Page 29

Damage Control

Nora

After my mini-breakdown in the hallway, I find myself in the campus coffee shop, hands wrapped around the largest dark roast they offer, my third of the day. The caffeine has my leg bouncing beneath the table, but at least my thoughts have stopped spiraling long enough to form a coherent plan.

Step one: Get advice from someone who won’t judge me for my spectacularly bad decisions.

I pull out my phone.

Me: SOS. Coffee shop emergency. Need you ASAP.

Sadie’s response is immediate.

Sadie: Actual emergency or hot hockey player emergency?

Me: Both. Career destruction level.

Sadie: On my way. Don’t panic until I get there.

Twenty minutes later, Sadie slides into the seat across from me, her pink hair piled in a messy bun, concern written across her features.

“You look like hell,” she says by way of greeting.

“Thanks.”

“What happened? Did someone catch you guys again?”

I take a deep breath and spill everything—the study room, the hockey laces, running into Gavin and Henry afterward, and finally, Professor Wexler’s call about the Archer Initiative.

“So let me get this straight,” Sadie says when I finish. “The most prestigious fellowship in the country is now only taking one student instead of three, you’re being nominated, and Dean might be too?”

I nod miserably. “And my advisor has no idea I’ve been sleeping with a potential competitor. A competitor I just let tie me up with hockey laces in a study room, by the way.”

Sadie whistles low. “The hockey laces are a nice touch. Didn’t know Carter had it in him.”

“Sadie. Focus.”

“Right, sorry.” She taps her fingers against the table, thinking. “Okay, here’s what we know. You and Dean are both amazing at what you do. The Archer thing is a big deal. And you’ve been engaging in some extracurricular activities that might complicate things.”

“That about sums it up.”

“So what are you afraid of, exactly? That they’ll find out you’re sleeping together and disqualify you? Or that you’ll have to compete against each other?”

I stare into my coffee. “Both? I don’t know. It feels like everything just got so much more complicated.”

“Does Dean know about the Archer change yet?”

“I don’t think so. Wexler said it was confidential.”

Sadie leans forward. “Nora, let me ask you something. If you weren’t sleeping with Dean, would you still be worried about this?”

The question catches me off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, competition is part of academia. You’ve been competing against other brilliant people your whole college career. Why is this different?”

“Because it’s Dean,” I say quietly. “Because it matters to him as much as it matters to me. Because it’s personal for him in a way I can’t even fully understand.”

“And because you care about him,” Sadie adds gently. “Which, by the way, is not a crime.”

I let out a long breath. “What do I do, Sadie?”

“First, you breathe. Then, you talk to Dean. Be honest about the Archer situation. Figure out where you both stand before anyone else gets involved.”

“And the hockey laces situation?”

Sadie grins. “That you keep to yourself. Unless you’re planning to put it on your Archer application.”

Despite everything, I laugh. “Right. Under ‘Additional Skills: Capable of remaining professional while being tied up with sports equipment.’”

“Hey, interdisciplinary experience counts for something.”

I roll my eyes, but the tension in my chest has eased slightly. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not simple ,” Sadie says, her expression turning serious. “But it’s also not the catastrophe you’re making it out to be. You’re allowed to have a personal life, Nora. Even brilliant future neuroscientists need to get laid occasionally.”

“Very occasionally, according to my previous track record.”

“Well, hockey boy is making up for lost time, apparently.” She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “Talk to him. Tonight. Before the hockey laces come back out.”

I nod, knowing she’s right. “I will.”

As Sadie heads off to her next class, I sit with my cooling coffee, thumbing through Dean’s texts again. Two weeks until the Archer deadline. One night to figure out where we stand.

I type a response, finally.

Me: We need to talk.

His reply comes almost instantly.

Dean: Everything okay?

No, I think. Nothing is okay.

Me: I’ll explain tonight. 8pm? Your place.

Dean: I’ll be waiting.

I pocket my phone, gathering my courage along with my books. Whatever happens tonight, one thing is certain—nothing between Dean and me will be the same afterward.