Chapter 37
PIPER
My phone buzzes while I’m in line at the campus coffee cart, the Thursday morning rush making everything move at a slow pace. I almost ignore it—probably just another reminder about finals—but the sender makes me freeze.
From: Professor Long
Subject: Creative Writing Grade Update
My hands shake as I open it.
Ms. Renner,
I wanted to reach out personally to congratulate you on your remarkable improvement in Creative Writing. Your latest assignment scores, combined with your midterm performance, have brought your overall grade up to a B+.
This is exactly the kind of turnaround I hoped to see when we discussed your scholarship status earlier this semester. Your work, particularly in the areas of character development and narrative structure, has shown significant growth.
I’m pleased to confirm that your academic scholarship will remain intact for the next year. Keep up the excellent work.
Best regards,
Professor Long
I read it three times before it sinks in. B+. Scholarship intact. I did it.
“Miss? Your coffee?”
The barista is holding out my usual—black with two sugars—looking mildly annoyed. I mumble an apology and stumble away from the cart, still staring at my phone.
Six weeks ago, I was failing this class. Six weeks ago, Professor Long was warning me about losing everything. And now...
I think about Ethan, about our tutoring sessions that became so much more. The way he helped me see stories as living things instead of rigid structures. How he made me laugh while explaining three-act structures, how he praised my character work even when I doubted every word.
My phone still displays the email, proof that I’m not going to lose my scholarship, that I can stay at school, that everything isn’t falling apart.
I should text Ethan. Thank him. Tell him that none of this would have happened without—
But we’re not talking. Haven’t been since Sunday morning when he found out about the review. Since trust became a wall between us instead of a bridge.
Still, standing here with coffee cooling in my hand and my academic future secured, all I want to do is share this with him. Tell him how his patience, and terrible plant jokes, and genuine belief in my work changed everything.
I stare at the screen until the numbers blur, then screenshot everything and send it to Riya, who responds with approximately seventeen fire emojis and the message.
Riya
TOLD YOU SO. So lab is a go?
Shit. I don’t know.
I’ll go visit Jenkins now.
I head toward the Computer Science building. And make a beeline for Jenkins's office.
His door is open, Beethoven's Ninth crackling from ancient speakers he refuses to replace. I knock on the doorframe.
“Piper!” He looks up from what appears to be three different coding problems running simultaneously. “Perfect timing. I was about to email you.”
“About the lab?”
“Sit, sit.” He gestures to the chair across from his desk, moving a stack of papers that probably haven't been touched since 2015. “So, you survived Creative Writing. B+, I heard. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I had a good tutor.”
“Hmm.” His eyes are knowing behind his wire-rim glasses. “Now, about the lab. We're starting June 15th, running through the summer session. You're still planning to stay on campus?”
“Yes, absolutely. I'm happy to stay.” The words come out firm. This lab is everything I've worked for.
“Excellent. The supercomputer time alone will be invaluable for your project.” He pulls up his tablet, scrolling through files. “I've been reviewing your OptiMatch submissions from the past few months. Fascinating evolution in your thinking.”
My stomach tightens. “About that—”
“The compatibility matrices are elegant. The behavioral prediction models are sophisticated. You've created something that could genuinely help people make better relationship decisions.”
“Professor Jenkins...” I take a breath. “What if I wanted to go in a different direction?”
His eyebrows rise slightly. “Different how?”
“I'm not sure yet. But OptiMatch... it's starting to feel...” I search for the words. “Like I'm trying to solve the wrong problem.”
He leans back, fingers steepled. “Interesting. And this realization came about how?”
“Personal experience, mostly. I'm learning that compatibility doesn't predict success. That sometimes the most important relationships are the ones that don't make sense on paper.”
“Ah.” He nods slowly. “The algorithm works perfectly in theory but fails in practice because humans are beautifully irrational.”
“Something like that.”
Jenkins is quiet for a moment, studying me with the same intensity he applies to complex problems. “Piper, this lab is a space for innovation and growth, not for boxing yourself into predetermined outcomes. If you want to explore a different direction, I support that.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Though I'll admit, I'm quite fond of OptiMatch. The technical implementation alone is impressive.” He pauses.
“However, I will say this - it's much easier to decide your direction before we begin.
Changing course mid-stream, especially once you're deep into development with the resources we'll be using, becomes significantly more difficult.”
“So I need to decide soon.”
“I'd urge you to think very carefully over the next two weeks. Whatever you choose to pursue will essentially become your senior thesis, possibly your graduate work if you continue.” His expression softens. “What's your gut telling you?”
I think about Harper's freedom, about Ethan's game revealing that choice matters more than outcomes, about all the ways OptiMatch failed to predict the most important developments in my own life.
“My gut says OptiMatch is trying to eliminate uncertainty from something that might actually require it.”
“Then perhaps your new direction will explore that uncertainty instead.” He returns to his screens. “Take your time, Piper. But by the end of the month, I'll need to know what problem you're actually trying to solve for you to secure a spot in the lab.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
As I leave his office, I feel both lighter and heavier. Lighter because he's given me permission to change course. Heavier because now I have to figure out what comes next.
The sun is warm on my face as I head toward the bench, toward Ethan, toward whatever story we're still writing together.
Maybe that's what my new project needs to be about—not preventing heartbreak or predicting compatibility, but helping people revise their own narratives when life doesn't follow the algorithm.