent yanked hard enough to drag him forward half a step. The crowd roared.
Saurin dug his sneakers into the gym floor.
His arms burned immediately.
Trent laughed. “Come on, foster boy.”
The words were low enough that only Saurin heard.
Something old and hot moved through him.
He had been called worse. Passed-around kid. Charity case. Temporary. Problem. He knew the trick. People found the softest bruise and pressed.
The rope slipped.
Students shouted.
Margot stepped closer.
“Saurin,” she called, not loudly, but clearly. “Plant your feet.”
He did.
“Lean back.”
He did.
“Use your legs, not just your arms.”
Trent’s grin faltered.
Saurin pulled.
Not a dramatic movie pull. Not one clean heroic motion. It was ugly. Slow. Grinding. His teeth clenched. His shoulders screamed. The rope cut deeper into his palms.
Trent yanked again.
Saurin nearly fell.
The crowd gasped.
Then he remembered a foster father named Ray who had once made him haul firewood behind a house in Bakersfield, saying, “Nobody’s going to carry you through life, kid. You better learn how to pull through.”
Ray had not been kind.
But the body remembered what it survived.
Saurin shifted his weight, wrapped the rope tighter, and pulled with everything he had.
Trent slid.
One inch.
Then another.
His sneakers squealed against the polished floor.
“No way,” someone shouted.
Margot’s eyes widened.
Saurin pulled again.
Trent stumbled forward, lost balance, and crossed the line.
The gym exploded.
Saurin dropped the rope and bent over, gasping.
Bianca looked genuinely stunned.
Vanessa’s mouth hung open.
Trent shoved past the crowd, furious.
Audrey stepped forward.
“You won,” she said.
Saurin tried to answer but could only breathe.
Margot approached slowly.
“Well,” she said. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
He looked up, sweaty and grinning despite the pain.
“Thanks?”
“Not going to lie,” he said, “I didn’t think I was actually going to win this one.”
Her smile flickered.
“I didn’t think you’d actually do this.”
Before he could answer, Bianca recovered.
“One down,” she said. “Four to go.”
Saurin straightened.
His palms stung.
The crowd still buzzed.
Audrey looked at him with something close to admiration.
For one moment, it felt worth it.
Then he saw Margot turn away.
The second challenge came the next day in room B213.
The engineering classroom smelled like wood glue, hot plastic, and old metal. Shelves along the walls held half-finished projects: model towers, cardboard cars, tiny houses wired with LED lights. Mr. Han, the engineering teacher, had been pulled into supervising without fully understanding the social stakes, which made him the calmest person in the room.
“You’ll be building bridges,” Bianca announced like she owned the class. “Same materials. Same time limit. The one that holds the most weight wins.”
Saurin looked at the table.
Popsicle sticks. Glue. String. A small utility knife. Binder clips.
His opponent was Heather Valez, Audrey’s first boyfriend from freshman year, now president of robotics club and known for correcting teachers with terrifying accuracy.
Heather adjusted her glasses. “This is structurally unfair if he hasn’t taken engineering.”
Bianca smiled sweetly. “You worried?”
Heather looked offended. “For the integrity of the experiment, yes.”
Saurin sat down.
Margot slid into the back of the room with her own homework, pretending she wasn’t there to watch. Audrey stood beside the door, chewing her thumbnail.
“Time starts now,” Bianca said.
Saurin had built things before.
Not in classrooms with clean materials and rubrics, but in garages, backyards, and temporary homes where broken stuff stayed broken unless someone figured out how to fix it. He had patched a screen door with wire. Balanced a table leg with cardboard. Reattached a cabinet hinge with a screw that didn’t fit but worked anyway.
A bridge was just a problem.
He laid out the sticks.
Triangle supports. Weight distribution. Don’t make it pretty. Make it hold.
For twenty minutes, he focused.
The room faded.
The whispers faded.
Even Audrey faded.
Then someone bumped his table.
Hard.
The cup of water spilled across his half-built frame.
Glue loosened.
Sticks shifted.
One support collapsed.
“Oh no,” Vanessa said behind him, unconvincing. “What happened?”
Saurin looked up.
Trent stood nearby, face blank.
“My bad,” he said.
Margot shot to her feet. “Are you kidding me?”
Mr. Han turned. “What happened?”
