Chapter 7
TROY
The gym is quiet on Wednesday morning, and it makes a nice change. It’s the time when all the sports teams have practice, so all the usual people are busy with their teams. Most other times I like being around people, but sometimes, I like to just rip apart my muscles on my own, or with Freds.
Just the hum of machines, the rhythmic clank of weights hitting the floor, and the low bass of whatever shitty playlist Freddie put on today.
I roll my shoulders, cracking my neck before reaching for a plate to add to the bar.
“You know, normal people ease back into lifting after a summer off,” comes a voice from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder to find Freddie leaning against the squat rack, arms crossed, looking annoyingly well-rested for someone who opens the gym most mornings at 5:30 am.
“Didn’t take the whole summer off.” I shrug. “Stayed active at camp.”
“Teaching kayaking to a bunch of kids isn’t exactly the same as lifting, Hawkins.”
“Hey, some of those kids were vicious,” I deadpan. “Had one try to fight me over an oar.”
Freddie just snorts, shaking his head. “Right. Sure. And I bet they also pushed you to your absolute limit in the weight room, huh?”
I smirk. “What can I say? I’m just naturally built different. I don’t need rest, beautiful. We go all day, baby!” I hoot.
Freddie mutters something about my ego being the size of Colorado, but he disappears behind the counter before I can throw something at him.
Whatever. He’s not wrong.
I refocus on the barbell in front of me, let the burn in my arms take over. There's something satisfying about it—simple, straightforward. Pain in, results out.
Unlike, say... last night.
Last night was supposed to end with me in someone else’s bed. Ideally with her moaning my name, then me slipping out before she asked something horrific like “What are we?” I'd send a charming DM later—So sorry, brunch with the boys, you’re stunning, had a blast, xoxo.
Instead, I walked home with my sister and her boyfriend like a sad little man who peaked sophomore year.
That cannot be my narrative this year.
I push through the last few reps, frustration bleeding out of me with every lift. By the time I’m done, showered, and back home, I feel lighter. Focused. Ready to get my shit together.
Until I see my laptop on my desk. Still unopened. I glare at it.
It’s not like I’m a bad student. I just..
. don’t have to try that hard. Studying’s always come easy to me, which means checking my inbox isn’t exactly a core part of my daily routine.
Admin stuff? I usually skim and move on.
But now I’m wondering if I missed something important for the Future Innovators comp.
When Tara brought it up last night, I played it cool—but if I’m honest? I got a little twist in my gut. One that whispers…what if you didn’t make it?
I towel off my hair, sigh, and finally sit down. Might as well rip off the band-aid.
Inbox. Scroll. Scroll, scroll and…
Subject line: UMS x Future Innovators: Competition Acceptance & Next Steps
Boom.
Let’s fucking go.
A slow grin spreads across my face. I knew it. I mean, yeah—I’m top of my class. But it still feels good to see it confirmed in writing, y’know, officially. No room for doubt.
Then my eyes catch a section I missed on the first pass.
To simulate real-world innovation, participants are required to collaborate with a partner from a complementary discipline.
...Right.
So, Alfie was right. This thing’s partnered.
I lean back in my chair and swing my leg over the side.
This is fine. I’ve made enough connections at UMS to cast a wide net. I’ll throw a few feelers out, see who bites. Maybe someone smart and hot, if the gods are smiling.
Worst case, I’ll charm some poor bastard into letting me handle the big-picture stuff while they stress over the numbers.
Come on.
I’m Troy fucking Hawkins.
This is what I do.
I scroll the participant list, half-skimming names until one stops me.
Delilah Greer.
Of course she got in.
I stare at her name for a second too long, thumb hovering over the trackpad.
She’s sharp. Probably insanely organized. Definitely full of opinions.
And she'd be an absolute nightmare to work with.
I scroll past.
Then I copy and paste the same message into ten different emails to people who, crucially, aren’t her.
I recognize.
Future Innovators – Partnering Up?
Hey,
Congrats on getting in! Looks like we’re both in the running. I’m looking for a partner, and I think our skill sets could complement each other well.
-Troy
Boom. Done.
Someone’s bound to jump on that offer.
Feeling satisfied, I close my laptop and head downstairs. The smell of coffee and instant ramen hits me before I even step into the living room.
Ethan is sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, completely locked in on whatever game he’s playing.
