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“I taught myself how to code that one time I got the flu and couldn’t get out of bed for a few days. I also taught myself how to identify poisonous mushrooms,” he told us.

“Why the fuck do you need to know that?” Wyatt asked. “I’ve never even seen a mushroom around here.”

“Again… because I could.” He gave us both a smile that told us it was really that simple with him. I just couldn’t fathom it. “I figured out how to change my oil, which led me to tinker with it and figure out how to rebuild a car. Though, I haven’t tested that one because I don’t have an old car to rebuild. I got bored in class and taught myself the NATO phonetic alphabet. I can also say it backwards. In the next class, I figured out origami. I played with that one for a week or so. There were some really cool designs to learn. That led me to almost perfecting the paper airplane.”

“Only almost?” I retorted. “That hardly sounds like you.”

“Eh.” He tossed another piece of candy and missed. “Perfection isn’t the goal.”

“What is?” Wyatt replied.

“I don’t know. I just got bored.”

“You know what I do when I’m bored?” I shot back. “Find something to entertain myself for a bit, not do something like pick up rocket science—”

“Oh! I’m almost close to figuring out how to build a rocket ship,” Jude interrupted with a cheeky grin. Knowing him, he’d done it to spite his brother. “Obviously, I haven’t figured out how to accurately apply that knowledge yet, which is hindering my ability to say I actually can.”

“Why?” Wyatt demanded.

“We’ve established this. Because I wanted to,” he repeated with a shrug. “It’s not that big a deal. And it’s not like it’s a secret. I just don’t feel the need to talk about it. What’s your thing?”

He nodded at Wyatt, which was probably for the better because this whole conversation could’ve gone on for hours. I had so many questions, and I was sure Wyatt did too—none of which I was sure we wanted answers to.

“It’s not,” Wyatt faltered. “Let’s see… I like romance movies.”

“Yeah, we all know that,” Jude replied. “Tell us something you’ve never told us.”

He was silent for a long moment, his expression far more pensive than I expected, considering the conversation.

“I write down the names of everyone I meet,” he said quietly, “and usually one or two things about them.”

“That’s…” I didn’t quite have the words to express what that was. I’d certainly never heard of anyone doing that. “Why?”

“It was something I started doing in foster care,” Wyatt admitted.

I went still, and Jude’s tossed candy disappeared unnoticed as it slid across the floor. Whatever joke we’d been thinking of vanished. I watched the amusement fade from Jude’s expression, and he sat up a little taller. My chest tightened, and I noticed how Wyatt’s gaze was on the notebook in front of him. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say a word. Instead, I slid down to join them on the floor and just waited for Wyatt to continue.

“I was dropped off at one of those safe baby drop-offs in California. I don’t even know who my parents are,” he continued, his soft voice loud in the quiet room. “I spent most of my life in the same foster care, but I did move around occasionally. And there were a lot of kids in and out of the foster homes I was in, so I used to write down their names and a few things about them. Like maybe if I remembered them, then maybe there was hope that I wouldn’t be forgotten.”

He paused, running his thumb absentmindedly along the edge of his notebook. I found myself holding my breath for whatever he said next.

“I’ve watched so many people leave,” Wyatt said. “I think I just wanted proof that they’d ever been there… that they mattered to someone, even if that person was me. And I just… never stopped doing it.”

None of us spoke for a long moment. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. It wasn’t the kind of admission that we could comfort him through—not really. There was no joke we could make that could undo the mess he’d grown up in. All we could do was sit there and hope he knew that he wasn’t alone anymore.

“I hate Rhodes,” Jude said finally, breaking the silence. His words caught me off guard. My head snapped in his direction. Wyatt’s too. “Not him. I don’t hate Rhodes. I love him, but I hate being his little brother. I’ve spent my whole life living in his shadow. Oh, you want to play football? Well, you know your brother could’ve gone pro. Why can’t you play that well? Your brother joined the military. Why can’t you do something meaningful with your life? Your brother went to an incredible college and became a rocket scientist. Look at him now. He works for fucking NASA. Why haven’t you declared a major? Why do you spend so much time screwing around?”

He blew out a frustrated breath and rolled back, lying on the floor.

“I just wish I wasn’t Rhodes Kennedy’s little brother,” he murmured. “I just want to matter the way I am.”

I understood that more than I wanted to admit—that unbearable weight pressing down on you with no end in sight.

“I’m afraid I’m going to let everyone down,” I whispered. Both of them glanced at me. “And not just this draft thing… just… what if I can’t be what people want me to be? What if I’m still not enough?”

The words felt strange coming out of my mouth. Of all the challenges I faced, this one plagued me the most. I could fix my performance on the field or anywhere else, for that matter. I couldn’t fix this. No amount of hours could make up for the things I didn’t know I lacked until they reared an ugly head. That unknown variable terrified me.

Because what if the problem wasn’t something I could work harder to overcome? What if it was just me?