TROY
Ipull up outside Delilah's apartment at 8:15, same as every morning. She's usually waiting by the door, scowling at the world because its existence before 10 AM is offensive.
But today, nothing. No Delilah. No scowl.
I put the car in park and check my phone. No messages cancelling. Weird.
Just as I'm about to text her, the door to her building flies open. Delilah practically explodes outside, her short hair is sticking out in random places, a massive sketchbook under one arm, backpack hanging off the other. She doesn't even look both ways before sprinting across the street toward my car.
“Get out!” she shouts through my closed window, gesturing frantically. “Get out of the car!”
I hesitate, wondering if I've somehow pissed her off already. It's not even 8:20.
She slaps the hood of my car, impatient. “Troy! Come on, I need to show you something!”
I kill the engine and step out, curious and a little concerned. “What's going?—”
“I figured it out,” she cuts me off, breathless, like she's been up all night. Based on the dark circles under her eyes, she probably has. “The project. We've been thinking about it all wrong.”
She drops her backpack on the sidewalk and flips open her sketchbook, propping it against my car. The pages are filled with drawings, notes scribbled in the margins, a roadmap of her brain I can barely follow.
“Everyone's going to take the brief literally, right?” Her finger taps rapidly on a drawing of the toilet block. “Make something effective, productive, sustainable. Another boring green building that looks good on paper but that nobody actually interacts with or learns anything from.”
“Yeah, and?”
“What if we took it to mean something else entirely?” Her eyes are bright, intense in the morning light. “What if instead of just building something sustainable, we create a space thatteachessustainability? Something that can have a ripple effect.”
I lean closer, intrigued despite myself. “Go on.”
“I ran into Alex yesterday working on this tiny wildflower garden by the gym. It's barely bigger than a parking spot, but she showed me pictures from summer—this explosion of color, pollinators everywhere. A whole little ecosystem.” She flips to another page, showing a rough sketch of a garden area. “And students stop to read the little sign she put up. Classes use it for projects.”
She's so close I can smell her shampoo. She doesn't seem to notice our proximity, too caught up in her idea. But I notice. I appear to notice everything about her.
“So, what if we create a space where people can learn practical skills for living sustainably? Growing food, rewildingland, water conservation—all of it.” Her hands sketch invisible designs in the air. “UMS students could teach community workshops for extra credit. Local schools could visit. It becomes this... exchange.”
I'm watching her face, the way animation transforms her. She's gorgeous like this—passionate, unguarded, still in what looks like pajama pants under her coat, like she couldn't wait to show me.
“We benefit the planet like the brief asked, but we also create this ripple effect of knowledge.” She finally pauses, eyes meeting mine. “What do you think?”
I'm quiet for a second, turning it over in my mind. It's not just a good idea. It's a fucking brilliant one.
“We'd have to scrap almost everything we've done so far,” I say.
Her face falls slightly. “I know.”
“And redesign the whole concept from scratch.”
“I know that too.”
“And it'll be a shit-ton of work.”
“Troy, if you don't want to?—”
“It'sfuckinggenius, Greer.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
I grin, a rush of excitement blooming in my chest. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what the brief asked for—something that benefits both the campus and the planet. But it’s not the obvious answer.”
