Lyndsey’s eyes widen to the size of golf balls, matched only in cartoonish quality and width by her Cheshire grin. “So thereissomeone?”
Crap. “No. I just mean-”
“You devil.” Lyndsey drawls out between lips that barely move. “Who is he? Where did you meet him?”
“Would you stop? There’s no one. I just want to know what to do. I’m not necessarily the smoothest talker out there.”
“Ithink you’re adorable.”
I roll my eyes and reach for a handful of popcorn from Lyndsey’s lap. “Well, you’re my best friend and not a man I’m trying to date. So you don’t really count. I just clam up, or I say the stupidest things. Or...scold them.”
I chomp down on the fistful of popcorn angrily. This is not going to work. I stare into the television, once again lost in the storyline. I guess this movie isn’t so bad. They seem happy. The heroine doesn’t have to sacrifice anything. It might be nice to have someone help me manage the colossal chaos that is my life every now and then. Or at least have a shoulder to cry on when it all gets too overwhelming.
The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I feel someone watching me. I turn to face Lyndsey, the same knowing, goofy grin on her face.
“You’re going to tell me one day,” is all she says. “It’s ok. The wound is still fresh. But one day, I’ll get it out of you.”
I laugh.
One day, yes. But not today.
I scan through my phone, trying to find the email they sent me this morning. Something to focus all of my attention on might be just what I need at the moment. The candidates for the position have been narrowed down to only two of us: myself and Jackson Riley, a graduate student who received teaching fellowships in the past. He’s a treasure amongst the Psychology department. The faculty loves him. The Dean goes golfing with his uncle.
Yep. That’s what I’m up against.
I just know I can do it. Jackson may have the brown-nosing and networking to succeed, but he is no match for my GPA. Highest in the social sciences college. And I don’t like to brag, but I crush it when it comes time for exams.
Where was this confidence two days ago?
I need to find a way to keep this momentum going.
“What are you looking at?” Lyndsey asks.
I smile despite her pestering. “My ‘next steps’ for the apprenticeship application.”
“So, what do you have to do?”
“We were required to submit a proposal for social reform,” I explain. It took me three months to complete, but the breakdown was flawless. “So now, they want us to work with an advisor for the next couple of months to work out whatever kinks there may be in the philosophy, and actually implement a part of the plan into a real-world situation.”
I read over the specifications to myself one more time. Submitting this proposal is about much more than proving I’m superior to Jackson Riley. If I submit this proposal, and it actually gets put into action, I will be advocating for people in Oakland who can’t speak for themselves. Hard-working people with no access to public healthcare, who avoid going to the doctor even when they feel close to death. Overworked, stressed-out people who can’t see past their paycheck and the day-to-day to get themselves help for anxiety and depression.
People like my mother.
And those of us who suffer through it all, knowing we are practically helpless when it comes to taking care of our loved ones.
What’s more, this apprenticeship comes with a generous stipend. One that would pay more than what I make at Home Depot now. I’d finally be able to take a break. Receive work experience for my apprenticeship and pay for both my tuition and personal expenses.
As it is, Lyndsey pays the majority of the rent. Sometimes she pays all of it and just tells me to put it towards myself. She knows I’m too proud to allow her to pay for it indefinitely. But there are some months where it’s been a lifesaver.
“You’re going to nail that proposal,” Lyndsey says out of nowhere. “Have they told you who your advisor is yet?”
“Zachary Hawthorne.”
Lyndsey coughs, choking on her popcorn. She thumps on her chest and reaches out for her water.
“Should I-” What? I don’t know the Heimlich maneuver. What do I do if she’s really choking?
Lyndsey waves a finger in the air, the only indication that she’s not actually dying. When her fits finally stop, she stares up at me, eyes glassy and body hunched forward. “You’re joking, right?”