The squeak of sneakers was the only thing keeping him awake.
Every morning before the sun was even up, Jace Moreno stepped into the Ridgeview High gym—the place he loved more than his own bedroom. Right now, the huge metal doors were propped open just a crack, letting in a cold breath of fall air that sent a thin shiver across his arms. He tightened the drawstrings of his hoodie and continued his routine: right-hand layup, left-hand layup, two dribbles into a pull-up jumper, free throw, corner three, wing three, top of the key three. Repeat. Again. Again.
It wasn't obsession, he told himself.
It was survival.
Senior year had started only two weeks ago, and with it came the weight of expectations he didn't ask for. Ridgeview hadn't been to State since before he was born. Their record last season was a disappointing 8–17, and the school had placed all their hopes on Jace—who averaged 21 a game, grabbed rebounds like he had springs in his legs, and played with a chip so big it could've been carved off a mountain.
Coach Lawson called him "the heart of the team."
Jace didn't feel like a heart. Hearts got tired.
He finished another set of shots, grabbed the rebound, and bounced it in a slow rhythm. Boom. Boom. Boom.
"Back at it again before dawn," a voice called from the entrance.
Jace didn't even have to turn to know who it was. Only one person on the planet chirped that early in the morning with that much energy.
Zoey Hartwell.
If Jace was a storm cloud—quiet, serious, always deep in thought—Zoey was the sun that never stopped shining. They'd grown up on the same street, biked around the same cul-de-sacs, and even built a crooked little treehouse together when they were ten. But as high school rolled in, their worlds took different shapes: Jace became "the basketball guy," and Zoey somehow became "everything else"—student council vice president, photography club star, future valedictorian, and the girl everyone liked without trying.
Zoey jogged across the gym with her camera bouncing around her neck, her ponytail swinging behind her.
"What are you doing here?" Jace asked, though he already knew.
"Getting sunrise shots," she replied cheerfully. "I told you, I'm doing a photo series covering different student passions. And nothing says 'Ridgeview spirit' like watching our resident basketball zombie shoot hoops at six in the morning."
"I'm not a zombie."
She raised an eyebrow. "You didn't even blink when the door slammed. Total zombie behavior."
"No, that's just focus."
"Uh-huh. Sure." She stepped closer and lifted her camera. "Hold still."
Before he could protest, the shutter clicked three times.
Jace sighed. "You know I'm all sweaty, right?"
"It's authentic! Real! Gritty!" She snapped another picture as he scowled. "And besides, it's not like you look bad."
Her casual compliment landed harder than a chest pass. Jace looked away, pretending to focus on something on the wall, but there was nothing there except faded banners from a time when Ridgeview actually won things.
Zoey didn't seem to notice the effect she had. She was busy adjusting her camera settings, humming softly.
"So," she started, "I heard Coach posted the preseason schedule. First game's in six weeks, right?"
"Five and a half," Jace corrected. "And we're not ready."
"You're never ready in your head. Last season you said the same thing."
"That's because we weren't ready then either."
Zoey shook her head with a smile—the kind that said here he goes again. "Maybe you should be a little less hard on yourself."
"And maybe you should take pictures of something else."
She grinned. "Nope. My project is due Friday. You're stuck with me."
Jace rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly more aware of how close she was standing. "Fine," he mumbled. "Just don't post any of those online."
"No promises," she teased, then gently nudged him with her elbow. "C'mon, Moreno. Do your thing. I'll stay out of your way."
But she didn't stay out of the way.
Zoey never did.
She followed him loyally as he continued shooting, snapping pictures every now and then. At first, Jace tried ignoring her, but he kept catching glimpses of her in his peripheral vision—her ponytail swaying, her eyes narrowing in concentration, her smile whenever she captured something she liked. And strangely, he found himself playing better. Like part of him wanted to show off.
He went up for a dunk—a stronger, cleaner dunk than he'd done in weeks—and Zoey let out a triumphant, "YESS! That one looked insane!"
"It was okay," he said modestly.
"It was not okay. That was, like, highlight reel material."
Her enthusiasm tugged a reluctant smile out of him.
They spent the next twenty minutes in a comfortable rhythm: Jace practicing, Zoey photographing, the sun slowly painting the gym beams gold through the high windows. For once, Jace didn't feel like the weight of an entire team was on his shoulders. Zoey's presence made the gym feel… lighter.
But the moment had to end.
The other players started filing in—teammates talking trash, shoving each other playfully, dropping their backpacks. Someone shouted Jace's name. Someone else clapped him on the back.
"Yo, Zoey!" called Elijah, one of the junior forwards. "You takin' pictures of our star boy again?"
