Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
MAIA
M y heart still stutters when I recall that morning fourteen years ago—waking up with a feeling of dread in my chest. He left the studio and never came back. I called him twice, but he never answered.
I still feel it, the ugly knot in my stomach.
I disregarded it because it always happened when I spoke in public.
Hence why I never participated in the church’s talent show, even when Mom swore I had a beautiful voice—that’s debatable.
That Friday, though, I felt an extra layer of anxiety coating my skin.
The presentation was the culmination of everything we’d learned during the semester.
It counted for sixty percent of our grade.
My scholarship rode on that grade. We were the last team to present, but Gatsby was nowhere to be seen.
As I listened to other presentations, I kept tapping the side of my hand, repeating, “I am calm, and everything will be okay.”
It was a mental exercise Gatsby taught me right before my first presentation. He said to tap either the side of my hand or my sternum while saying I am calm, and everything will be okay. He did it constantly. It surprised me that a guy who was so confident needed help with his anxiety.
Something else that made me feel safe and calm…Gatsby’s presence.
My heart did little backflips as I thought of him. Gatsby. Gatsby made everything better. He had helped me through settling in at Georgia Tech. The guy knew how to take care of others. He was good at it, and I fell for it.
No amount of chanting a calming mantra and hoping that he’d arrive made him appear. The presentations were almost over. It was our turn, and he hadn’t shown up yet. My hands were clammy, and no amount of affirmations made me feel better.
“Maybe he’s making last-minute preparations. He’ll be here soon,” I muttered under my breath.
I regretted not accepting his offer to buy me a phone.
If I had, I could’ve texted him. I excused myself to head to the hall.
Thank God I had a quarter with me to use the pay phone.
I called him. He didn’t answer. Our presentation was in two minutes, and Gatsby was MIA.
If he had at least emailed the presentations I’d requested, I could have gotten a speech together, but he didn’t.
My life was over. If I failed the class, I’d be out of college and…maybe flipping burgers on campus. I wouldn’t go home and tell my parents I failed.
But I did fail.
A series of panic attacks barraged me. The whole world went mute, and everything faded into a meaningless blur. The only thing I could hear was the monotonous thump of my own broken heart before I blacked out.
He left without telling me why—or apologizing to me.
He never returned.
I failed the class, and I almost lost my scholarship.
Almost. The panic attack and the two days I spent on the psychiatric ward convinced the dean to give me a second chance.
I didn’t finish college at Georgia Tech, but Caltech.
My parents were able to transfer me with the scholarship, claiming that I needed to be close to home due to my mental illness.
It was for the best. Atlanta had too many memories of him and his lies.
I aced all my classes, but for a long time, I wasn’t calm—and I wasn’t okay.
It was on my twenty-fifth birthday when my rage grew into thirsty revenge. I nearly lost it when I saw the article: “30 under 30.”
With a net worth of over 100 million US dollars, 27-year-old tech whiz Gatsby Spearman doubled his equity after selling his app, Findzy.
Findzy is a search engine with a groundbreaking algorithm that enables users to access a wider range of information compared to previous search engines.
Gatsby Spearman is set to start his own IT company.
He still holds on to his first app and the company that started Global GAAM, Rencontrer…
I stopped reading.
While I was fetching coffee for Richard Stanley—my insufferable boss—Gatsby, the asshole, had been living his best life—with my ideas. He said they would become the best in the market. He just forgot to tell me that he wouldn’t include me in his plans.
My teenage heart broke all over again. He was a selfish bastard. He was born with enough silver spoons to feed the world, yet he dared to steal my dream.
I made it my mission to create new and bigger dreams, all while crushing him.
This article about his new acquisition is just what I need to end his reign. This is the perfect opportunity to show him that I’m no longer the na?ve girl from Georgia Tech.
Picking up the landline on my desk, I call my assistant. “Jackie, set up a meeting with 59PM, please.”
“Any specific dates?”
“Aim for next Monday, but the sooner, the better. Once you have a time, rearrange my schedule around it.”
“You got it. By the way, your conference starts in twenty minutes.”
“Thank you. You’re the best.”
I smile, knowing that after fourteen years, Little Blue will be avenged. Poor girl, she died of a broken heart.
As the Klingons say, revenge is a dish best served cold. Gatsby Spearman won’t know what hit him. He’ll just be begging for mercy.