“Morning, sunshine,” I say, dropping onto the couch next to him.
“Dude, it’s like noon,” he says, not even looking away from the screen.
“Exactly. Morning.”
Ethan snorts but keeps playing, his fingers flying over the buttons.
“Who are you playing with?” I nod at the screen.
“Some guys from my class. And Paige.”
“Paige not bored of you yet?” I teased him.
Ethan pauses the game, then grins so wide it’s actually kind of painful to look at.
“Dude. I think I might be in love with her.”
I roll my eyes. Ethan is a hopeless romantic, often claiming he loves a girl after one freakin’ kiss.
“Of course, you do.”
“I’m serious!” He turns to me, looking ridiculously happy.
“I don’t know, man. She’s just… she’s awesome.
She’s so smart, and funny, and the other night, she sent me this whole thing about how the physics of black holes relates to gaming strategy, and I think that’s the moment I realized—holy shit, I might actually love this girl. ”
I stare at him. Because this is Ethan.
The same guy who has fallen head over heels for at least four girls in the past two years, only to get distracted by something shiny and move on. But he actually seems different, he’s been seeing Paige for over a month now and that’s probably the longest anyone’s ever caught his eye.
“Jesus. You’re actually serious.”
“I know, right?” Ethan groans, grinning like an idiot. “It’s terrifying. What if I mess it up?”
“You probably will,” I say easily.
Ethan glares at me.
“I mean, statistically speaking,” I continue, grinning.
“Oh, fuck off.”
“Hey, I’m happy for you,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just can’t relate.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Ethan laughs. “You’d rather set yourself on fire than have a serious relationship.”
“Damn right.”
“But shit, man,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “That’s huge. Congrats, I guess? Are you official?”
“I know!” Ethan groans, dropping his head back against the couch. “Nah, Paige says she doesn’t do labels, but that’s a little weird, right?”
I shrug, I don’t really do labels either, so I get it.
“What if she decides I’m actually super annoying?”
“Oh, she’ll definitely decide that,” I say easily.
Ethan glares at me.
“The key is just making sure she also finds you charming enough to deal with it.”
Ethan snorts. “You’re the last person I’m taking relationship advice from, Hawkins.”
I lean back, stretching my arms out over the back of the couch.
Fair enough.
“I’m happy for you, bro. You’ve always wanted the whole long-term thing. Just never quite made it happen.”
Ethan nods, smiling to himself. “Yeah. Guess I never really found the right person before.”
I don’t say anything to that. Because honestly?
I can’t imagine anything worse than a relationship in college.
Being tied down? Having to constantly check in with someone? Dealing with feelings and expectations and all that other bullshit?
No, thanks.
That’s the last thing I want.
And as soon as I get my first “yes” email back from a competition partner, I’ll officially be back on top.
I refresh my inbox, expecting to see at least one or two positive responses.
Instead I have three new emails.
All variations of the same message.
RE: Future Innovators – Partnering Up?
Hey Troy,
Appreciate you reaching out! I actually already found a partner—good luck with the competition!
- Dan
RE: Future Innovators – Partnering Up?
Hey man,
Congrats on getting in! I’m already locked in with someone, but I’m sure you’ll find a partner fast.
- Vik
RE: Future Innovators – Partnering Up?
Hey Troy,
Wish I could, but I’m set. Hope you find someone solid!
- Jamie
I stare at my screen, frowning. Okay. Not ideal. I check the time—still early. I have nearly two weeks to lock someone in.
Nothing to worry about.
But still, I thought I'd get at least two yeses. I thought I'd be in the position to pick who is the best fit, not beg somebody to partner with me. I pull out my phone and call Jared. Maybe he's still looking too.
“Yo, Hawkins,” he answers on the third ring, music thumping in the background.
“Hey man,” I say, trying to sound casual. “This FIDIC partner thing is a nightmare. Everyone's already paired up.”
Jared laughs, the sound smug even through the phone. “Sucks for you. I locked mine down two days ago. Some computer genius from computing.” I sit up straighter.
“Wait, who'd you get?”
“Riley Sanders. Full-ride scholarship, 4.0 GPA. Like I said—genius.” Riley Sanders. Riley's legendary in the department—the kind of student professors use as an example when they're trying to explain what excellence looks like.
“Didn't realize you two knew each other,” I say carefully.