“Accident,” Trent said.
Saurin stared at the ruined bridge.
Heat rose behind his eyes, sharper than anger.
He had been careful. He had done it right. And still, someone knocked it down.
A memory flashed: a foster sister named Lily stepping on his school project the night before it was due, then saying, “You break it, you fix it,” even though she had broken it.
Nobody had made her apologize.
Nobody had given him new materials.
Nobody had cared.
He reached for more sticks.
The tray was empty.
Bianca folded her arms. “You break it, you fix it.”
Margot stormed toward the supply cabinet.
Mr. Han stopped her gently. “Same materials means same materials.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said.
“It’s okay,” Saurin said.
His voice came out quieter than he intended.
Margot turned. “No, it’s not.”
He looked at the bridge.
The glue had not fully dissolved. Some pieces could be saved. Not all. But enough, maybe.
“I can fix it.”
Heather, across the room, paused.
“You have six minutes,” she said.
“Then I better hurry.”
The room went quiet.
Saurin worked fast.
He stripped the bridge down to its strongest remaining pieces. Reinforced the center. Used string where sticks had warped. Let go of the design he wanted and built the one the damage allowed.
His hands still hurt from tug-of-war.
Glue stuck to his fingers.
Margot stood nearby, fists clenched, looking like she wanted to fight the whole room on his behalf.
“Time,” Bianca called.
Heather’s bridge was clean, elegant, symmetrical.
Saurin’s looked like it had survived an earthquake and developed a grudge.
The weight test began.
Heather’s held ten pounds.
Then fifteen.
Then twenty.
At twenty-five, one side cracked.
Everyone applauded.
Heather bowed slightly.
Saurin carried his bridge forward.
Trent whispered, “Scrap pile.”
Saurin placed it carefully between the supports.
Mr. Han added weight.
Ten pounds.
The bridge held.
Fifteen.
A creak.
Twenty.
The center dipped but did not break.
Heather leaned forward.
Twenty-five.
The room held its breath.
The string tightened.
The damaged side flexed.
Thirty.
Bianca’s smile faded.
Thirty-five.
The class erupted.
At forty, the bridge finally snapped, collapsing in the middle.
Saurin stepped back.
Glue on his fingers. Sweat at his temple. Heart pounding.
Mr. Han looked at the broken bridge, then at him.
“Resourceful,” he said. “Very nicely done.”
Heather offered a respectful nod.
Margot smiled despite herself.
Audrey’s eyes were bright.
Bianca crossed something off her clipboard.
“Two down.”
Saurin should have felt triumphant.
He did.
But when Margot slipped out before he could talk to her, the victory dimmed.
That afternoon, he found her in the courtyard sitting under the big sycamore tree, laptop open, the folder of his birth records beside her.
She had bought him a lavender latte from the campus café.
His favorite, though he had only mentioned it once.
Oat milk, two pumps, no whipped cream.
He sat beside her.
“For me?”
“No,” she said. “For the ghost behind you.”
He took it carefully.
“It has oat milk?”
She gave him a look. “I know you.”
Those three words landed harder than they should have.
I know you.
Not “I know your file.”
Not “I know your case.”
Not “I know where you’ve been placed.”
Just you.
He looked down at the cup.
“Thanks.”
Margot turned the laptop toward him.
“I found a newer connection,” she said. “Your mom’s old address links to a forwarding address from about eight years ago. She doesn’t live there anymore, but it led to a married name.”
Saurin stopped breathing for a second.
“You found her?”
“Not completely.” Margot’s voice was careful. “But closer.”
He stared at the screen.
Elena Martin.
Possible match.
A city thirty minutes away.
His mother had been thirty minutes away.
Maybe for years.
The thought made his chest feel too small.
Margot watched him.
“You okay?”
He nodded, though he wasn’t.
She touched the edge of the folder.
“We’ll keep looking.”
“We?”
She blinked like the question confused her. “Obviously.”
Saurin looked at her.
“You’re the only person who’s always been there for me,” he said.
Margot’s face changed.
Softened.
Then closed slightly, like she was protecting herself.
“That’s what best friends are for,” she said.
The phrase best friends should have felt warm.
Instead, it felt like a door gently shutting.
Before he could answer, Bianca’s voice rang across the courtyard.
