1
DELILAH
The problem with having a best friend like Lacey Williams is that she makes “blending into the background” physically impossible. I'm currently speed-walking across campus, coffee in hand, hoodie pulled low, successfully avoiding eye contact with every human being until Lacey spots me.
“Delilah Greer! Don't youdarepretend you don't see me!” Her voice carries across the quad, turning heads.
I suppress a smile, not breaking stride as she jogs to catch up with me. Yes, I saw her coming. Yes, I could have waited. But our friendship works best when I pretend to be annoyed by her excessive enthusiasm whilesecretlyappreciating it.
“I was wondering if you'd emerge from the library today, you know most people relax the first week of term,” she says, falling into step beside me. Her blonde hair catches the sunlight, and she's somehow making UMS sweats look like designer loungewear. “I brought sustenance for you. Well, I actually have had it in my backpack for a week but I figure you could use it.”
She produces a protein bar from her tiny backpack andholds it out. I accept it without protest, suddenly aware I haven't eaten since yesterday.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, tucking it into my pocket for later. “I was just grabbing this coffee before my meeting.”
“What meeting?” Lacey asks, linking her arm with mine. I don't pull away. For Lacey, physical contact is like breathing, automatic and necessary. I've learned to accommodate it because I love her.
“Nothing important,” I lie, even as my stomach tightens. “Just a thing in the Engineering Building.”
Lacey stops walking, forcing me to halt or drag her forward. “Wait. The Engineering Building?” Her eyes narrow, then widen dramatically. “Delilah Greer, is this the Future Innovators meeting? Did you get in?”
I bite my lip. “Maybe.”
“Oh my god!” She squeals so loudly that a flock of birds takes flight from a nearby tree. “Why didn't you tell me? This is huge!”
I shrug, uncomfortable with her excitement but also warmed by it. “I didn't want to make a big deal out of it until after the informational meeting. It's just acceptance. I haven’t won yet.”
“Just preliminary—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Del, you've been talking about this competition since sophomore year. You have sketches of potential submissions taped above your bed.Weturned down an Alpha Si party last year to complete your submission.”
“That wasn't a sacrifice. Alpha Si parties are the seventh circle of hell.”
“Not the point.” She grabs both my shoulders, her expression serious despite her smile. “This isyourthing. The thing that could change everything for you.”
Something in my chest tightens. Lacey doesn't know the full extent of my financial situation, I've been careful aboutthat, but she knows enough. She knows I work as much as I can and that I apply for every available grant.
Unlike some students, I'm not technically broke—yet. But growing up with a mom whose relationship with money was as unpredictable as her moods left me with a constant, gnawing anxiety about financial security. I have savings, carefully accumulated through years of part-time jobs and disciplined budgeting, but watching that number slowly decrease each semester sends me into a cold panic. One emergency, one unexpected expense, and my carefully constructed safety net could vanish.
“It's a big deal,” I admit softly. “Ten thousand dollars to the winner, plus industry connections.Realones, not the 'my dad's golf buddy might look at your portfolio' kind.”
That money wouldn't just mean breathing room for tuition and rent. It would mean freedom from the constant mental calculations, the what-ifs that keep me up at night. It would mean not having to choose between new drafting supplies and groceries. Most importantly, it would mean not becoming my mother—always one unexpected bill away from disaster, always depending on someone else to bail her out.
Lacey's eyes soften. “Why didn't you tell me you got in?”
I take a deep breath and turn to look at her. “Because I'm terrified, Lace. What if I mess up the application? What if my design isn't good enough? If this doesn’t work, then what? I don’thavea plan B.”
“Okay, now you're just being ridiculous.” Lacey gives me a gentle shake. “You're the most talented, hardworking person I know. If anyone deserves this, it's you.”
I swallow hard. “Thanks, Lace.”
“Plus,” she adds with a grin, “you'rewayscarier than the other applicants. They'll probably withdraw out of fear.”
I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling now. “My resting murder face does have its advantages.”
“It's gotten us out of three bad double dates and a weird timeshare presentation.” Her phone buzzes, and her entire demeanor shifts as she checks it. Her smile falls. “Still nothing from Carter.”
I check my watch. The meeting starts in fifteen minutes, but Lacey's sad expression tugs at me. “Carter problems?”
I suppress a sigh.Carter. Lacey's latest in a concerning pattern of guys who are “different” until they're exactly the same as all the others.
