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“Oh, I don’t know, anythingbutfelonies?”
I smile. “Come on. What do you say?”
“I say you’re annoyingly chirpy for someone who was against this whole idea only five minutes ago.”
“I’m taking advantage of an opportunity.”
“Just so you’re aware, I’m only agreeing because I’m okay with being rejected if it means seeing you chase after your dreams again.”
My smile wobbles. “Sure thing. Just like I will only agree to your plan because I’d rather see you try again. If not, you’ll end up like Mrs. Jeffries, working at the salon until you retire at ninety.”
Her lips purse. “Now you’re just being intentionally cruel.”
Together, we laugh up to the ceiling before shaking on our agreement.
* * *
Sifting through the weathered pages of my idea notebook hits me with bittersweet memories. I trace over Brady’s cursive handwriting covering the pages where we brainstormed what Nebula Land would look like if it became a new land within the park.
He and I spent weeks on it after he rejected my initial submission and told me I could do better. The catch? He would be the one to guide me. Together, we formulated a proposal while developing a brief mentorship.
Nebula Land was supposed to be the project that turned me into a Creator. But after Brady’s accident, it felt wrong to submit it, so I held off. I was surprised to read about my idea in the company newsletter after learning Lance stole the main parts I had shared with him in private.
What would Brady think of Lance manipulating our idea?The ride looks nothing like our original plan. My lungs burn with the heavy breath I let out, and my eyes become watery as I run a finger across a sketch Brady did.
Critiquing Lance’s idea isn’t going to get you anywhere closer to submitting yours.
I turn on my laptop, sign in to my employee account, and open the annual Dreamland submissions portal. The blinking cursor in the empty text box mocks me, but I refuse to give up. Claire believes in me, and maybe it really is time I stop letting Lance get in my way of believing in myself.
* * *
This was a very bad idea.After my first failed draft, I decided wine and a broken heart were a good combination for my second attempt.
Update: It was not.
I’m still nowhere close to having a submission ready. Everything I write about seems too underwhelming and lacks my usual passion. I take another swig of wine straight from the bottle in a way that would horrify my mother.
What if working through your negative feelings about the Nebula Land ride helps open up your mind to more creative ideas?
Yes!Maybe that’s what I’m missing.I delete everything from the text box and restart. At the top, I writeThe real Nebula Land that would make Brady Kane proud.My fingers fly across the keys as I let out every single thought I have toward the project. I’m done staying silent and pretending the ride doesn’t bother me.
When I was with Lance, that’s the kind of person I became comfortable being. The silent, demure type who didn’t want to make any waves because I prioritized his happiness. In the end, it was all for nothing. I gave up the person I was for a man who couldn’t handle the woman I was meant to be.
All my fingers cramp up from typing. It feels empowering to tear apart something that broke me first. By the time I’m done, my vision is a bit blurry and my coordination could be better.
Since drinking and typing have no place in my life, I decide to click theSave Draftbutton at the bottom and shut my laptop for the night.
* * *
“Oh no!”Oh no, no, no.“Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuck!”
Claire runs into my room. “What is it?”
I stare at the application portal.
This can’t be real.I pinch my arm so hard, I wince. The bright green letters mock me in a way that has my stomach threatening to revolt.
Your application has been submitted.
