Langford strode in with a big grin on his face. He held up his briefcase. “I have some NoSci results, and I think I can go ahead and spoil a few of you.” His gaze found Harper and me in front of him. “Congratulations, Harper and Orion! Your proposals were enough to impress the judges, myself included. You’re both through to round two!”
The class offered a smattering of applause, though I knew that there were several other students in class who had applied for the Novus Prize and were not included in Langford’s little announcement. My cheeks burned. My pothole project made it through? On merit? Highly bloody unlikely.
“Congratulations,” Harper whispered with sincerity.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered back. “I didn’t mean…”
My words died at her incredulous stare.
“What the hell did I do wrong now?”
But the answer would have to wait until after class, when I chased her out into the hallway.
“Well?”
“Why are you apologizing for making it to the next round?” she asked as students passed around us in the crowded hall. “Jesus, Orion, can you stop feeling sorry for me for one second?”
“I don’t…” I stammered. “My project is shit. Or I thought it was.”
Harper crossed her arms. “So you’re apologizing because you think you’re going to win based on your name alone.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t understand why you’re pissed at me. Again. I want you to win—”
“I want to win too,” she said. “But I want to win fair and square. If you work harder or your idea is amazing or it’s just plainbetter, then you deserve the prize. Same goes for anyone else. And if that’s the case, then I’ll be bummed—devastated, even—but I’ll take my loss like a woman. But if I lose because your name is on a wall around here, or if I win because you sabotage your project, or you quit, then that’s bullshit. Because what most rich people fail to understand is that uslittle peopledon’t want handouts or charity or favors. We’ve only ever wanted one thing and one thing only.”
“Which is?”
“A fair shot.”
I stood there like a dope, not knowing what to say. Because my namewason one wing of the Athletic Hall, and Iwastrying to sabotage my project, and Ishouldbe disqualified for accepting outside help in the first place.
I’m a trifecta of dishonor.
The bell rang.
Harper’s shoulders sagged. “I have to go,” she said, and started to turn away.
“Well, wait.” I reached for her arm but pulled back. “Whatabout…us?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly, hugging her bag to her chest, her eyes filling. “Maybe we’re just too different to make this work.”
“Are we?”
“Aren’t we?” she countered.
“I think that’s up to us to decide. Besides,” I said, offering a small smile. “You never got your date. You deserve a proper date.”
Harper shifted her weight, glancing around. A tear spilled over, and she quickly wiped it away with her shoulder. “Orion…”
“What can I do, Harper? Just tell me and I’ll do it.”
“I don’t want you todoanything, except be—”
Second bell rang, and she flinched.
“Now I’m late. To history. And you are too.” She shouldered her bag. “I need to get through this week until my mother comes back. Then maybe we can talk, okay?”
And then she hurried down the hall.
