Page 1 of The Beta Test

Chapter One

“And this is my vision board for this year.” I snag a picture of the board and quickly text it to Braden. The way the afternoon sun filters through the window makes the images and lists shine like beacons, and the metal thumbtacks gleam like starbursts. Mediocrity can’t be found on a single square inch. Becoming valedictorian, earning swim team captaincy, and getting into MIT are just some of the highlights of my multi-year life plan, all represented on a corkboard.

“Amazing, Avery. You’re going to crush your goals this year, like usual.” Braden’s voice gives me goosebumps. He sounds like a guy who knows what he’s doing with his life and that is unbelievably attractive.

“How are you settling into your dorm? I wish we could video chat so you could show it to me,” I ask.

“I know,” he sighs. “Maybe next time. But everything here is going great, I promise. It’s been so busy. You know how it is.”

Yeah, I do. Like me, Braden Patel is driven and motivated. He graduated at the top of his class last year—graduating a year early!—and is already living the dream at MIT as a freshman. We’ve been best friends most of our lives and have dated for the past five years. We always keep each other accountable to reach our goals. Nothing can stop us when we work together.

“Av, I gotta go. There’s another event for incoming freshmen and I don’t want to be late.”

Gah, even his dedication to punctuality sends a shiver down my spine. Am I lucky or what?

“Ok! Have fun. I love you.”

“Love ya too, Av.”

With a smile on my face, I slide my phone into my pocket and then gently lift my vision board back up to its original position against the wall behind my desk. It is the first thing I see every morning and the last thing I look at every night, keeping me on track.

This is it: my senior year. Although I’d never been one to slack off, dedication to my goals is more important this year than ever before. Braden is waiting for me at MIT, and I’m bursting out of my skin with impatience to join him. It isn’t my dream—it’s ours. As long as I follow the plan, everything will turn out exactly as it should. And even though Braden is three thousand miles away, we’ll still be cheering each other on via phone and text every day.

At my tidy white desk, I pull out my brand-new planner and a couple unopened packs of stickers. They are adorable and incredibly helpful. There’s everything included, from stickers for marking test days to little cute seasonal icons. After shuffling through and admiring the options, I begin filling out my schedule and decorating every page. My hand smooths the papers, satisfied by the multiple pen colors and the texture the stickers provide. Is there anything better? The planner even smells nice—like fresh dreams.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s my best friend, Jenna.

“Hey, Jenna.”

“Girl, what are you doing? I thought you were going to come over and swim today! It’s our last day of freedom before school starts tomorrow. Do you have to babysit tonight or something?”

“Uh, no, my mom is home. I’m… you know, filling out my schedule in my planner. And since we didn’t plan a specific time to swim, I’m technically not late.” I wedge the phone between my cheek and shoulder so my hands are free to continue peeling stickers free from their crinkly papers.

Jenna snorts. “Of course you are. How do you even know your schedule? I thought they posted that on the student portal tonight.”

“Those of us who obsessively refresh the portal page are sometimes rewarded with early information,” I reply smugly. Though a few hours early didn’t make a huge difference, I still wanted to get my hands on it as soon as possible. If I didn’t get the right classes, I’d have to show up early tomorrow and fight my counselor about it. Thankfully, both my counselor and I will be spared that particular confrontation. My schedule is perfect.

“Avery James, put the planner down and get over here immediately! It’s ok to let loose and have fun once in a while. You can’t plan every second of your life.”

A loud sigh blows out of me as I roll my eyes. Jenna loves to be spontaneous, but I refuse to believe life is better when it’s messy. Messy is what ruins everything. “I’ll be there soon. But first, I need to⁠—”

“No. You know what? If you don’t come over here right now, I’ll eat every single M&M cookie on this plate I’m holding. Or more accurately, I’ll let Jake eat them all because we both know I can’t afford to eat that many calories before volleyball starts in a couple days.”

Well, she didn’t mention the cookies before. “You win. I’m coming. Don’t eat them!”

Jenna’s victory grin is basically audible as we say goodbye. A little break won’t hurt—my organizational plans will be waiting for me when I get home.

After quickly changing into a swimsuit and throwing on a coverup, I braid my waist-long hair to keep it contained. Makeup isn’t necessary; no one else is supposed to be there anyway. I give my vision board one final caress and straighten the picture of MIT’s logo. One corner of the paper is folded up and won’t flatten when I finger-press it. A quick reprint will fix that when I get home.

My flip-flops echo through the garage as I hustle to open the door of my dad’s old Corolla. While he’s been gone for a work assignment, it’s essentially become my car. The canvas bag I packed gets tossed into the passenger seat, and I crank the engine. My dad’s favorite mix CD (yes, it’s so old it has a CD player) blares to life—Sugar Sugar by The Archies. He always said my mom was his ‘candy girl,’ and the reason I love sweets so much is because she ate a ton of candy while pregnant with me. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I remember singing the words at the top of my lungs, windows rolled down, with Dad smiling behind the wheel.

I flick the music off, and eight minutes later, I pull into a long, horseshoe driveway in front of the Taylors’ obnoxiously large house. Only four people live here, but the building could easily accommodate ten. The size definitely made it fun for hide-and-seek when we were younger.

As usual, I opt not to ring the doorbell and waltz in, breezing through the front hall until reaching the kitchen. The blackmail, aka M&M cookies, are sitting on the counter. Their scent hits me and a sigh escapes—heaven. I study the plate, then snag a few of the biggest ones before opening the sliding door and stepping out onto the back patio. The heat of the California sun hits my skin, the contrast between their house’s A/C and the hot air sending a ripple of goosebumps along my arms.

The Taylors' patio is practically its own zip code—covered trellis, outdoor kitchen, enough seating to host a small wedding. A half wall separates it from the pool below, which means I can’t spot Jenna until I reach the steps.

My brow furrows. There’s laughing and splashing—but with Jake still at hockey camp and Jenna’s parents at work, who would be here? She didn’t mention anyone on the phone. My ears strain for clues as I tread closer, stepping out of the shaded area and into the blazing sunlight. The voice laughing with Jenna sounds deep; it’s definitely not one of her volleyball teammates. Is she dating someone? No—she would tell me, wouldn't she? Besides, the last time we talked about guys she said she was done with high school “boys” and would only consider dating “men” in the future. I’m still not entirely clear on how she makes that distinction.