Page 34 of High Hopes

One glance inside the kiln tells me everything I need to know. Three of my newest pieces lie in ruins, fragments of shattered clay and dust scattered across the bottom rack.

It’s a common kiln mishap. A piece must have exploded and hit the others—something that can easily happen during the bisque stage if there’s an air bubble trapped in the clay or residual moisture in the walls. But knowing why doesn’t make it any easier to look at.

“Looks like the kiln gods weren’t feeling too generous this week,” Hall says, shaking his head as he surveys the damage. “Little setback, but nothing you can’t handle.”

I swallow hard, fighting the tightness in my chest, the creeping sense of panic. It’s not that I can’t remake them—they were only in bisque, still unglazed—but the hours I already put in, the careful detailing, it’s all gone up in smoke.

And with my fellowship deadline looming closer, these “little setbacks” feel monumental.

“Guess I’ll just have to redo them,” I mumble.

“Best you can do is roll with it,” Hall says gruffly. “This won’t be your last kiln catastrophe, I can promise you that.”

He pulls out the remaining pieces that survived the firing and sets them on a nearby table. I try to focus on the positives. At least the vase I’ve been perfecting for weeks made it through unscathed. But it’s hard not to fixate on what I’ve lost, especially with time running out.

Hall claps me on the shoulder—a quick, almost awkward gesture, but somehow, it reassures me. Then, with a final grumble to himself, he strides back to his wheel station at the far end of the studio.

Fingers itching for my phone, I consider texting Liam. He’d get it. He’d probably have some dry, sarcastic remark to make me laugh, to brush it off. And I would—reluctantly, but inevitably—feel better.

It’s strange how quickly I’ve gotten used to that, to him being the first person I think of when I want to vent or when something goes wrong. And, if I were lucky enough for something to go right—really right—he’d probably be the first person I’d call to share that, too.

But he’s in the middle of a home game against Pittsburgh right now, sprinting up and down the field, oblivious to my tiny pottery catastrophe. So, I can’t text or call him to calm me down.

I sigh and try to focus on sweeping up the mess instead. But the frustration bubbles up again, and before I know it, I’m pulling out my phone anyway, scrolling past Liam’s name and settling on Sena’s.

Birdie

hi. I’m in crisis mode. three of my pieces broke in the kiln :(

Sena

omg. do you need sympathy, solutions, or sangria?

Birdie

probably all three. but mostly sangria

Sena

say no more. I’ll get started

If anyone can turn a disaster into a half-decent night, it’s my roommate. And I’m grateful for it now more than ever.

Once the broken shards are all swept up, I wipe down the table and take a deep breath, resolving to restart my work with fresh clay tomorrow. There’s no point in wallowing tonight—especially not when Sena’s already texting me about ordering pizza.

When I get home, the kitchen smells like fruit and cinnamon. Sena’s there, slicing up oranges and apples, with bottles of red wine and rum set out on the counter. Music filters through the living room, something upbeat and warm, and she greets me with a grin as I walk inside.

“Well, look who survived the great kiln massacre.” She winks, tossing the fruit into a big glass pitcher like she’s done this a million times. “Feel like a little escape?”

“Definitely.” I drop my bag by the door and lean against the counter, exhaustion melting into gratitude. “You’re a lifesaver.”

She waves me off. “So, what’s the vibe? Just us drowning our sorrows, or should I call in reinforcements?”

I hesitate, weighing my options. Normally, I’d opt for a quiet night in, just me and Sena, but the thought of a lively apartment, full of laughter and distraction, feels like exactly what I need. “Just a few of your girls, maybe?”

Despite my distance from my old friends, I miss certain things about those carefree nights—the way the hours stretched endlessly, filled with laughter and easy conversation. It’s been too long since I let myself enjoy something that simple and light.

Sena’s face lights up. “That’s what I like to hear.” She pulls out her phone and starts texting. “Give me twenty minutes. We’re about to have ourselves a proper girls’ night.”

---