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“Likely did more than that,” she snickered. “So, how do we beat him?” Something uneasy churned in my stomach, but it must have shown on my face because before I could vocalize it, Mara was cutting me off. “Absolutely not. No. Nada. Ni. We didn’t come this damn far to only come this far. You’re not backing out because of a pretty face and a mind with a penchant for spouting off Proust.”
“It feels shitty.”
“To be pitted against your childhood flame? No shit. But we’re not quitting.”
I wrinkled my nose. But any trace of humor vanished as quickly as the guilt settled in my chest.
“Fuck, I know that face. Stop it right now.”
“What?” I mumbled weakly, not even convincing myself that I didn’t know exactly what she was saying.
“Why does this bother you so much?”
“Broderick.”
“Jesus—yes, I got that,” she said with a pointed eye roll. “I mean, why does the idea of beating him bother you this time?”
“Broderick…plays everything close to the vest.”
“Okay…?”
“He sticks to Mistyvale, aside from the occasional work trip.”
“Still missing the point,” she said, irritation slipping into her tone as she motioned to move it along.
“He never—and I mean never—does anything for himself. He tried out for football because Rhyett and Jameson were going to play, and he wanted to spend the summer with them. When he became the best running back on the team, he kept playing because the coaches begged him to. Now he's buddy coaching the high school football team with Jameson, because with the summer salmon season, James would miss too many practices.” With a huff, I shrugged. “He volunteers in town because his mother was the mayor for half our childhood, and proofs contracts for the local legal aid program on his off time because it’s his dad’s pet project.”
“So, we’re robbing a saint, is what you’re insinuating.”
I huffed a laugh, my cheeks aching. “I’ve never seen him go for something he wanted because he wanted it. As unfortunate as this is, I’m kind of…super proud of him for being here. For taking the shot, you know?”
“He’s not aiming to buy an Aston Martin; he’s trying to help a bunch of punk teenagers with too much time on their hands.”
“Punk teenagers just like we were. Mistyvale kids have always been too bored for their own good.”
With a pinch between her brows, she immediately countered, “You guys turned out just fine.”
“We were lucky,” I pointed out with a laugh at the irony, like he had just forty minutes earlier.
“And our aspirations are no less admirable just because his are also noble.” Leaning back, Mara crossed her arms, lips twisting to the side as she focused on me.
I shook my head. They weren’t. Women still faced such a radical disadvantage in the workplace, in pay gaps, in a country bound and determined to kill off new moms through medical negligence, if not actual malicious intent. God forbid you take the time to heal and bond to your newborn, or get your breasts back to a non-painful, cantaloupe-sized state before being thrown back into the workforce. Don’t get me started on the lack of paternity leave—as though fathers shouldn’t bond with their babies and look after healing baby mamas. Such an anomaly that the suicide rates are astronomical.
We needed this. A school that didn’t just equip but empowered. A network of like-minded, badass business babes that would rally and support each other as we figured our shit out. First as students, then as associates, both near and far. Mentors in their industries. Professionals in marketing, advertising, and finance to lean on even after graduation. This mission was about cultivating long term success after equipping them to envision and engineer their reality in the first place. Entrepreneurship was the one way we could guarantee our own benefits in the long run.
A school like ours didn’t exist, and it was about damn time somebody made it happen.
“No,” I begrudgingly agreed. “The dream hasn’t lost value, just…the ease with which I intended to bring it to fruition. I didn’t know the competitors. It was easier that way.”
“Hey, we don’t even know if we’ll both survive the first round of elimination. The judges could make this easy on us.” I inclined my head, aiming for a disapproving glare, but the involuntary tilt to my mouth obviously ruined the effect, as she burst out laughing. “Yeah, okay that sounded too easy, even to me.”
“This is going to suck.”
“Or or or” she exclaimed as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “It doesn’t have to suck. It could be fun.”
“Fun?” I drawled dryly.
“Look, he’s not actually Mother Teresa. The man broke your heart in high school and rejected you when you fileted yourself open again as a grown ass adult. Perfectly capable of consenting. Perfectly capable of making your own choices, away from the prying eyes of your meddlesome-as-fuck family.”