Zoey rolled her eyes. "It's for my project."
"Sure, sure. Whatever you say."
Jace shot Elijah a warning look, and Elijah backed off with his hands up.
The team gathered at midcourt as Coach Lawson strode in with a whistle around his neck and a clipboard tucked under one arm. He eyed the players, then eyed Zoey.
"Ms. Hartwell. You here for more photos?"
"Yes, Coach," she said brightly.
"Try not to distract my shooting guard too much."
Jace choked. "Coach!"
Coach Lawson smirked like he knew exactly what he was doing. "Alright boys, warm-up layup lines. Hartwell, stay out of the paint unless you want to get trampled."
Zoey saluted. "Yes sir."
Practice kicked in fast, and Jace didn't have time to think about Zoey anymore—not with Coach barking instructions and teammates whizzing by. He settled into basketball mode: fast feet, sharp passes, crashing the boards, locking onto shooters. But every now and then, when he glanced toward the bleachers, he caught Zoey's camera pointed at him.
It made his stomach flip.
When practice ended, players headed for the locker room. Zoey waited at the bottom of the bleachers, checking through her photos. Jace walked over, towel draped around his neck.
"So?" he asked. "Did you get what you needed?"
She looked up at him and smiled—warm, wide, genuine. "Yeah. I think I did."
Jace tried not to stare at her smile too long. "Good."
"But…" she added mischievously, "I still need some outside shots."
"Outside shots?"
"Yep! Of you walking to class, of you talking to people, of you being a real human instead of a basketball robot."
"I'm not a robot."
She poked his chest. "You kind of are."
He threw his towel at her, and she shrieked dramatically before laughing. It echoed beautifully in the quiet morning gym.
That sound did something weird to his chest.
Zoey leaned back on the bleachers. "Hey Jace… can I ask you something?"
"Yeah?"
"Why do you push yourself so hard? I mean, you're already good. Like, really good. So… why all this?"
He wasn't sure how to answer. Nobody usually asked—not teachers, not teammates, not even his mom. But Zoey looked at him like she genuinely wanted to know.
Jace sat beside her, thinking.
"Because…" he began slowly, "I want to play college ball. Real college ball. D1. And Ridgeview's not exactly known for producing talent. So the only way I get noticed is if I'm better than everyone. Every game. Every practice. Every day."
Zoey listened quietly.
Jace swallowed. "If I slow down even for a second… someone else gets ahead."
Zoey studied him for a long moment. "Jace… you don't have to sprint through your entire life."
"Yes I do."
"No, you don't."
He looked at her, annoyed. "You don't get it."
"I don't have to get basketball to get you, dummy." Her voice softened. "You're always acting like the world is out to replace you. But nobody's taking your spot."
Jace didn't know what to say. His heart thumped a little too loud.
Zoey tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just… don't forget to actually live, okay? Basketball's important, but so are the people around you."
"Who says I forgot?"
She smiled teasingly. "You didn't even notice I got a haircut."
Jace blinked. "You—wait—did you?"
Zoey laughed in disbelief. "Oh my god. You're hopeless."
She shoved him lightly, and he almost toppled off the bleacher.
Before he could defend himself, the bell rang, echoing through the gym.
Zoey hopped up, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. "Walk with me?"
Jace grabbed his bag. "Yeah."
They stepped out onto the courtyard as students swarmed the hallways. Zoey walked close to him—closer than earlier—her shoulder occasionally brushing his arm. He tried to ignore the electric warmth that shot up his skin each time it happened.
"So what's today?" she asked. "Another intense practice after school?"
"Yeah. Coach wants us focusing on defense. Apparently we gave up too many points last scrimmage."
Zoey nodded thoughtfully, though she probably didn't know what half of that meant. "I'll be there."
"At practice?"
"To take more pictures," she said, showing him her camera. "Remember? Real human stuff."
"Right."
She paused when they reached her classroom. "Jace?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for letting me follow you around this morning."
He shrugged. "You kinda just did it."
"I know." She grinned. "But thanks anyway."
Then—and Jace swore his heart stopped—Zoey rose on her toes and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
It was barely anything.
Barely a second.
Barely there.
But it hit Jace like a full-court buzzer beater.
Zoey stepped back, her face pink but playful. "You looked like you needed a win today."
Jace opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
"See you later, star boy," she whispered.
Then she disappeared into her classroom, leaving Jace frozen in the hallway, gripping his backpack like his entire nervous system had short-circuited.
For someone who lived his life by structure—reps, drills, routines, schedules—Jace had no idea what to do with the chaos she caused.
He didn't know much right now.
But he knew one thing:
This season just got a lot more complicated.
And maybe… a lot more exciting.