Page 7 of Made for Wilde

The rustle of papers and murmured conversations fills the room as everyone begins to pack up. I’m still staring at my test, mentally calculating how much this will drag down my GPA, when Sarah appears at my station, practically vibrating with energy.

“Look!” She slaps her test down next to mine, a bold B+ marked at the top. “Ms. Lowell actually said my answer about color theory was ‘insightful.’ Can you believe it?”

Her smile falters when she notices my grade.

“Oh, Char...”

“I’m screwed,” I mutter, shoving the test into my bag. “This was supposed to be my chance to prove I belong here, and I can’t even pass a basic written exam.”

Sarah squeezes my shoulder.

“One bad grade doesn’t define you. Your practical skills are amazing—everyone knows that.”

“My mom never got anything less than an A in beauty school.” I blink back the sudden sting of tears. “She would be so disappointed.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” Sarah’s voice softens. “Your mom would be proud of how hard you’re trying. This is just a bump in the road.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

Eight years since she’s been gone, and I still feel like I’m trying to live up to her legacy. The legendary Elaine Palmer, whose clients still talk about her like she hung the moon.

“Besides,” Sarah continues, pulling out her makeup bag, “you can still do the extra credit. We can work on it together this weekend if you want.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I start gathering my brushes, trying to shake off the disappointment. “I just wish?—”

The lab door swings open, interrupting my pity party.

Adrian DeLuca walks in carrying my silver laptop, weaving between the remaining students with purpose. His dark eyes lock onto mine as he approaches.

“Special delivery for the future hair goddess of Cooper Heights,” he announces with a flourish. He sets my laptop down gently on the counter beside my styling tools.

My shoulders relax at the sight of it.

“You fixed it?”

“Yep. Good as new.” He flips it open and powers it up. “All your files are intact, including those assignment templates you were panicking about.”

The relief that washes through me is so intense I could hug him.

That laptop has tutorial videos I’ve recorded of Mom’s old techniques, and the business plan I’ve been drafting for the salon I hope to open someday. When it crashed yesterday, I nearly had a breakdown in the middle of the student lounge.

“Adrian, you’re a lifesaver.” I inspect the screen as it boots up perfectly. “Seriously, I would’ve been screwed without these files. How much do I owe you?”

He waves off my question.

“Consider it my good deed for the day. Besides, it wasn’t that complicated. Just a corrupted system file and some driver issues.”

Sarah leans over my shoulder and peers at the screen.

“He’s being modest. I watched him work on it for two hours in the library.”

I give Adrian’s arm a friendly squeeze.

“Thank you. I really mean it. I can’t afford to lose any of this work, and I definitely can’t afford a new laptop.”

He grins at me.

“Someone’s got to look out for you struggling artists.”