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How I want to feel.

Who I want to be.

What I want to do.

Despite our vow of no ragrets and my promise to make this a year to remember, I’ve really just spent almost the whole first month of school being afraid and uncertain.

“Soap of Hope.” Iz reaches over to pat my hand. “What’s up? You just got all sad.”

I set my fork down and stare into the remains of my salad. “Can I ask you guys something? And can you be completely honest?”

I glance up and find them all nodding, their faces pinched with concern.

“Do you think I’m responsible?”

“Hope!” Jane springs to her feet and comes to stand behind me. She bends down and wraps her arms around my neck. “Of course you’re responsible. You’re one of the most responsible people we know, right guys?”

Iz and Paulina nod.

“Yeah, sometimes I even wonder if we even have a fourth roommate because you’re studying so much,” Iz answers.

“And the best thing about you is that you’re responsible and fun!” Paulina adds. “You can have a good time and just dive into things and go with the flow, but you’re also great at keeping your shit together. It’s impressive.”

“You’re a miracle!” Jane loosens her suffocating neck hug a little and rests her chin on top of my head. “And we love you very much.”

My chest swells, and I can feel my eyes start to sting.

“You guys don’t, like, hide stuff from me because you think I can’t handle it, right? You don’t think I have too much on my plate?”

“Oh my god, Hope, we would never decide that for you.” Jane lets me go and crouches down beside me instead. “The only time I’m going to tell you how much you can have on your plate is when it’s food I made. You’re getting an extra large helping of my spaghetti tonight whether you like it or not.”

I chuckle and swipe at my eyes. “Thanks, guys. It’s just been a rough start to the year. I’m about to miss my summer internship application deadline, and I’m just like, maybe I shouldn’t even bother, you know?”

“What?” Jane grabs both my hands. “Nonsense! You’ve been talking about that internship since freshman year. When is the deadline?”

“Uh, tonight.”

“How much do you have left to write?”

“I mean, I’m done all the writing. I just have to submit it.”

Jane stands up and assumes her fisherman’s wife stance. “Hope Elizabeth Hastings! Go and get your laptop.”

I can feel myself starting to smile. “But dinner—”

“Spaghetti can wait! Get your friggin’ laptop and bring it here!”

Five minutes later, our salad bowls have been cleared and my friends are all gathered behind me as I sit with my laptop open on the table. I’ve filled in the application form, uploaded all my documents, and have my cursor hovering over the ‘submit’ button.

The internship is a six week summer position with the government in Ottawa. It’s a mix of summit-like seminars and group sessions combined with practical experience, and they only accept twenty people a year. From what I can tell, hundreds if not thousands apply.

“Go Hope! Go Hope! Go Hope!” Iz, Paulina, and Jane chant as they watch me raise my finger to click.

I freeze just before I do it. The internship includes a lot of discussions and talk-based learning, but there’s still going to be plenty of reading and writing involved. It’s an intense position even for people who don’t have dyslexia. Their website says they want ‘the next generation of innovative, quick-thinking economists ready to excel.’

Is that really me? The girl who can’t even spell innovative correctly or read it without seeing the letters get all squiggly on the page?

“Go Hope! Go Hope! Go Hope!”