Next letter: L.
I scan the names quickly, stopping when I hit a familiar one.
Liam Longde
Oh, no.
The name rings a bell in a way that makes my stomach turn—not in a dramatic ex kind of way. Just in the awkwardmutual group project, sat next to each other in studio once for a whole semesterkind of way.
He always wore those technical sandals with socks and brought full thermoses of soup to class. We never really talked, aside from a few painfully stiff hi’s and that one time he asked if I’d proofread his research paper on wind turbines. I said no. He acted like I’d personally offended the field of renewable energy.
But he’s in environmental engineering and, annoyingly, very smart.
And now I’m about to email him begging him to be my partner. While being spooned by a man who couldn’t get it up.
This mightactuallybe my rock bottom.
But whatever. Ineeda partner. So, with gritted teeth, I start typing.
Future Innovators Competition – Partner Opportunity
Hey Liam,
Hope you’re doing well!
I saw your name on the Future Innovators acceptance list and wanted to reach out. I’m currently looking for a partner, and since we both have experience in sustainable design, I thought we might work well together.
Let me know if you’re still looking for someone!
Best,
Delilah
I stare at the email.It’s fine. It’s too polite, considering I kind of want to die while sending it, but I can’t think of what else to say.
“I’m sorry I kicked you in the balls, but I think we can both agree you were being a douche. So even stevens? Anyway, let’s win this thing?” Yeah…I don’t think that has a much higher chance of working.
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it. Then I drop my phone onto my chest and groan into the pillow.
Deano shifts beside me.
“Mmph. You good, babe?”
“No,” I say flatly.
“Cool,” he mumbles. Immediately falls back asleep.
I close my eyes.
Well, my final year is off to a fantastic fucking start.
After an embarrassing walkof shame from frat row, I spent the rest of my day getting myself ready for term. Reading ahead in my architecture textbooks. Mr. Abernathy lets me loan all the textbooks I need to for free as part of my job perks. I know he doesn’t need to do it, and I wish I knew how to thank him for it.
Before I know it, I’m hunched over my laptop at 3:17 AM, staring at the UMS Financial Aid portal for what feels like the hundredth time this month. The same message glares back at me in bureaucratic red letters:
APPLICATION STATUS: DENIED
My third rejection this year. I press my palms against myeyes until I see stars, breathing through the familiar panic that rises like floodwater in my chest.
