Smash or Pass

By Birdie Schae

"An ace of a book." —Rachel Lippincott, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Five Feet Apart

For 16-year-old Ellie, beach volleyball camp is a disaster until she's paired with Sierra, an athletic prodigy who teaches her that volleyball...and love are about taking the right shot in this sporty sapphic romance.

Ellie dates the Right Guy, says all the Right Things, and acts the Right Way to avoid being ridiculed for her autism. When that Right Guy unceremoniously dumps her right before they're supposed to go to beach volleyball camp together, Ellie's perfectly curated world comes crashing down and she's labeled the boring, weird girl.

Desperate to regain her good reputation (and yeah, sure, the boy...), Ellie goes to Camp SMASH, which is nothing like she expected. There, she's paired with Sierra, a mysterious, standoffish volleyball legacy who makes Ellie's quest to get her boyfriend back even more complicated...

Dive into this sporty summer romance full of the classics: a ragtag group of friends, a tense game of capture the flag, and a swoon-worthy sapphic love story.

"A deeply heartfelt debut about friendship, first love, and finding your true self. Smash or Pass [feels] like both a warm hug and a secret whispered across a campfire." —Rachel Lynn Solomon, New York Times bestselling author of Today Tonight Tomorrow

"Smash or Pass is everything I needed as a queer autistic teenager who wasn't ready to take off the mask. This book is a reminder that vulnerability is a strength and that allowing ourselves to be seen only makes us easier to love." —Sonora Reyes, National Book Award Finalist and bestselling author of The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School

1. Never Get in a Car with Your Boyfriend

Whenever I enter my therapist’s office, she makes me rate my emotions on a scale from one to ten. It can be about anything—from my level of stress about a certain situation to how happy I’ve been feeling lately—and though I thought it was too childish for a sixteen-year-old at first, I’ve grown used to the question over time. So much that even right now, weeks away from our next appointment, I can hear her voice in my head.

On a scale from one to ten, how upset does this make you?

The answer comes to me easily, but it can’t possibly be true. Because something tells me that my boyfriend breaking up with me isn’t supposed to feel like a mere four.

“Listen, Ellie, I just don’t think this is going to work,” Daniel tells me while I sit there, frozen in his passenger seat, repeating his words in my head for the fifth time. I wait and wait and wait for my heart to break, for that horrible, sinking feeling in my chest, but even as the houses and lampposts outside the car keep flashing by, nothing really happens. The world around me doesn’t come crashing down. I don’t start crying. But Daniel?

He sighs.

“This doesn’t have to be some big deal, you know,” he says, looking at me expectantly, but I still can’t will my lips to part.

See, this is exactly why I have to stick to my rules at all times. Those seven simple bullet points I wrote down right before the start of high school are the whole reason people in this town like me, and they have never once failed me since I began to follow them religiously three years ago. If I had just stuck to them like I normally do, I wouldn’t be in this situation at all because of Rule #1: Try to avoid one-on-one conversations and stay in groups as much as possible. That way, before you react to something someone says, you can quickly look around and make sure you act the way you’re expected to.

I knew better than to get into this car all alone with Daniel, but . . . I don’t know. I guess he was so insistent on driving me to Blake’s party that I let myself be naive for a second, wanting to believe that one little exception on our six-month anniversary couldn’t hurt.

I was wrong.

“Just because I’m breaking up with you doesn’t mean we have to start acting all weird,” Daniel continues. “We can just go to this party and explain to our friends that we decided to end things, and then we can move on with our lives like nothing ever happened between us.” He shrugs. “I mean, I see no reason for us to stop being friends.”

What he’s saying makes perfect sense, except for the fact that Daniel and I have never actually been friends. We were strangers who hung out with each other because of our newly intertwined friend groups, and then, exactly six months ago, we started kissing each other. Nothing less, nothing more.

I don’t say any of that, though. I don’t think Daniel would appreciate me disagreeing with him on whether we have a friendship we can return to or not. The only issue is that I don’t know what he does want to hear right now, even though I did follow Rule #2: Before you meet up with people, take some time to prepare yourself for possible scenarios.

I spent over half an hour making sure I’d know what to do in case any of the situations I could think of become a reality tonight. I prepared myself for my friends getting a little too drunk and practiced what to say if we play spin the bottle and I am expected to kiss someone who isn’t Daniel. I even looked up what to do if my brother and my best friend start dating, even though one thing is for sure: That will never happen, no matter what Nina believes.

The possibility of my boyfriend breaking up with me, however? It never once crossed my mind.

There’s not much time left to dwell on how incredibly unprepared I am for this, though. We turn another corner in silence, now less than a minute away from Blake’s party, and since there’s no way for me to subtly pull out my phone and read a detailed guide to breakups right now, I have no choice but to say the first thing that comes to mind.

“If that’s what you want, then I guess we should just . . . stay friends.”

My words have barely had time to turn cold in the air between us when the car comes to a stop. Daniel turns to me immediately, scanning my face with those blue eyes I’ve grown familiar with over the past few months. There’s a frown between his brows, and he blinks once, twice, thrice before finally seeming to realize that I’m not going to burst into tears or slap him in the face.

