After a while, I glance over at their project—a complex topographical model with what looks like a water flow system built in. Professional curiosity gets the better of me.
“That's interesting,” I say before I can stop myself. Then, remembering the competition, I add hastily, “I'm in the competition too, by the way. So if you don't wanna share, that's ok. We're thinking solar or something like that.” I deliberately keep it vague.
Trixie looks up, surprised but pleased. “Thanks. It's a demonstration model for our hydrology idea. Shows how small interventions can create cascading effects throughout a watershed.”
“Jonathan's the math genius,” she adds, nudging him. “I just make it pretty.”
“She's being modest,” Jonathan says. “The visualization was entirely her concept. I just provided the calculations.”
There's an easy rhythm to their back-and-forth, neither trying to claim sole credit. It reminds me of something Troy said about our project, about complementary skills creating something better than either could alone.
Not that I'd ever admit he was right.
“Well, it looks cool. I'm excited to see your final project,” I say, turning back to my own work.
“Thanks,” they say in unison, then laugh at the synchronicity.
I hide my smile, focusing on my model. Maybe not everyone in this program is as cutthroat as I thought.
14
TROY
Iwatch as Delilah silently organizes her notes for the fifth time in twenty minutes. She's barely looked at me since we sat down, focusing entirely on her own sketches and calculations, occasionally sliding one across the table without explanation.
The engineering study rooms were full so we’ve had to come into the library. We submitted our proposal last week and are finally getting into the swing of this project. The only problem is my project partner seems to want to work alone, which, you know, doesn’t really work.
“Okay,” I finally say, setting down my pen. “This is ridiculous.”
She glances up, brow furrowed. “What?”
“This.” I gesture between us. “You're doing half the work on your own without even telling me what you're thinking. We're supposed to be partners.”
“I'm sharing my work,” she says, nodding toward the pages she's given me.
“You're sharing results. Not process. Not ideas.” I lean forward. “Look, I get that you don't trust me?—”
“I don't,” she agrees bluntly.
“—but we can't work together if you're going to shut me out of every decision.”
Delilah's jaw tightens. “I'm not shutting you out. I'm being efficient.”
“No, you’re being stubborn.” Frustration flares in my chest. “This is a partnership. And you're treating me like I’m here to mess it up.”
“Trust is earned,” she says coolly.
“And how the hell am I supposed to earn it if you won’t even talk to me? Are you afraid I am going to take all the credit here?” My voice rises before I can catch it. A couple of students at nearby tables glance over.
Delilah notices too. She leans forward, lowering her voice.
“The AC thing wasn’t just about the credit, Troy.”
I exhale through my nose. Seriously? “Then what was it about?”
“It was about being invisible.” Her voice isn’t angry now — it’s soft. Frayed. “I spent three hours in that sweltering mechanical room, diagnosing a compressor failure everyone else gave up on. I fixed it. Saved the whole damn camp from shutting down in the heatwave.”
She shakes her head, looking away.