“We don't,” Jared says, and I can practically hear his shrug. “But my dad does. He donated that new computer lab to the Engineering department last year. Suddenly, everyone's very accommodating.”
Of course. Another thing bought and paid for.
“Wait,” Jared says, realization dawning in his voice. “Are you in this competition, too? Dude, you never said anything.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “Got the acceptance email a few days ago.”
“Well, shit.” Jared laughs. “May the best man win and all that. Though with Riley on my team...” He trails off meaningfully. “Good luck finding someone halfway decent. Sounds like all the good ones are taken.”
I grit my teeth. “Thanks for the concern.”
“No problem, bro. Gotta run—kegger at Alpha Sig.” He hangs up before I can respond. I toss my phone onto my desk, irritation flaring. This isn't just about finding a partner anymore.
It's about proving something. To Jared. To myself. To everyone who thinks money and connections are all that matter. I lean back in my chair, rolling my shoulders. This isn't panic-worthy yet, but it's... irritating.
I’m top of my class. I’ve earned my spot here. But half the guys in my program still act like I got here by accident—like I tripped and fell into good grades. Every time I do well, they look surprised. Like I’m not actually smart, just riding some endless wave of luck.
That’s why I applied in the first place.
Not because I need the grant. Not because I think this is some career-defining moment.
But because I wanted to shut everyone up—to prove that I don’t just float, I win.
That I can crush it in class and in the real world.
Even in a dumb competition like this one, where people treat the winners like STEM royalty.
But now, I’m the only one left solo while everyone else is out there pairing up like it’s prom season, and my inbox is still a black hole.
I exhale sharply and hit refresh again. Still nothing.
Time to take a break from this bullshit.
I shove back from my desk and head down the hall, knocking once before stepping into Alfie’s room.
Tara’s curled up on her bed, laptop balanced on her knees, coffee steaming beside her like she’s already been productive for hours.
“Sup, nerd,” I say, leaning against the doorframe.
She barely glances up. “I have a lot of work, Troy.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just making sure you’re alive.”
“I am, thanks.”
“You sleep okay?”
“Mhm.”
“Eat anything yet?”
“Troy.” She finally looks up, exasperated. “Yes, I ate. Yes, I slept. No, I’m not dying.”
I smirk. “Good. Just checking.”
She rolls her eyes but smiles, shifting to grab her coffee.
“Did you check your email yet?”
“Yeah.” I scratch the back of my neck, walking into the room. “Got in.”
Tara gasps and immediately flings her laptop to the side, nearly sending it flying off the bed. She bounces up to sit on her knees, face lighting up.
“Shut. UP. You did?!”
I blink. “Uh… yeah? I literally just said that—”
“That’s amazing!” She does a little fist-pump in the air. “Oh my god, Troy, you got into Future Innovators! That’s a huge deal!”
I laugh. “You act like I’ve already won the thing.”
She throws a pillow at me. “It’s a competitive program! Half your cohort didn’t even get shortlisted! I’m allowed to be proud, okay?”
“Alright, alright.” I toss the pillow back at her feet. “Appreciate the enthusiasm.”
She takes another sip of coffee, her grin still glued in place.
“So, did you find a partner yet?”
I hesitate. And that’s all it takes.
Her face drops into suspicious mode instantly.
“Wait.” She squints at me. “You didn’t?”
“It’s still early,” I say, shrugging, trying to play it cool. “Got two weeks. No rush.”
Tara tilts her head.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I raise a brow. “That was not a ‘nothing’ huh. That was a ‘something’ huh.”
She shrugs, far too amused. “It’s just… interesting. You assumed you’d have a partner immediately, didn’t you?”
“I mean… yeah.” I frown. “Because I will.”
She just sips her coffee.
I squint at her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she says again, but now I know she’s messing with me.
“You’re being annoying.”
“You’re being defensive.”
“I’m not defensive.”
“You’re literally scowling right now.”
I stop scowling.
“Shut up,” I mutter, pushing off the doorframe. “I’ll find a partner. No big deal.”
“Mmmhmm.”
I ignore her.
But as I walk back to my room, I refresh my email again. Nothing. I set my jaw. I decide to send out more emails, this time I take a little more time and make it more personal.
I push back from my desk and head downstairs, figuring I’ve done enough for now.
Ethan is exactly where I left him—sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, absolutely locked in on his game.
“You motherfucker!” he shouts at the screen.
I pick up a controller and join in.