Alfie’s heading to CalTech for his PhD, which means Tara’s probably already apartment hunting in Pasadena. Troy and Delilah have their whole power couple thing mapped out, some shared apartment where they’ll build empires between makeout sessions. Alex landed that sustainability institute spot in California, so Freddie’s LinkedIn is suddenly full of West Coast connections.
And me? I’ve got a half-finished game and this wild hope that someone, somewhere, will think it’s worth more than a passing grade.
The textbook slides off my chest as I sit up. Fuck it. Can’t read about algorithms when your brain’s stuck buffering.
I wander downstairs to find Troy in the kitchen, staring at his laptop like it personally offended him.
“Sup,” I say, grabbing a Red Bull from our concerningly well-stocked energy drink fridge.
“Cover letters are bullshit,” he announces. “How many ways can I say ‘please hire me, I’m desperate but trying to seem confident’?”
“Try ‘I’ll revolutionize your company with my innovative synergy.’” I hop onto the counter. “Buzzwords are like cheat codes for corporate speak.”
“You joke, but I literally just used ‘synergy’ twice in one paragraph.”
“My man’s learning.” I crack open the can. “Where’s everyone?”
“Freddie’s at the gym, obviously. Alfie’s in his room doing that thing where he pretends to nap but is actually having an existential crisis.”
“Classic Thursday behavior.”
Troy closes his laptop with a sigh. “You worried about the party?”
“Nah. Our house has survived worse. Remember Halloween sophomore year?”
“I still find glitter in weird places.” He pauses. “I meant more like... this being one of the last ones.”
The words hang between us. I take a long drink to avoid answering immediately.
“Yeah,” I finally say. “I’m worried about all of it.”
“Same.” Troy leans back. “Delilah keeps making these lists. Five-year plans, ten-year plans. Sometimes, I just want to be like, babe, I don’t even know what I’m having for dinner.”
“You’re having pizza. It’s Thursday.”
“You know what I mean.”
I do. The pressure to have everything figured out, to transform overnight from college kid to Real Adult with Real Plans. Like there’s some switch that flips at graduation.
“At least you have Delilah,”I say. “You two will figure it out together.”
“Yeah.” His face does that soft thing it does when he thinks about her. “Speaking of—Delilah wanted me to mention that Lacey’s been asking about you again.”
I groan. “Not this again.”
“She really likes you, man.”
“I know.” And that’s the problem. Lacey’s sweet—genuinely kind, pretty, laughs at my jokes. We hung out a few times last month, and it was... fine. Nice, even. But there was no spark, no pull. Just two people having pleasant conversation while I counted down until I could politely leave.
“She keeps texting Delilah about when you’ll be free,” Troy continues. “Apparently, you’ve been ‘super busy’ for three weeks straight.”
“I have been busy.”
“With Greg?”
“Greg needs a lot of attention.”
Troy gives me a look. “Dude, just tell her you’re not interested. Again. Clearly.”
