Page 22 of High Hopes

As I stand there, staring at my creations with growing dissatisfaction, the door to the studio creaks open behind me. I turn, and in walks Liam, his lazy grin firmly in place. He’s carrying a grocery bag, and I can only assume he’s up to something unnecessary but well-meaning.

“You’re still here,” he says as he saunters over. “I was hoping I’d catch you.”

I haven’t seen him since Tuesday morning when he left my place and I dodged his offer of a ride. It’s now Friday, and I know he usually has late practices on these nights. Either that or an actual game.

I sigh and set down my tool. “Shouldn’t you be at practice or something?”

He drops into the chair beside me. “Canceled. Coach Harris is giving us a recovery day.” He tosses the bag on the table. “Thought you could use a pick-me-up.”

I glance at the spilled contents—an energy drink, popcorn, sour candy, and something that suspiciously looks like a protein bar. “You realize I’m not training for a marathon, right?”

He leans back and folds his arms behind his head. “You’re working yourself harder than I am, and that’s saying something.”

I think there’s an innuendo in there somewhere, but I’m too bedraggled to bother with it. Instead, I let out a small, exhausted laugh and shake my head.

The last week has been a constant blur of studio sessions, writing late into the night, and poring over every detail of my proposal. When I’m not in class or sleeping (which, let’s be real, is barely happening), I’m here, in the studio, trying to mold clay into something that will impress a committee of people who’ve been judging art longer than I’ve been alive.

As if that weren’t enough to keep me teetering on the edge of burnout, I signed up for this intimidating peer critique onSunday at NCU, hoping to get an unbiased, outside perspective. I just need to know if what I’m creating is good enough—if it’s worth including in my fellowship proposal or if I’m missing something entirely.

“It’s crunch time,” I say as I brush a stray hair out of my face. “No slacking.”

“How’s it coming along?”

I stare hopelessly at the half-finished vase. “It’s getting there. Slowly.”

He leans forward to inspect my work. “You know, I think you could make the contrast even more extreme here. Maybe exaggerate the edges and make the smooth parts even sleeker. Push it further.”

I slowly blink and purse my lips, tilting my head to envision it.

He’s right. Again. He’s so casually good at this. It’s like he doesn’t have to think twice before throwing out ideas that shift my perspective, that unlock something I hadn’t even realized was stuck.

I pick up my tool and carve deeper into the rough edge, the motion deliberate and confident. It feels like breaking through a wall.

“God, how do you do that?” I mutter, half to myself. “You make it so easy.”

He chuckles, grabbing the popcorn and tearing it open. “I’m just throwing out thoughts. You’re the one making them come to life.” He tosses a kernel in the air and catches it in his mouth with a casual flick of his head. “Just so you know, I do freak out about my own shit on occasion. I’m not always so calm and cool and sexy.”

“I think you mean collected,” I say, smirking.

“No.”

I glance over at him, eyebrow raised. “Right, and what do you have to freak out about?”

“You know, figuring out if I’m gonna go for the draft next year or stick with engineering instead.” He tilts his head back, eyes on the ceiling. The long, graceful column of his neck stretches as his throat bobs. “There’s a lot riding on that decision.”

It takes me a few moments to process that. Liam hasn’t talked to me much about school—we’ve been so focused on me, on my proposal, my work, my frustrations. But now that I know his major, it oddly fits. Engineering has that balance of structure and creativity, much like him.

“Do you ... want to be an engineer?” I ask.

He sighs. “Not really. I do like the problem-solving part of it, though. The logic. The predictability of it all. And it’s a good fallback, right? Safe.”

“Safe doesn’t exactly scream Liam Donovan to me.”

He laughs, loud and sudden, like he wasn’t expecting me to say that. “Yeah? And what does?”

I glance at him, considering. “Just .. . you don’t strike me as the type to settle for safe. You’re more like the guy who runs headfirst into chaos just to see how it plays out.”

He grins, wide and bright. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

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