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Relief floods through me, expanding my chest for what feels like the first time in hours.
It’s over. I survived my first board meeting. Actually, I might havenailedmy first board meeting.
“Thanks for all your help, Rowan. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Please,” she scoffs. “I did nothing. This was all you.”
Before we can get into a back-and-forth argument of who is more vital in our dynamic duo, Misha steps into the room.
Rowan throws me one last smile and then quietly excuses herself. Misha ambles over to my desk and sits down on the edge of it.
“Well?” I ask after a few seconds of tense silence. “How do you think it went?”
“How doyouthink it went?”
His face gives nothing away. Once I started talking in that boardroom, the nervous knot of energy in my gut receded into the background. But seeing Misha’s impassive gaze now reminds me that it’s still there. I swallow hard, hoping to hold onto the triumph I’ve felt since I walked out of that meeting.
“I think it went really well.”
He nods. “You made them listen. They’ll take you seriously from now on.”
I try not to look too relieved as I lean back in my swivel chair. But in the end, I abandon the attempt. I let out an ecstatic squeal as I spin my chair around in celebratory circles, arms raised high and giggling like a lunatic.
He chuckles quietly.
“I know this isn’t exactly dignified, but I don’t care,” I tell him as I spin back around. “I haven’t felt like this since I got first place at the state cross-country tournament.”
“You were a runner?”
I nod. “I was the underdog, too. Our school hadn’t won in years, and I was wearing rented running shoes.”
“I didn’t know they rented out running shoes,” he says, nose wrinkled in disgust.
I lower my chin and look up at him. “They don’t. It was an underground deal with a rich freshman.”
He shakes his head, and I get the sense he admires my scrappy ways. Or maybe I’m making that up, but I don’t care. “And you still won,” he infers.
“By a quarter freaking mile,” I say proudly. “Clara was at the finish line with face paint. She tackled me to the ground after I finished, and we cried there in the dirt.”
“Crying in the dirt hardly seems like the right way to celebrate victory.”
“They were happy tears. Then we got up and took an impromptu road trip across the state line to this bakery called The Gingerbread House. They made these amazing doughnuts that everyone raved about. Clara and I had always wanted to go, so we skipped school and grabbed a bus three hours south. And you know what? They were totally worth it.”
He eyes me with amusement. “Sounds like you earned them.”
I sigh and stroke my pendant instinctively. The memory feels especially vivid now. Like the veil between the past and present is thin. I can feel the wind that whipped our sweaty hair as we stepped off the bus, carrying with it the scent of fresh-baked bread and cinnamon.
“We promised ourselves to make it an annual trip,” I continue. “We were going to grab the same bus on the same day the next year, too.” I raise my gaze to his, wondering why I’m telling him this. Wondering why I’m opening the wound up again. “But Clara didn’t make it to the next year.”
His silver eyes are boring a hole through my soul. I want to retreat under my shell. But at the same time, I want to shove it off. I don’t want to carry the weight anymore.
“She would have been the first person I called about this morning,” I say quietly. “She would have been so excited. Would’ve asked how we were going to celebrate…”
“How would you have celebrated?”
I smile sadly. “Catch a three-hour bus to The Gingerbread House?”
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t leave. Misha stays until the silence becomes bearable. Until I don’t feel her absence quite as deeply.
