Page 48 of Seeds of Love
Troy spots me as I rack the bar, his brow furrowed. “Dude, you’re off your game today. What gives?”
I sit up, wiping my face with a towel. “It’s nothing,” I mutter, but I’m not fooling anyone, least of all myself.
Troy’s not buying it either. He plops down next to me on the bench, his usually carefree expression replaced with concern. “Come on, man. Spill.”
I sigh, running a hand through my sweat-damp hair. “I fucked up, Troy. With Alex.”
“Ah,” Troy nods, understanding dawning on his face. “Women problems, of course. Was it that processing plant protest?”
“Yeah? How’d you know?—”
“Tara,” we both say in unison.
Of course, Troy’s sister blabbed about it. Fucking great.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I… I said some shit. She said some shit. It got ugly.”
Troy’s quiet for a moment, then asks, “Is this a girl you want to hurt?”
The question stops me dead in my tracks. “What? No, of course not,” I protest, the very idea making me feel like shit.
He shrugs, his voice gentler than usual. “Then make it right, bro. There’s always a way to make it right. Unless you killed a puppy or something. There’s no coming back from that.”
As we head to the locker room, Troy’s words stick with me like gum on a shoe.Make it right.But how?
The processing plant project. Alex’s protest. If I could find a middle ground, a solution that addresses her environmental concerns while still allowing the development...
I should be studying for tomorrow’s Environmental Ethics final, but this feels more important. Besides, maybe this counts as practical application of the course material.
I shower and change quickly, my mind spinning with half-formed thoughts and unresolved questions. By the time I return to my room, I’m on a mission. My laptop springs to life under my fingertips, the screen’s cold light cutting through the dim glow of my desk lamp. I dive headfirst into environmental impact reports and local development codes, attacking the information like I’m cramming for the world’s most boring exam.
Hours slip by in a blur of clicking keys and endless scrolling. The soft hum of the laptop fills the room as I push forward, eyes burning from the strain. When I finally lean back, stretching mystiff neck and rubbing my tired eyes, something solid begins to take shape in front of me. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start—maybe even a compromise that could work.
The gist of it?
Relocate the facility slightly east, preserving the wetland buffer zone that Alex has been hammering on about. Implement green building practices, incorporate sustainable design elements. Create wildlife corridors around the development, and restore the surrounding habitat to offset the environmental damage. Build raised walkways over sensitive areas instead of paving them over. And to show real commitment to the community, develop a nature education center as part of the project—turning it into a model for sustainable industrial development.
It’s going to cost more, of course. But with tax incentives for green building and the public relations boost, it could work. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll show Alex I’m not the corporate sellout she thinks I am.
Before I can back out, I attach the document to an email and hit send. Then I sit there, alternating between pacing and refreshing my inbox like a teenager waiting for a text back.
When the reply finally comes, it’s not what I expect. Dr. Reeves wants to see me in person. Tomorrow. Fuck.
I barely sleep that night, my mind spinning with a thousand what-ifs. What if he hates the idea? What if I overstepped? What if I just tanked my entire career?
The next morning, I find myself standing outside Dr. Reeves' office, my palms clammy as I knock on the door.
“Come in, Freddie,” his voice calls out, calm and warm.
I step inside, forcing myself to stand tall, projecting a confidence I don’t feel. Dr. Reeves is behind his desk, my proposal open on his computer screen, the light from the monitor casting a cool glow across his face.
“Sit down,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him. As I settle into the seat, I catch a flicker in his eyes. Is that... approval?
“I have to say, Freddie,” he begins, leaning back in his chair with a slight smile, “I’m impressed by what you sent me. But I have to ask—what made you want to figure this out? This proposal took a lot of time, and I know classes are busy right now.”
“Well, sir. There’s this girl I’m friends with. She protested the project, and…” I hesitate, unsure how to explain without sounding like I’m full of shit.
“Ahh.” Dr. Reeves sips his coffee, the steam swirling up in a thin thread as he smiles, something almost mischievous in his eyes. “Say no more, young man. I understand exactly. Sometimes the women in our lives get too worked up over things like frogs’ homes, and sometimes the only way to win them over is with a frog highway. I get it. And I’m impressed. The plan is well thought out and won’t cost a ton.”