“Hey! Saurin!”
He turned.
She stood with Vanessa and a tall boy wearing a backwards cap.
“Heard you held it together,” Bianca called. “Next challenge. Let’s see if you can break it down.”
Margot groaned.
Saurin frowned. “Break what down?”
The boy with the cap grinned.
“Your dignity.”
The third challenge was a dance battle.
Of all the ways Saurin expected to be humiliated, dancing ranked high.
He had rhythm in private. Alone. In kitchens when no one was home. In garages while sweeping. In foster bedrooms with headphones in, copying videos on a cracked phone because lessons cost money and asking for them felt dangerous.
He did not dance in public.
Not after age ten.
Not after he had asked his foster mother if he could join a hip-hop class with her daughter and she laughed without meaning to be cruel.
“Dance classes? Absolutely not. She’s my daughter. You’re just a foster.”
Just a foster.
Like temporary kids did not get hobbies.
Like joy needed a last name.
The battle happened after school in the black box theater, because apparently Bianca had access to every dramatic space on campus.
A crowd gathered again.
Bigger this time.
Word spread fast when someone kept winning things they were supposed to lose.
Saurin’s opponent was Colton Reed, Audrey’s ex from sophomore year, a social media personality with white sneakers, perfect teeth, and a following large enough that teachers called him “entrepreneurial” instead of annoying.
Colton spun once before the music even started.
“Hope you stretched, bro.”
Saurin muttered, “I hate everyone.”
Margot stood beside the stage.
“You can still leave,” she said.
“And ruin your afternoon entertainment?”
“You are my afternoon stress.”
Audrey approached then.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Saurin looked at her. “For the dance battle specifically or the general circus?”
A tiny smile flickered.
“All of it.”
He softened.
“Not your fault.”
Audrey glanced toward her friends.
“It kind of is.”
Before he could ask what she meant, Colton grabbed a microphone.
“All right, next up, we got the octopus!”
Music blasted.
The first round belonged to Colton.
He moved like someone born in front of cameras, smooth and flashy, every gesture big enough for the crowd. People cheered.
Saurin’s stomach twisted.
Then the beat changed.
His turn.
For one second, he almost walked off.
Then he saw Margot.
Not cheering.
Not pushing.
Just watching him with that steady look that said, I know you’re scared, and I’m still here.
So he moved.
Awkward at first.
A shoulder roll. A step. A turn.
The crowd quieted, expecting disaster.
But the body remembers joy too, even when life tries to ration it.
Saurin found the beat.
His feet followed.
The moves he had practiced alone for years unfolded one after another. Not perfect. Not polished like Colton. But sharp. Inventive. Honest. He danced like someone breaking out of a room he had been locked in too long.
The crowd began to cheer.
Colton’s grin faded.
Saurin spun, dropped low, came back up on the beat, and finished with one hand over his heart, breathing hard.
For a moment, silence.
Then the room exploded.
Margot’s mouth was open.
Audrey clapped, laughing in surprise.
Colton shook his head, smiling despite himself.
“Okay,” he said into the mic. “Respect.”
Bianca looked like she had bitten into a lemon.
“Fine,” she said. “Talent challenge passed.”
Saurin stepped off the stage, sweaty and embarrassed.
Margot grabbed his arm.
“All those times you said you wouldn’t dance,” she said, “you just didn’t want to show me up?”
He laughed, breathless. “That was exactly it.”
Her eyes shone.
For a second, the space between them changed.
Then he looked past her.
“Did Audrey see?”
Margot’s smile disappeared so quickly he almost missed it.
“She did,” she said.
He nodded, too relieved to notice the hurt beneath her voice.
After the dance battle, he found Audrey in the hallway by the theater.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
She looked nervous.
“I just want to know what’s going on,” he said. “I thought you liked me.”
Audrey looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s not my decision.”
Before he could ask what she meant, Trent appeared behind him.
“Look at that,” Trent said. “Three wins and he thinks he matters.”
Saurin turned.
“I’m not doing this with you.”
Trent stepped closer. “You sure? Because I think you like performing.”
Saurin’s jaw tightened.
Audrey said, “Trent, stop.”
Trent ignored her.
Saurin tried to move around him.
Trent blocked him.
