Hannah stood, her beer held high. “To Emily, who just submitted what is definitely going to be the winning application for that super fancy and very impressive art scholarship.”
Gulp.
“Hannah,” I started, but she talked over me.
“To Emily, who is insanely talented and needs to stop doubting herself for five seconds.”
“Hear, hear!” Maya clinked her glass against Hannah’s bottle.
“To Emily, who’s going to absolutely fucking crush it!”
Everyone cheered, bottles clinking against glasses, wine and beer sloshing everywhere. Once we’d all settled down, Annie leaned in, asking quietly, “How do you think you did?”
The question had acid churning in my gut. How did I think I did? I thought I probably wasted months of my life on something I had no business attempting. I thought the committee would take one look at my portfolio and wonder who I thought I was kidding. No doubt they’d think I was fucking delusional.
“I think I did my best,” I said instead. “That’s all I can control, right?”
Under the table, Cam took my hand in his, threading his fingers through mine. The touch was grounding, steady, and I held on maybe a little too tight.
“When do you hear back?” Poppy asked.
I shot Jack a nervous look. “I’m not sure.”
“There are a large number of applicants. Apparently more than was anticipated, so the board advises that it will take at least a few weeks.”
Another gulp.
Cassidy reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Hey, no point in spiraling until there’s something concrete to spiral about.”
“Yeah, okay.” I dragged in a breath. “Good point.”
The conversation shifted then, breaking into smaller pockets around the table. Voices overlapped, laughter erupted from one end while someone else was mid-story at the other.
On it went. All the while my inner voice was fucking torturing me.
What if you wasted your time? What if they laugh at your application? What if mom is right and you’re just playing pretend?
Cam’s thumb traced circles on the back of my hand, and I focused on that instead of the spiral.
“You okay?” he murmured, leaning in so only I could hear.
“Yeah, of course. Just tired from finishing everything.”
He studied my face for a beat too long, and I made myself hold his gaze, smile intact.
“Okay,” he said finally, but I could tell he didn’t fully believe me.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out casually, not checking the sender before I flicked the message open.
Jackie tells me you submitted the application for that art scholarship today.
Should have fucking left her on unread.
That’s right.
Well, I suppose it’s good that you tried. At least now you can say you gave it your best effort and move on.
The air left the room.
