“Stop fidgeting,” Trixie whispers, nudging my knee with hers. “You look great.”
I give her a grateful smile. “Thanks. So do you.”
It's been a month since I submitted the project with Troy. A month of avoiding the engineering building, taking different routes to class, pretending my heart doesn't skip whenever I see someone with his height or build across campus.
A month of growing, too.
I scan the room, trying to look casual about it. The finalists are all seated in the first few rows, partners next to each other—except for us. Troy is four rows ahead, on the opposite side. Even from behind, I'd know him anywhere. Theway he holds himself, confident and at ease. The slight tilt of his head when he listens. The way his shoulders shake slightly when he laughs.
He's talking to the person next to him—some guy I don't recognize—gesturing with his hands the way he does when he's explaining something he's passionate about. He looks good. Really good. Like the past four weeks haven't touched him at all.
I wonder if that's true.
“Delilah,” Trixie singsongs, waving her hand in front of my face. “You're staring again.”
I snap my attention back to her, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Don't be.” She squeezes my hand. “I'd stare too. That boy isfine.”
I laugh despite myself. Trixie has that effect—drawing out happiness even when I'm determined to brood. We met,again, in the architecture computer lab a day after everything fell apart with Troy. I was holed up at 2 AM, bleary-eyed, trying to finish a rendering. She strolled in with a thermos of coffee and two cups, set one in front of me without asking, and announced, “You look like you could use this more than sleep.”
Four hours later, we'd finished our respective projects and exchanged life stories. Or at least, I'd told her more about myself than I'd told anyone in years. Including the saga of Troy Hawkins. I even showed her the custom layered masks technique she’d wanted to see earlier in the year. After that, we became good friends.
We both stayed on campus over Christmas break, so spent a lot of time together.
“How are you feeling?” she asks now, her voice softer. “About seeing him, I mean.”
I consider lying, then remember my promise to myself. No more walls. Not with people who've earned my trust.
“Like I might throw up,” I admit. “Or cry. Or both.”
She nods. “That's fair.”
“I just—” I cut myself off as the dean approaches the podium. “Never mind. I'll tell you later.”
The truth is, I don't know what I'd say anyway. That I miss him? That I regret pushing him away? That I've spent the last month building a better version of myself, one who lets people in, one who might actually be worthy of him?
That I'm terrified it's too late?
“Welcome, everyone,” the dean begins, her voice echoing through the auditorium. “We're here to celebrate the remarkable achievements of this year's Future Innovators Design and Innovation Challenge finalists...”
I try to listen, but my eyes keep drifting back to Troy. He's sitting straighter now, focused on the dean. Professional. Poised. I wonder if he's nervous. If he cares about winning.
If he's thought about me at all.
“The judges were impressed by the creativity and vision demonstrated in all five finalist projects,” the dean continues. “Before we announce the winner, I'd like to acknowledge each team and their contributions.”
Trixie grabs my hand as the dean begins to describe the projects, starting with the team seated at the far end of the front row.
“Your turn soon,” she whispers, excitement making her practically vibrate in her seat.
“Yours too,” I whisper back.
Trixie and her partner Jonathan created something extraordinary—a mathematical model of water flow that demonstrates how small changes in environment can create cascading effects throughout an ecosystem. She explained it to me over coffee last week, her eyes lighting up as shedescribed the intricate calculations behind their visual display. I didn't understand half of it, but her passion was contagious.
It's strange, having a friend who gets so excited about her work. Who listens when I talk about mine. Who knows my coffee order and remembers to ask about my mom and doesn't mind when I need space.
“And now,” the dean says, “the project submitted by Delilah Greer and Troy Hawkins:‘The Living Classroom: Regenerative Education Through Design.’”