For one terrible second, Saurin felt the old familiar trap of being cornered by someone bigger, someone who knew exactly how to make a crowd look away.
Then Margot appeared.
She moved between them without hesitation.
“Back up,” she said.
Trent laughed. “What are you going to do?”
Margot smiled sweetly.
“My bestie is a jiu-jitsu champ.”
Saurin blinked.
“She means Audrey,” he said.
Margot glanced at him. “I know what I said.”
Audrey stepped forward too, eyes cold now.
“Move, Trent.”
Trent looked between them, then scoffed and walked away.
Saurin exhaled.
Margot turned to him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. “That guy was right, though.”
“What?”
“I should’ve stretched first.”
She stared at him.
Then laughed despite herself.
The sound made something in his chest loosen.
“You don’t need to convince someone to love you,” she said softly. “Especially you.”
He looked at her.
The hallway noise faded.
“When you grow up in the system,” he said, “every day feels like an audition. You try to be easy. Funny, but not too loud. Helpful, but not needy. Smart, but not inconvenient. You’re always trying to convince someone to pick you.”
Margot’s eyes filled.
He looked away before it could undo him.
“This doesn’t feel that different,” he admitted.
She stepped closer.
“Saurin…”
Before she could finish, Colton’s voice rang from the end of the hall.
“Nice work, man. You know how to work a crowd. Let’s see how you handle one a hundred times bigger.”
Saurin closed his eyes.
Margot muttered, “I’m going to commit a felony.”
The fourth challenge was livestreamed.
Colton called it Fill and Spill, because apparently dignity was best destroyed with branding.
The setup was in his basement studio, which looked like a gamer lounge sponsored by neon lights and bad decisions. A spinning turntable sat on a table with covered bowls arranged in a circle. Two cameras faced the chairs. Colton’s ring light made everyone look slightly unreal.
Bianca, Vanessa, Audrey, and half the jiu-jitsu team crowded behind the cameras.
Margot came too, though she stood in the corner with crossed arms and the energy of a disapproving guardian angel.
Colton clapped his hands.
“What is up, guys? We are back with Colton and his special guest, Saurin, and today we’re playing Fill and Spill. You spin, you eat what’s under the bowl, and then you answer a question. Tap out, you lose.”
Saurin looked at the bowls.
“I suddenly respect death.”
Margot said, “You can still leave.”
Colton pointed at the camera. “No pressure.”
The live chat started filling immediately.
WHO’S THAT?
IS THIS AUDREY’S NEW GUY?
FOSTER KID FROM THE DANCE VID?
Saurin tried not to read.
“Why don’t you do the honor?” Colton said.
Saurin spun.
The pointer clicked around the circle and stopped.
Colton lifted the bowl.
“Milk and tuna smoothie.”
The room gagged in unison.
Saurin stared at the grayish liquid.
“Absolutely not,” Margot said.
Bianca smirked. “Tapping already?”
Saurin picked up the cup.
He had swallowed worse things than pride.
The taste was catastrophic.
The room screamed.
He forced it down, eyes watering.
Colton looked impressed and horrified.
“Bro, that is foul. You got me about to throw up.”
Saurin coughed.
Colton read from a card.
“Question. What is the hardest thing you’ve ever been through?”
The room shifted.
Someone in the chat typed LOL TRAUMA TIME.
Margot stepped forward. “Colton.”
Saurin held up one hand.
He could dodge. Make a joke. Say middle school. Say the smoothie.
But maybe the tuna had destroyed the part of his brain that protected him from honesty.
He looked into the camera.
“Probably bouncing around the foster system my whole life,” he said. “Different homes. Different schools. Different people acting like they might keep you until they don’t.”
The chat slowed.
He swallowed.
“And the entire time, hoping my mom was going to show up. Hoping there was some explanation that made sense. But she never did.”
The room went silent.
For once, nobody knew where to put their hands.
Colton lowered the card.
“Man,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Saurin nodded.
He could feel Margot watching him.
Not with pity.
With pain.
Colton cleared his throat, uncomfortable with sincerity on his own livestream.
“All right, chat, that was real for a second, but we’re going to bring the hype back up. My turn.”
He spun.
Worm spaghetti with deep-fried crickets.
Colton stared at the bowl.
The chat exploded.
EAT IT.
NO WAY.