He swallows, his jaw set. “Wait, so . . . no hard feelings between us, then?”

“No hard feelings,” I repeat with a singular nod. For a moment, I think that maybe we should shake hands on it, make it official, but I ultimately decide against it. Only a few seconds later, the two of us leave the car—and each other—behind.

Teenage life usually follows a pattern, and as I enter Blake’s party, I’m glad the rest of the night seems to be falling right into it. Dozens of groups have already claimed their spots across the room, some people leaning against the walls with their hands wrapped around their cups while others have decided to settle on the floor instead of the empty couch they’re literally resting their backs against. There are even a few people who have gathered on the staircase, of all places.

It’s scarily familiar, as if somebody copy-pasted the scene in front of me from my memories of last week’s party. And the one before that. And all the other ones I’ve gone to, actually.

I was fourteen the first time Nina insisted I come along with her to one of Blake’s parties, so now, over two years and approximately too many long nights later, it’s not that hard for me to guess what tonight will end up looking like. People will get way too drunk, we’ll play stupid games even though we know they always end up causing drama, a few people will hook up, and by the next morning our whole school will have heard about everything that went down.

There should be no more surprises tonight. Which is exactly how I like it.

My eyes roam around the room in hopes of finding a white girl with blond hair, and . . . well, there are quite a lot of those, actually, but none of them are Nina Davis. So I keep walking.

I scan as many faces as possible while making my way through the groups of friends, but everything quickly starts to blur together. Shoulders bump into mine, the smell of alcohol gets heavier the deeper I go into the dancing crowd, and voices surround me until there’s not even an inch of space left for me to simply breathe.

The world around me spins out of focus. It’s too much, too much, too much, and yet everything seems so far away. As if I’m not really here. As if I’m merely a ghost moving through this room of things that should be tangible but only leave me with a numb kind of tingling when I reach out.

That is, until I feel a firm tug on my arm.

“Hello? Earth to Ellie?” Nina tries, snapping her fingers in front of my face until I’ve returned to the world of the living. She’s straightened her blond hair so it falls perfectly over her exposed shoulders. The light blue denim top she’s wearing is absolutely stunning, hugging her body in all the right places and revealing how her normally pale white skin has tanned. I would ask her where she bought it if it weren’t for the fact that, unlike Nina, even the Florida sun can’t make me look less white. Wearing pastel colors makes me feel like I’m a walking bottle of milk.

I usually stick to warm shades, like the off-the-shoulder red top I’m wearing right now, which I combined with my jean shorts that have little roses embroidered on them.

I only realize I’ve just been wordlessly staring at her when Nina crosses her arms over her chest and tells me, “You’re scaring me. You good?”

Get yourself together, Eleanore.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say quickly. “I’m fine. Just . . . having a moment.”

Nina nods, but she eyes me in that way that makes me feel small, despite us being the same height. I almost think she’s going to tell me to never have a “moment” again, but instead she sighs. “Whatever.” Then her eyes move on to look around the room. “Where’s Daniel? Aren’t you two supposed to be all cutesy while celebrating right now?”

Oh. Right.

“Well, about that,” I start, my heart beating ten times faster than it did while I was in Daniel’s car. With a curious eyebrow raised at me, Nina lifts her cup of beer to her mouth, and I can’t help but look down at the basic white sneakers on my feet before ripping off the Band-Aid. “We broke up, actually.”

“YOU WHAT?!” Nina exclaims, almost choking on her drink in the process. I let her cough a few times before explaining.

“It happened, like, ten minutes ago.” I give my best attempt at a casual shrug before I add, “I was going to tell you as soon as I could, which is, well, right now. But I’m fine. Honestly. It’s not a big deal.”

I’ve barely said it before the ever-present voice in my head reminds me of Rule #3: Repeat things in your head before you say them out loud, and always add enough clarity so your words can’t be misunderstood.

And so I continue talking, just to make sure she understands. “I mean, it’s not a big deal as in there are no hard feelings between us. We just came to the conclusion that the two of us weren’t really working together and that we’d be better off as friends, so nothing will actually have to change.” I pause. “Except for the part where we kiss and hold hands, of course. That will definitely change since—”

“I get it, Ellie,” Nina interrupts before putting her hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently. “I’m glad we’re still good to hang out with him and the other boys, but that doesn’t make this any less heartbreaking! I really thought you and Daniel were going to be in love forever.” She sighs, shaking her head slowly.

“Let’s look at it from the bright side,” I say, swallowing hard. “At least now I won’t have to go to that summer camp with him. I’m sure my parents can still cancel, which means I’ll have a whole lot more time to do fun things with you instead!”

When Daniel asked me to join him at a beach volleyball camp called SMASH! a few months ago and I said yes, Nina was upset we’d have less time to spend with each other this summer. So much so that she even considered coming along herself, though that might have had to do with my brother being a SMASHER!—his words, not mine—too. Ultimately, though, the thought of, and I quote, “sweating and rolling around in the sand” was a big-enough dealbreaker for Nina to not want to go.