“Obviously,” I say, stretching lazily. “This competition is all about balancing technical skill and architectural design. That means we need my engineering expertise to keep your plans from literally collapsing in on themselves.”
She stares at me for a long moment. Then, very deliberately, she jots something down in her notebook.
I squint at the page.
“Did you just write ‘murder Hawkins’ in your notes?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s concerning.”
“Be on time next time, andmaybeyou’ll live.”
Delilah taps her pen against her notebook, watching me like she’s waiting for me to screw this up already.
I raise my coffee like a toast. “Then I officially agree to the rules of engagement.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Break them and I’ll do this on my own.”
“Beautiful,” I say, taking a sip. “This is already going so well.”
“We need to submit our names officially,” she says, cutting straight to business.
“Cool,” I say, taking a long sip of my coffee. “Go for it.”
“We both have to do it. There’s a form.”
“There’s always a form.” I groan.
“Yes, because that’s how things work in life.”
I pull out my phone, scrolling through my emails until I find the one with the submission link. Delilah has already filled out her section. I add my name, major, and student ID, then hand her my phone so she can double-check it.
She scans it quickly, then nods, clicking submit.
“There. Officially stuck with each other,” she mutters, handing my phone back.
“Try to contain your excitement,” I say.
“Okay,now we need to set a schedule,” she continues, flipping to a fresh page in her notebook.
“We just did that.”
“No, we submitted our names. We need actual meeting times.”
“Right. Can’t we just meet whenever we meet? Decide on the fly? Go wid da flow?” I move my arm in a wave motion.
Her glare sharpens.
“Absolutely not,” she says flatly.
I grin.
“Mondays and Thursdays,” she decides, writing it down before I can even pretend to argue. “After classes, around five. That work for you?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say.
“No gym emergencies? No ‘sorry, I forgot’ excuses?”