DO IT FOR THE CONTENT.
Colton picked up the fork.
Lowered it.
Smelled it.
Gagged.
“Nope.”
Everyone shouted.
Bianca groaned. “Seriously?”
Colton pushed the bowl away.
“I love you guys, but not like that.”
Saurin leaned back, still trying to recover from tuna.
Bianca checked her clipboard.
“Composure under pressure,” she said reluctantly. “Passed.”
Four down.
One left.
The next day, Margot found him near the library with a printed page in her hand and a look on her face he could not read.
“I found your mom,” she said.
The world stopped.
Saurin stared at her.
“What?”
Margot’s voice trembled with excitement and fear.
“I found her. Elena Martin. She lives forty minutes away. I’m almost sure it’s her. The dates match. The old address matches. Everything.”
His knees felt weak.
He took the paper.
There was a name.
An address.
A phone number.
His mother had become real in black ink.
Margot watched him carefully.
“We can go after school,” she said. “I’ll drive.”
Saurin looked at the page until the letters blurred.
For years, he had imagined this moment. He thought he would run. Call immediately. Demand answers. Cry, maybe. Or laugh. Or feel whole.
Instead, he felt terrified.
“What time?” he asked.
“Whenever you want.”
Before he could answer, Bianca appeared.
“Final challenge,” she said. “After school. Mock courtroom. Character test.”
Margot turned slowly.
“You’re kidding.”
Bianca ignored her. “Audrey’s parents will be there.”
Saurin looked up.
“Her parents?”
“Obviously,” Bianca said. “They’re the judges that matter.”
Margot stared at Saurin.
“No.”
He folded the paper carefully.
“I can go tomorrow.”
Margot’s expression went blank.
“What?”
“My mom made me wait my entire life,” he said, trying to sound lighter than he felt. “What’s one more day?”
Margot flinched.
“That is not funny.”
“I’m so close, Margot.”
“To what?”
“To finally having a chance.”
Her eyes flashed.
“With Audrey?”
He looked away.
Margot laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“You would rather compete with some girl’s exes than see your mother?”
“It’s not like that.”
“It is exactly like that.”
He stepped closer. “You don’t understand.”
Her face tightened.
“I think I understand better than you want me to.”
That hit too close.
He stiffened.
“Thanks for everything,” he said, forcing a smile that felt awful on his face. “You’re the best friend anyone could ever ask for.”
Margot’s eyes changed.
For a second, he thought she might say something that would alter everything.
Instead, she nodded.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Best friend.”
Then she walked away.
The final challenge was held in the auditorium, because Audrey’s parents apparently did nothing halfway.
A long table had been placed onstage like a courtroom bench. Mr. and Mrs. Calloway sat behind it in tailored clothes that made the school auditorium look cheaper. Audrey sat off to the side, pale and silent. Bianca stood near a podium with index cards.
A crowd filled the seats.
Saurin stood alone under the stage lights.
Margot was not there.
He tried not to look for her.
He failed.
“Final challenge,” Bianca announced. “Cross-examination. Character.”
Saurin almost laughed.
Of course.
The last test would not be strength, intelligence, talent, or composure.
It would be whether he could stand in front of strangers and justify why someone should choose him.
Bianca stepped aside.
Audrey’s father rose.
Richard Calloway had the kind of presence that made people apologize before they knew what they had done. Silver hair, expensive watch, calm voice. His wife, Celeste, watched Saurin with cool evaluation.
“Mr. Vale,” Richard said. “Let’s start with something simple. You grew up in the foster care system, did you not?”
Saurin’s mouth went dry.
“I did.”
“So it’s safe to assume you did not have a lot of stability growing up. No permanent home. No permanent family.”
A murmur moved through the room.
Saurin kept his hands at his sides.
“That’s true.”
Richard nodded as if this were unfortunate but relevant.
“Tell me this. Why should someone like Audrey choose someone like you?”
Audrey’s head snapped up.
“Dad,” she whispered.
He ignored her.
Saurin stared at him.
There it was.
The question behind every door that had ever closed.
Why you?
Why keep you?
Why risk anything for you?
He swallowed.
“Well—”
Richard held up one hand.
“Let’s talk about relationships. Do you agree that a partner should be there to support you?”
“Yes.”
