Kenji rushes to the office and comes back a moment later with his tablet. “I’ll search online suppliers with same-day delivery.”
Twenty minutes later, we’ve called every office supply store in a twenty-mile radius. Nothing. Nobody has fifty reams of premium white paper available for same-day delivery. Not even just standard white paper.
Maybe I should campaign for paper-free reports at VSE. We’d save the trees and my sanity with one simple decision.
Then I remember my friends’ charity, The Starfinders Foundation, keeps tons of paper in stock to donate to local kids’ school projects. I pull out my phone, scrolling for their number while mentally calculating the bare minimum I’ll need to borrow.
“Drew? Hey, it’s Meatball. Listen, I have the weirdest favor to ask?—”
“Does it have anything to do with glitter?” Drew’s warm laugh carries through the phone. “Because I’m still findingglitter in places glitter should never be from the art class you ran for the kids last month.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “Next time I’ll stick to pencil drawings. Promise.”
“Sure, sure. What can we help you with?”
“Paper. More precisely, premium white paper.”
Drew laughs again. “Dude, I run a charity. The only premium thing in this building is the contents of my stomach since the new taco van opened outside our gates.”
I ignore my rumbling stomach at his mention of tacos. “Any paper will do.”
“How much do you need?”
“Whatever you can spare, but ideally forty to fifty reams. I’ll replace it as soon as the right order comes in, I promise. And you’ll get an upgrade to premium. This is literally a crisis situation.”
“Let me check what we have left.”
Relief floods through me so intensely that I have to sit down. “Drew, you’re literally saving my life right now. I owe you everything. Name it. Anything.”
“How about you come to the mayor’s award gala next month? We have extra tickets and could use the support.”
“Done. Absolutely done. I’ll be there with bells on. Possibly literally, knowing me.”
Twenty minutes later, Drew has arranged for his foundation’s leftover paper to be delivered to VSE. It’s not fifty reams, but it’s enough for the quarterly reports with a bit to spare.
When the paper arrives, I personally carry each ream to the copy room. Roberto helps, even though it’s not his job, because Roberto is a saint who deserves a raise. Kenji and Priya take turns checking on me, bringing snacks and moral support.
“You’ve got this,” Priya says, squeezing my shoulder.
By the time Pierce emerges from his afternoon meetings, the quarterly reports are printed, bound, and sitting in neat stacks, ready for tomorrow’s board meeting. He doesn’t know how close we came to disaster. He doesn’t need to know.
He pauses by my desk, eyes scanning the reports. “These look good.”
Three words. Three tiny words. But they send warmth flooding through my chest.
“Thank you, Mr. Dellcourt.”
He narrows his eyes ever so slightly before he retreats to his office. Through the glass, I watch him settle into his chair, and almost,almost,smile at the reports.
I did that. I fixed a disaster and made something good happen. With help.
My phone buzzes with a message from the group chat I have with my cousins.
Noah:
Family meal at Lusitana this Sunday. Meatball, you’re coming, right?
Adam:
