“Ah! Well, she is the faculty who knows the most about that. Perhaps we should clear the air about that. Have you got a moment?”
I nod because words are useless right now. Did Mac actually win? And if so, why did Professor Gold tell me I’d won? My stomach is in my throat and my throat is in my knees, and I start to shake a little.
I should not have gotten my hopes up. I should not have just taken Professor Gold at her word. I should have asked for proof. Like an email confirmation. Why didn’t I get an email?
Oh god, am I going to have to call my mom back and tell her I didn’t actually win?
Deep breaths, Jessie. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Do not throw up right now.
Ava Gold’s office door is still open, and Professor Harris knocks and says, “Knock, knock.”
Professor Gold gestures us both in, and Professor Harris launches into his explanation before she can even ask us what we need. Her face stays mostly neutral as Professor Harris talks. I keep looking for the confusion, but it never comes. Professor Gold looks a little pale and shifts in her chair.
“Ah. Yes.” She clears her throat, tugging at the collar of her sweater. “Mackenzie did actually win the scholarship, but when I informed him, he declined it. And since Jessica was our second-place winner, she became the default winner. I didn’t have a chance to send a correcting email to the faculty yet, nor did I find it entirely relevant to inform Jessica of such events. What matters now is that she is our scholarship recipient.”
“Quite right,” Professor Harris says, satisfied with this explanation, completely oblivious to Ava Gold staring daggers at him. He leaves the room with a pat on my shoulder, and I stand there for just a few minutes, feet rooted to the floor.
“Did he say why he did that?” I ask. My voice is raspy like I haven’t spoken in years. “Mac. Did he say why he gave up the scholarship?”
“He just said he didn’t need it and he hoped it would go to someone who needed it more than he did.”
The room spins a little. I use the back of the chair to hold me steady.
“Did he know I was the second-place winner? When he said that, did he know?”
Ava Gold shakes her head.
Holy shit.
“Are you okay, Jessica?”
“Jessie,” I say on autopilot.
“Jessie. Are you all right?” she repeats.
I nod despite the fact I’m not all right at all. My heartbeat thuds in my ears. It sounds like someone turned up the volume on my breathing and turned down the volume on the rest of the world. My mouth is dry, and suddenly nothing seems as important as getting a drink of water right now.
“Yes, I’m sorry. I can go…” I mumble as I walk out of her office. My feet weigh ten pounds each. I stumble to a water fountain, the ice-cold water a welcome relief. I stand over the water fountain, clutching the sides.
He didn’t lose. He gave it up willingly. Despite his dad, despite the honor, he sacrificed the scholarship because he didn’t need it.
It’s the thing I wanted all along, so why doesn’t it feel as satisfying as I thought it would?
* * *
If Hallmark Christmasmovies could heal the pain of a broken heart, I would be completely cured. As it turns out, they don’t, and in fact most of them have such poorly written plotlines and dialogue it’s hard to completely ignore my sadness. I’ve stopped trying to ignore it at this point, and now I just let sadness sit with me. It’s heavy and not a great companion, but I have no choice. It weighs as much as a whale, and I can’t move it.
I spend my days doing the bare minimum. I got through my exams and I go home for the break tomorrow, but today, my last day on campus for a couple of weeks, I hide in my room until I have to leave for a shift at the cafe. I picked up work all week for different work-studies around campus, and tonight it’s at the cafe as a barista. I don’t know if Mac is still on campus, and I’m desperate not to run into him. I didn’t have anything to do for Professor Campbell for the research project, but I did have to see him in class, which was hard enough.
I’m hoping that by next semester I’ll be able to face him. Maybe not. And if not, I’ll ask to be taken off the project. But right now I can’t even bring myself to compose a text to him.
At least once an hour every day my thumbs hover over the keypad, a thousand things to say crossing my mind. Sometimes I even type up the message, but I always delete it. I wonder if Mac ever sees the little typing bubble appear and disappear. I chew on my lip, staring at our old conversation. Our last text exchange was right before I went to his apartment the night of our fight. I wish I could go back to being that girl who was blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.
I stuff my phone under my pillow, pull the covers a little higher up, and press play on my laptop. I’ve got a cheesy Christmas movie on, and I plan to watch as many as I can until I have to leave for work. Maybe eventually my brain will be full of mediocre movie romances instead of wondering what Mac is up to, and if I should forgive him, and am I being silly for being this sad? A million thoughts circle like birds of prey.
“Oh, Jessie.”
Jade appears, standing in my doorway, taking me in. I’m a sight, I have no doubt. My eyes are swollen from all the on-and-off crying I’ve done all week, puffy from the lack of sleep. My hair has been in a knot on my head since I washed it a few days ago. There are empty cookie wrappers and some half-empty chip bags on my bed, at least three beverages at varying stages of empty.
