Page 68 of High Hopes

The tears come in waves, each one heavier than the last, until my chest aches from the effort. I don’t know how long I stay there, but it’s long enough that day becomes night.

When Liam shows up later, he knocks softly, so hesitant and careful, like he already knows something’s wrong. I think about ignoring him—letting him stand out there until he gives up—but it’s Liam. He won’t give up.

When I open the door, his eyes go straight to mine, narrowing with concern. “Birdie.” He closes the door gently, like he’s trying not to spook me. “I heard the emails went out.”

“From your dad?”

“No, from stalking the fellowship forum online.”

“I was going to tell you,” I mumble.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks, his voice soft, careful.

“What was I supposed to say?” I snap, immediately regretting it. “I’m sorry. I just—I didn’t want to talk about it.”

He comes near and brushes a hand over my hair. “It’s okay to be upset. You worked so hard—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I cut him off, my voice breaking. “I didn’t win. And now I can’t even afford to stay in school next year. What was all that hard work for?”

He opens his mouth like a fish out of water, but no words come out. Whatever he wants to say, it’s stuck somewhere between us, tangled up in the tension.

“I feel so foolish. I went to you for help, thinking it might actually make a difference, but all it did was make me look desperate. Your dad obviously thought I was just using you. God, what was I even thinking?”

“Stop,” he says sharply. “You’re not desperate, and you didn’t do anything wrong. My dad is—” He pauses, exhaling heavily. “My dad’s an asshole, babe. But that doesn’t mean your work wasn’t incredible. It was. It is.”

I shake my head, ignoring him. “What did I expect? That I could just waltz into your world and somehow belong there? That I’d get this life-changing opportunity because of talent or hard work or whatever nonsense I convinced myself mattered? It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”

“You don’t actually believe that.”

“Don’t I?” I snap, my arms wrapping around myself like I can hold everything together if I just squeeze tight enough. “Because right now, it feels like no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be enough. Not for your dad, not for the judges, not for—”

“For me?” he interrupts.

I blink, faltering. “I didn’t mean—”

“Good,” he says firmly. “Because I never asked you to be anything but yourself. And if you think for one second that you let me down, that I’d ever see you as anything less than incredible, then you don’t know me at all.”

He reaches for me again, but I take another step back, wrapping my arms around myself. “Please, don’t. I can’t—I just can’t handle anyone being sad with me.”

His face falls. “Okay,” he says softly. “Then what do you need?”

“Time to process, maybe,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “I’m going home for Thanksgiving. I’ll talk to you after the break before you leave for the tournament. I just . . . I need to figure things out first.”

“Birdie, baby, I—”

“I’m sorry, but I just need a little time alone to wallow.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. “If that’s what you need, you got it.”

I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. “Thank you.”

He watches me for a moment longer, his expression heavy and unreadable, like he wants to argue more but knows better. Then, with a soft exhale, he finally turns and leaves.

I sink back onto the couch, pull my knees to my chest, and sob. Violent, gut-wrenching sobs that leave me gasping for air. It’s useless for me to try to hold it together now. I can’t anymore, even if I wanted to.

Because I failed.

I failed. I failed. I lost the fellowship, and I failed.

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