I click open the participant list and start scrolling. Lacey hums softly on the line — probably filing her nails or cyberstalking Carter’s exes.
The competition’s about sustainable innovation, which means I need someone who can handle execution like materials, systems, tech. Maybe someone in mechanical or environmental engineering.
Someone who can build the stuff I can see in my head.
My eyes skim the list.
Riley Sanders.
Ugh.
“You remember Riley Sanders?” I ask Lacey.
“Uh, that nerdy guy from our floor? Yeah. Didn’t you, like, date him?”
Unfortunately, yes.
Freshman year. Loud, enthusiastic, always vaguely damp. The kind of guy who could monologue for twenty minutes straight without breathing—and never once ask you a question. Probably still a Dungeon Master with a superiority complex about it.
We went on one date. One. Single. Catastrophic. Night.
He corrected my drink order, talked exclusively about himself for a full hour, then ended the date by kissing mycheek and attempting to stick his hand up my shirt. I nearly broke his wrist. He cried. We have not spoken since.
But he’s in computer science. And while he’s not myidealpick—I’d rather work with someone in mechanical or systems engineering—my list of options is... nonexistent.
So.
“I think I’m going to have to try networking with him,” I mutter, already feeling my dignity shrivel.
Lacey cackles. “This is gonna be good. I’m putting you on speaker. I’ll do my nails while you suffer.”
I sigh and open a new email, staring at the blinking cursor.
How do you write an email to someone you lowkey want to strangle buthighkeyneed for your academic future?
I start typing anyway.
Hi Riley!
Hope you're doing well. Delilah Greer here—I think we were in a few general courses together freshman year.
I saw your name on the Future Innovators acceptance list and wanted to reach out! I’m really excited about this competition and am looking for a partner with technical skills to complement my background in architecture. Given your work in computing, I thought we might make a great team.
Would love to discuss if you’re still looking for a partner. Let me know what you think!
Best,
Delilah
I stare at the email.This issofake. I am not this person. I do not “Hope you’re doing well.” I would not “love to discuss.”
But desperate times, desperate measures. I click send before I can talk myself out of it. Then I shut my laptop and throw my head back against the couch.
“Jesus Christ.”
Lacey laughs. “That bad?”
“I don’t know how people do this. Is this what it’s going to be like in the job market?”