“Encourage you when things are tough?”
“Yes.”
“Believe in you when others don’t?”
Saurin’s eyes moved toward the back of the auditorium.
Empty.
“Yes.”
“Understand you even when you don’t explain yourself?”
Margot’s face flashed in his mind.
Lavender latte.
Oat milk.
I know you.
“Yes,” he said, quieter.
“Help you solve problems?”
Old records. Printed pages. Sticky notes. Hours of searching for a woman who might not want him.
“Yes.”
“Stay by your side when life gets messy?”
The livestream. The hallway. Trent. Tug-of-war. Every time she told him he didn’t have to prove himself.
Saurin’s throat tightened.
“Yes.”
Richard leaned forward.
“Then can you explain something to us, Mr. Vale? Why do you think you deserve Audrey when you yourself have never seen what any of those things look like?”
The auditorium went silent.
Audrey stood. “Stop.”
Richard continued, voice smooth.
“How would you know how to treat someone when you have no example of what love looks like?”
The words should have broken him.
A week ago, maybe they would have.
But Saurin stood under the lights and realized something strange.
He did know what love looked like.
It looked like someone showing up without applause.
Someone finding records when they could have been doing their own homework.
Someone saving your favorite coffee order.
Someone telling you the truth even when it made you angry.
Someone standing in the corner of every humiliating challenge, not because they approved, but because they refused to let you face it alone.
He lifted his head.
“Because I know how it feels when someone doesn’t choose you,” he said.
The room stilled.
“And if someone does choose me, I’m not walking away from them.”
Audrey looked at him.
Her eyes filled.
Richard studied him.
Celeste leaned toward her husband.
Bianca seemed annoyed that the moment had become sincere.
After a long pause, Richard sat.
Celeste folded her hands.
“Members of the jury,” Bianca said awkwardly, “have we reached a verdict?”
Richard and Celeste exchanged a glance.
Celeste spoke.
“We find in favor of Saurin.”
A wave of noise moved through the auditorium.
Bianca clapped reluctantly.
Vanessa gasped.
Audrey looked more frightened than happy.
Richard stood again.
“Strength. Intelligence. Talent. Composure under pressure. Character.” He nodded. “Those are the qualities we’ve always said Audrey’s partner must have. You have proven yourself.”
Saurin should have felt victorious.
Instead, he felt hollow.
Because the seat in the back was still empty.
Celeste smiled thinly.
“You have our blessing to date our daughter.”
Everyone clapped.
Saurin looked at Audrey.
She was crying.
Not happy tears.
He stepped toward her.
“Can we talk?”
They moved into the side hallway outside the auditorium.
The applause muffled behind the doors.
Audrey wrapped her arms around herself.
“You don’t have to lie to me,” Saurin said. “If you don’t want to date me, that’s okay.”
Audrey closed her eyes.
“The challenges were my parents,” she said.
“I figured.”
“They think the only way for me not to end up with the wrong person is if someone proves themselves first. Like love is a job interview.”
Saurin almost smiled.
“You passed every challenge,” she said. “You did everything they asked.”
“But?”
She looked at him.
“But I love Kyle.”
The words did not hurt the way he expected.
Maybe because some part of him had known.
Maybe because the person he wanted to tell was not there.
Audrey wiped her face.
“If I choose him, they’ll cut me off. College money. Their company. Everything. My whole future.”
Saurin leaned against the wall.
“And if you choose me?”
“They’ll approve.”
“Because I passed.”
She nodded miserably.
Saurin thought of his mother. Of foster homes. Of adults making love conditional on performance. Clean your room. Don’t talk back. Be grateful. Don’t need too much. Be impressive enough to keep.
He suddenly felt very tired.
“You don’t have to date me,” he said.
Audrey looked up. “What?”
“You should be with the person you love.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“You don’t understand what I’d lose.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But I understand what happens when people choose safety over you.”
She stared at him.
He pushed himself off the wall.
“If Kyle loves you, let him show up for the hard part. And if he doesn’t, at least you chose for yourself.”
Audrey’s tears spilled over.
“Have you ever had someone choose you?” she asked.
Saurin’s first instinct was to say no.
Then he stopped.
Margot’s face came back again.
Clearer this time.
Yeah, he thought.
I just didn’t see it.
