15:00.

Kiri made it to her Major and Career Advisory class with hardly a minute to spare. She snuck to the back of the classroom as she always did, taking her usual seat in the corner next to the window. She hunkered down in her seat, scrunching her broad shoulders together out of habit. She was mentally prepared to listen to the professor ramble on about subjects completely unrelated to finding a major, let alone a career, so she took out nothing but her pen and a notebook with more doodles than it had notes.

This was the one class she’d thought would help her with her future, and yet she’d gotten nothing out of it this entire semester. She wondered why she even bothered with college at all. Wasn’t it for the people who had motivations?

Surprisingly, the professor started class with a handout. “The Goldtown Creative Writing Contest,” he said, pushing up his thick spectacles in some attempt to look dignified, like he was finally helping the class for once. “I’m sure you’ve all heard of it by now. The winners of each category will have the choice between a cash prize or a scholarship award. Please raise your hand if you’d like one.”

Kiri perked up for a moment, watching a few hands raise around the room. She almost raised hers, then thought better of it. No. Don’t do impractical things, she thought. She clasped her hands together on her lap and sunk further in her chair. From the corner of her eye, she could swear she saw her desk neighbor looking at her briefly before raising his hand, but she kept her gaze fixated on the front of the room.

“I’ll leave some by the door in case you change your mind,” the professor said, lumbering over to place the stack of submission forms on a shelving unit by the door. When the papers had settled on the students’ desks, he clapped his hands together excitedly. “Now then! I think it’s time we finally do our long-awaited collaboration assignment.”

Kiri wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned. The professor called the assignment “an interview with your partner.” He passed out another set of papers to the class, explaining that they were interview questions meant to “help fellow students on their career trajectory.”

A little late in the year for that, Kiri thought, scowling. But she supposed now was better than never.

Each student partnered with the person directly next to them. Her interviewer and interviewee was the brown-haired, brown-eyed, lacrosse-playing hunk called Gabe Hartmann. He leaned over to her with that big goofy grin on his sun-speckled face that hadn’t changed since they were five years old—except the fact his jawline was clearly more chiseled and, unsurprisingly, the magnet to girls’ affections, even if he was kind of dumb. If his face wasn’t convincing enough to attract attention, his endless happy energy left no room for anyone to hate him. It was exhausting, if anything. Kiri had always noticed people liked to hang around him, regardless of gender. She’d never paid attention to the reason until now. She witnessed his magnetism first hand as he stared directly at her with his gleaming eyes that screamed charisma!

She and Gabe sat in the back of the class. He had never really talked to her, let alone looked at her, during the entire semester until now. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time they spoke to each other for over two seconds during all these years they’d been going to the same schools. And it probably would’ve stayed that way if it wasn’t for this unhinged professor. She prayed she didn’t smell like chicken shit too much.

After a round of normal, albeit boring questions from Kiri toward Gabe. He said something about maybe going into tech. Maybe he could even come back and work at the new data center when all the college stuff was done.

Kiri thought about Uncle Jim. What was he up to now? Had he given his presentation yet? Had he convinced the Goldtown committee to at least build the data center away from a protected habitat? She could imagine him speaking in front of the audience, dignified, believing in everything he was doing, proud that he was making a meaningful difference. Meanwhile, here she was, nervous about answering some simple assignment questions.

When it came time for Gabe to ask the questions, she clammed up. She waffled about maybe going into anthropology, or maybe environmental sciences like her uncle. Gabe didn’t really seem convinced as he jotted her words in his notebook.

He finally looked at her. Gave her a wide grin and said, “Seriously, though. If you could be anything you wanted—I mean literally anything. What would you be?” His silly brown eyes glowed like they begged for an absurd answer. The question itself did not differ from the first one he asked. However, something about the way he said “literally” this time resonated with Kiri.

Without thinking, she said, “A dragon that can travel through time and space, I guess?” When she realized what she said, she blushed and couldn’t meet his eyes. She could feel him staring at her intently, though.

He chuckled. “Dang! That’s actually so awesome,” he said. “I’d love to get on that trend with you, too, not gonna lie.”

Kiri met his eyes at last. “Why?” she asked.

“I dunno! I said all that stuff about working in tech, but sometimes it feels like there’s no reason for it. It’s just that I have no reason not to do it.”

Kiri’s eyes wandered off as she thought of a response. No reason not to do it, huh? Did she ever feel that way about anything?

As she wracked her brain, Gabe asked, “So I’m, like, curious. Why didn’t you take a submission form for the creative writing contest?”

Stumped, Kiri’s eyes locked onto her desk. He remembered she liked to write? Since when did he pay attention? She squirmed in her seat. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“‘Cuz I remember the cool stories you used to write in our creative writing elective class in high school. Like the one for the school contest? I was hyped when yours won that year. It was definitely my favorite.”

This was the first she was hearing of this. “I—I haven’t really written since high school,” she responded, just barely above a whisper. Why was he even asking her this?

“Aw, really? That’s too bad. Your stories were always the best!” He picked up the submission form he’d raised his hand for earlier. Kiri couldn’t help but suspect why he took it. He hadn’t done creative writing seriously for his entire life. Even in that elective class, he wrote nothing but silly stories that barely followed the prompts, if he turned in anything at all. He’d gotten a C, somehow.

Her fear came true when he held out the submission form to her. “Take this one. Not like I’m actually gonna use it,” he said, grinning giddily.

Kiri hesitantly took it out of politeness. “But why? You took it for yourself, right?”

“Nah,” he said. He laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back in his chair. “I just thought maybe you made a mistake not taking one.”

Kiri looked at him in disbelief. She wanted to say anything, like how he was making arrogant assumptions or how he shouldn’t worry about what she was doing with her life. Instead, she mumbled something about how she’d moved on to reality.

“Heh. Sorry if that was pretty out of nowhere,” Gabe said, looking at the ceiling wistfully. “I know I haven’t talked much with you. I’m just being selfish, wanting to read your stories again. Don’t take it too seriously! You should, like, totally do what you want with your life, in the end.”

By the end of class, he winked at her and flicked a note onto her desk. It said in all caps:

PORTAL FESTIVAL + AFTER PARTYYYYY!!! MEET @ RIVERWOOD BOOKSTORE TONIGHT @ 6!