It’s going to be hard, sure, but I’ve never been afraid of hard work. Following a plan like this is the kind of stability I need, and I’m good at this. It’s what I’m supposed to do. And maybe my dad will see that this is exactly where I need to be.
“I’ve saved you all the work of choosing your partners and paired up those I believe will challenge each other’s ideas and produce the best results,” Lawrence continues. His eyes land on me and Scarlett. She clutches her tea flask like it might save her from what we both know is coming. “Evan, Scarlett, you’ll beworking together. I trust you can put whatever playground feud you have aside and produce a good project.”
Scarlett groans audibly, throwing her head back against her chair, and I have to stifle my laugh. She’s being dramatic. We’ve worked together a few times before. Our professors always think our bickering is a good way to keep us both on our toes. I would even go as far as to admit they are right. Scarlett might notlikelistening to me, but she has to when we work together, and it usually makes our projects that much better.
As Lawrence continues reading out the list of pairs, I start to pack away my stuff so we can move to the library to start discussing our project. Scarlett follows suit, but she doesn’t look happy about it, angrily shoving her textbooks into her bag.
I keep glancing at her as we walk down the corridor, and I can’t help but smile at how pissed she looks. Her shoulders are hunched up to her ears, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized jacket, brown wavy hair falling down her back. All she needs now is a cartoon storm cloud above her head to complete the look.
“You seem stressed,” I say helpfully as we turn a corner.
“I’m not stressed. Just annoyed that I have to work with you for the rest of the semester,” she grumbles, not sparing me a glance.
“Come on. You know we work well together.”
She lets out a sharp laugh. “Do we? Really? You think arguing all the time means we workwelltogether?”
“We challenge each other, and we get the work done.”
“I could challenge literally anyone else in our cohort,” she says, adding in a quieter voice, “Why does it have to beyou?”
I grin proudly when she finally looks at me. “Maybe I’m the chosen one.”
“Right. Sure. That’s definitely it,” she deadpans. We find an empty table in the library and unload our things onto it. Scarlettstands up straight, looking at me like she rues the day I was born. “We should start researching.”
I nod, and I navigate my way through the fashion and business textbooks, pulling out ones that could help us find a starting point for phase one of the project. The best place to start will be with some brainstorming of what our start-up in the fashion industry would be and how to make it stand out from the others. Considering both of our families’ history, it shouldn’t be hard.
I gather the things that I think we’ll need, and we both start flicking through pages and making notes. We don’t talk much. Or at all. Mostly because I’m too scared to say anything with how intense Scarlett looks right now.
Her eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, eyes scanning each line with precision as she punches out words on her keyboard in an aggressive rhythm. She’s always been like this when I see her working, like she wants toliveinside a textbook or her laptop. Like she’s searching for the most efficient and perfect way to complete a task.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
“What?”
Her voice startles me, and I snap my gaze away from her, looking down at my textbook. “What? Nothing.”
“You keep staring at me.”
“I’m just thinking.”
I look up at her and she juts out her bottom lip, tilting her head to the side. “About me?”
“About why you’re on this course,” I answer honestly, and she jerks back a little, confused. “Realistically, we could finish this entire project in one highly caffeinated night if we wanted to. You could also be working for your parents or something instead of trying to learn something you already know.”
Scarlett’s eyes narrow. “Is that a . . . compliment?”
“No, it’s an observation that even though you’re good at what you do, you don’t really like it. I don’t see much . . . passion? With this module, at least.”
“Passion?” she repeats slowly, like she’s talking to a child.
“Yes. You know, that little spark you’re supposed to get in your eye when you do something you love.”
Scarlett scoffs. “I’m trying to work hard and get a degree that will be beneficial for multiple careers. Plus, I already know what I want, so what does passion for this module have to do with it?”
“Everything.”
She sucks in a sharp breath.