“I have,” he said.
Audrey gave him a watery smile.
“Then go be with her.”
Saurin ran.
He left the auditorium before Richard Calloway could ask where he was going. Before Bianca could demand answers. Before anyone could turn his life into another challenge.
He called Margot from the parking lot.
No answer.
He texted.
Nothing.
He rode the bus to her house because he did not have a car and because urgency did not magically create transportation. Every red light felt personal. Every stop took forever.
When he reached the small yellow house where Margot lived with her aunt, he knocked so hard his knuckles hurt.
Margot’s aunt opened the door.
“Saurin?”
“Hi,” he said, breathless. “Is Margot here?”
Her aunt’s face softened with concern.
“She didn’t tell you?”
His stomach dropped.
“Tell me what?”
“She left for the airport twenty minutes ago. Summer program orientation got moved up. She decided to go.”
The world tilted.
“She wasn’t leaving until next month.”
“She changed her mind.”
Of course she had.
He had chosen a challenge over her.
He had called her the best friend anyone could ask for and watched her face close.
He had been so busy trying to earn the attention of someone unavailable that he missed the person standing beside him.
“Which airport?” he asked.
Her aunt gave him the information, then pressed car keys into his hand.
He stared.
“I don’t have a license.”
“I know,” she said, taking the keys back. “That was dramatic instinct. I’ll drive.”
They barely spoke on the way.
Saurin watched the city blur past the window.
His phone buzzed once.
A message from Audrey.
I told Kyle. I’m scared. But thank you.
Another from Bianca.
Where did you go???
Another from a number he did not recognize.
This is Elena. Please don’t come back here.
His breath caught.
His mother.
He had almost forgotten the address folded in his pocket.
Almost.
The message arrived like a door slamming after he had already walked away from it.
Margot’s aunt glanced at him.
“You okay?”
He looked at the phone.
Please don’t come back here.
There were so many versions of not being chosen.
Some were loud.
Some were polite.
Some came from people who gave birth to you and built whole new lives without making room.
Saurin turned the phone face-down.
“No,” he said honestly. “But I know where I need to be.”
At the airport, he ran.
Through sliding doors.
Past families with rolling suitcases.
Past a businessman arguing into a headset.
Past a little girl dragging a stuffed dinosaur by the tail.
Announcements echoed overhead.
Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats as we prepare for departure.
His lungs burned.
He found Margot near the security entrance.
She had a backpack on one shoulder and a small suitcase beside her. Her hair was down for once, curls loose around her face. She looked like she had been crying but had decided not to let that stop her.
“Saurin?”
He stopped in front of her, breathing hard.
“Were you really going to leave without saying goodbye?” he asked.
Her eyes flashed.
“You were busy.”
“I was stupid.”
“That too.”
He swallowed.
People moved around them like a river.
“I went to the final challenge,” he said.
“I figured.”
“I passed.”
Her face tightened. “Congratulations.”
“I walked away.”
That stopped her.
“What?”
“Audrey loves Kyle. Her parents were trying to choose for her. I told her not to date me.”
Margot stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because you were right. I don’t need to convince someone to love me.”
Her eyes filled.
He stepped closer, voice shaking now.
“I spent my whole life thinking if I could just be good enough, useful enough, strong enough, somebody would choose me and stay. So when Audrey’s friends gave me challenges, I thought… at least it’s clear. At least I know what I have to do.”
Margot’s lips trembled.
“But love isn’t supposed to be a checklist,” he said. “And the person I should’ve been chasing was right next to me the whole time.”
She looked away.
“Don’t say that just because she didn’t choose you.”
“I’m not.”
“Don’t say it because you’re scared of being alone.”
“I am scared of being alone,” he said. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
Margot looked back at him.
He took a breath.
“I’m here because you’ve chosen me over and over without making me perform for it. You helped me find my mom. You showed up to every dumb challenge even when you hated them. You brought me lavender lattes with oat milk because you remembered. You told me the truth when I didn’t want to hear it.”
His voice cracked.
“And I kept calling that friendship because I didn’t know what else to do with something that safe.”
Margot wiped her cheek quickly.
“I was leaving because I couldn’t watch you choose people who made you audition.”
“I know.”
“And because I needed to choose myself for once.”
“You should,” he said. “You should go to the program.”
