“What do you mean?” I ask, taking a sip of my water.
“You say things like…” She shrugs, mocking me, “If you want something, go for it––and I don’t think you realize that it’s not that simple.”
I stop moving my legs and turn to her. “The world will tell you that it’s hard, that it’s not that simple, that you need to be lucky or rich or drop-dead gorgeous, but the reality is that most people want something and don’t go for it.” I shrug back at her. “If you say you want something, it is as simple as doing it.”
She glares at me like I’ve just offended her.
“If someone wanted to go to college, for example, what would you tell them?”
Her voice is dead and annoyed as she says, “Apply. Pick a major.”
I can tell by her tone and expression that I lost her.
This always happens.
I say the things that make sense in my head, the things I think will help–– and they always land wrong.
I nod. “Or what if I said, pick your outcome. What do you want from college? Most would say a career. Maybe experience, friends, connections, fun times.”
She nods. “Definitely not debt.”I smile. “Get a scholarship.”
“Are you on scholarship?”
I shake my head. “I pay for my tuition with my job.”
Her brows furrow. “Your parents don’t pay for your tuition?”
“No.”
“Wow.”
I start biking again. “So, if you want to do social media, just do it. Just start posting.”
She huffs a laugh. “You’re funny. This is exactly what you told me to do with Dylan. Just go for it,” she mocks me.
I shrug, thinking about Dylan now. I mutter quietly, “If you want something, go for it, Marina. The world is yours.”
I say that like I didn’t just watch someone I want walk away from me.
I’m good at fixing things. Plans. Bodies. Goals. I’m not great at sitting in the mess of someone else. Maybe that’s why I don’t have friends. Perhaps that’s why Dylan walked away.
I pick up the pace on the bike, cranking the resistance so high my legs start to burn—the thought of going for something I want bruises my ego. Dylan walked away from me so that I won’t chase him.
After twenty minutes of pedaling, we hop off the bikes.
“How often do you want to meet?” she asks.
I lift a brow. “What’re your goals?”
She shrugs.
“Let’s meet three days a week. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Does that work for you?”
She nods.
“Perfect. See you tomorrow at eight.”
As I leave the gym, Gavin tells me to have a good night. I wave at him, ready to get home and shower. I’ll need to dive right into work because I've piled myself with brand deals, deadlines, and homework.
