Chapter 12 #2
She looks at me for a long moment, like she's seeing something new. “You're...actually into this.”
“Hell yeah, I am. Why do you sound surprised?”
“I just thought...” She shrugs. “I didn't think you'd care this much.”
“About winning? Of course, I care.”
“No, about the actual design. The sustainability aspect.”
I feel my defenses rise. “What, you think I'm just some jock who doesn't give a shit about the environment?”
“That's not what I—”
“I grew up hiking these mountains,” I say, surprising myself with the intensity in my voice. “I've watched glaciers disappear year after year. I've seen what happens when we treat the planet like it's disposable.”
She's staring at me now, completely still.
“Sorry,” I mutter, embarrassed at my outburst. “I just—I get it. Why this matters.”
“No, don't apologize,” she says quietly. “I shouldn't have assumed.”
We sit in silence for a moment, the tension between us shifted into something I can't quite name.
Finally, she nods decisively. “Okay. Regenerative design it is. But we'll need to be meticulous with the engineering specifications to prove it can actually work.”
“I can handle that part,” I say. “The energy systems, water management, structural calculations.”
“And I'll focus on the architectural integration and materials.” She's already sketching something on her tablet. “If we're going to win, every element has to serve multiple functions.”
We spend the next hour outlining key areas of research, our excitement building as the concept takes shape. Me on energy systems, rainwater collection, solar integration, and cost analysis. Her on structural redesign, sustainable materials, and landscaping plans.
But as we wrap up, I notice her enthusiasm fading, replaced by that worried look again.
“What's wrong?” I ask.
She sighs. “It's a great concept on paper. But pulling it off...” She shakes her head. “The judges want something innovative but also practical. What if we're aiming too high? What if we can't actually make it work?”
I study her face. I've never seen Delilah like this—vulnerable, uncertain. It hits me suddenly that this isn't just about proving herself academically. There's something more at stake for her. Something personal.
“Hey,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. “We're going to make it work. Between your design skills and my engineering chops? We've got this.”
She doesn't look convinced. “You sound pretty confident for someone who hasn’t known their project partner for long.”
“What can I say? I'm a good judge of talent.” I give her my most winning smile, but for once, I actually mean it.
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the ghost of a smile.
“Alright,” she says, closing her laptop. “We should take detailed measurements at the site before Monday. Then we'll start modeling potential layouts. I can go there after class tomorrow.”
“Got it.”
We sit there for a second, and it hits me how smoothly that went. We didn't fight or bicker that much when we focused.
We actually make a good team.
Which is why I feel totally justified in taking this moment of peace and immediately testing its limits.
I watch Delilah for a second, then casually stretch, kicking my feet up on the chair next to me.
“So, I’ll see you at five on Monday, then?” I say.
“Obviously.”
“Cool. I’ll pick you up,”
Her head snaps up so fast I’m genuinely impressed she doesn’t get whiplash.
“Troy. No.”
“Delilah. Yes. I was being serious.”
“You are not driving me.”
“I am, though.”
“You are absolutely not.”
“You wanna bet?” I grin, because I know I’ve already won.
She stares at me, jaw tight, like she’s debating if it’s worth lunging across the table and strangling me.
Then her phone buzzes.
Jared.
I see her glance at the notification, see her hesitate, and then she grabs it and flips it over, screen down. She chooses not to answer him
That’s when I know I have her. I reach over, grab her notebook, and flip to a blank page.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, frowning as I scribble something down.
I slide it across the table.
“That’s my number, you’re lucky, I don’t give it to most people,” I say. “Text me your address.”
It’s a good excuse to get her number, she’s been insisting on using email like we’re in the 12th century or something.
She snorts. “You really think I’m just gonna hand that over?”
“Yep.” I lean back, stretching. “Might as well—because I’m picking you up for class, too.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve got morning classes, anyway. I’ll be driving in for nine every day. Might as well save you from biking in the cold. Oh wait, you can’t because it’s broken,”
“Wait. You’re actually taking a full schedule?” she asks, like it’s the most surprising concept.
“Couple extra, actually. Just for fun.”
She stares at me like I just said I enjoy long walks off cliffs.
“You’re voluntarily taking extra classes? In your senior year?”
“Yeah,” I say easily.
“Why?”
I shrug. “Why not?”
She tilts her head slightly, studying me. Like she’s trying to figure me out. Guess I don’t fit into whatever box she put me in.
Good.
I grin, tapping the notebook. “Address, Mittens. Don’t make me stalk you.”
She huffs, exasperated.
“You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”
“And yet,” I say, grabbing my coffee and standing up, “you still haven’t told me no.”
She doesn’t answer.
I take that as a win.
“See you soon, Greer,” I call over my shoulder as I walk out.
I don’t have to look back to know she’s still scowling.
But she still hasn’t said no, and something about that makes me grin the whole way home.