She blinked.
“I didn’t come here to stop you from leaving,” he said. “I came because I didn’t want you to leave thinking you didn’t matter most.”
The airport announcement echoed again.
Final boarding call.
Margot looked toward security.
Then back at him.
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah.”
“What happens if I go?”
“I text you too much,” he said. “You ignore me when I get annoying. I visit if I can. You come back and tell me I’m still emotionally reckless.”
A laugh broke through her tears.
“And if I don’t go?”
“Then I’ll be happy,” he admitted. “But I don’t want you giving up something important because of me.”
Margot stared at him for a long moment.
Then she stepped forward and hugged him.
Saurin froze.
Only for a second.
Then he held on like someone had finally given him permission to stop bracing for impact.
She whispered into his shoulder, “You idiot.”
He laughed shakily.
“I know.”
“I’m still going.”
“I know.”
“But you’re coming with me to the gate.”
“I don’t think they let random emotionally damaged boys past security.”
She pulled back, smiling through tears.
“Then walk me as far as you can.”
So he did.
They walked to the rope barrier before security.
Her suitcase wheels clicked softly on the tile.
At the entrance, she stopped.
“I’m proud of you,” she said.
He looked down.
“For what?”
“For choosing yourself too.”
His eyes burned.
“I don’t know how yet.”
“You started.”
She reached up and touched his cheek.
“Call me when you get home.”
“I will.”
“And Saurin?”
“Yeah?”
Her smile trembled.
“When I get back, don’t make me pass five challenges.”
He laughed.
“No challenges.”
“Good.”
“Maybe one.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Kidding.”
She hugged him one more time.
Then she walked through security.
He watched until she disappeared into the crowd.
His phone buzzed again as he stood there.
Elena.
This time, a longer message.
I’m sorry. I know I handled today badly. I don’t know how to explain all of this. I was scared. I still am. I don’t know if I can be what you need, but if you ever want answers, maybe we can meet somewhere public. Just us.
Saurin read it twice.
His chest hurt.
Not with hope exactly.
Not forgiveness.
Not even relief.
Just the ache of a door that had not opened, but had not locked either.
He typed back slowly.
I want answers. But I’m not begging anymore.
He stared at the sentence.
Then pressed send.
Outside the airport, the evening sky had turned gold behind the parking structure. Cars pulled up. Families embraced. People left. People arrived. Everyone seemed to be in the middle of either goodbye or return.
Saurin sat on a bench near the pickup area and breathed.
For the first time, he understood that being chosen by someone else was not the same thing as belonging to himself.
He had spent years waiting for a mother.
A family.
A girl.
A judge.
A verdict.
Some outside voice to say, Yes, you are worth staying for.
But Margot had been right.
Love did not need to make you prove you deserved it before it reached for your hand.
And the people who mattered did not carry you through life.
They walked beside you while you learned how to stand.
His phone buzzed.
A photo from Margot.
Her airplane seat. A tiny bag of pretzels. Her hand making a peace sign.
Caption: I already regret leaving you unsupervised.
Saurin smiled.
He typed back:
I’ll try not to enter any competitions for affection while you’re gone.
Three dots appeared.
Then her reply.
Growth.
He laughed alone on the bench.
A few people glanced over.
He didn’t care.
For once, joy did not feel like something he had to hide.
He opened a new message to Audrey.
You okay?
A minute later, she answered.
Terrified. But Kyle is here. My parents are furious. I think I’m grounded until college.
Then another bubble.
But I chose.
Saurin smiled.
Good.
He put the phone away and looked up at the sky.
The hard things were not over.
His mother would not be easy.
Margot leaving would hurt.
His future still had too many blank spaces.
But something inside him had shifted.
He was no longer standing outside a door asking someone to let him be enough.
He was walking forward.
Still scared.
Still imperfect.
Still carrying every house that had not kept him.
But no longer willing to audition for love that should have recognized him without a scoreboard.
When Margot’s plane lifted into the evening clouds, Saurin watched until the blinking light disappeared.
Then he stood, wiped his palms on his jeans, and headed home with his phone in his hand, one unanswered past behind him, one uncertain future ahead, and one person in the sky who had chosen him long before he had been brave enough to choose her back.
Disclaimer : This content may be created by AI for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.
