Chapter 17
DELILAH
I'm halfway across the quad when I spot Lacey waving frantically from a bench near the science building.
“Delilah!” she calls, as if I could miss her in that blinding pink coat. “Over here!”
I adjust my bag on my shoulder and head her way, already mentally calculating how long this interaction needs to last before I can reasonably excuse myself to the library.
It's not that I don't want to see her—I do.
It's just that my brain is still stuck on last night.
On Troy's hands. On the way he looked at me in the dim light of my apartment.
On the strange, terrifying feeling of letting someone in.
“Delilah?” Lacey waves her hand in front of my face.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Just thinking about the project.”
She smirks, not buying it for a second. “Uh-huh. So that's what we're calling Troy Hawkins these days? 'The Project'?”
I roll my eyes, but I can feel heat rising to my cheeks. “We're grabbing coffee or what?”
“Always so charming,” she teases, linking her arm through mine. “Yes, please. I need caffeine before this hangover takes over my brain or I'm literally going to die.”
We cut across the lawn toward CC's, Lacey chattering about some party drama I've completely missed. I nod at appropriate intervals, but my mind keeps drifting back to the way Troy's voice sounded when he said he needed me.
We're passing the campus gym when I spot a familiar figure kneeling in what looks like a small garden patch beside the building.
Alex. Freddie Donavan’s girlfriend.
She looks up just as we're about to pass and her entire face lights up in recognition.
“Delilah!” She waves, garden gloves covered in dirt. “Hey!”
Lacey pauses mid-sentence, glancing between us. “You know her?”
“She's one of Troy's friends,” I say, already uncomfortable with the calculating look forming on Lacey's face.
“Freddie’s girlfriend?”
I nod, hesitant. I don't want to get pulled into a conversation, but I also don't want to be rude. Alex had been nothing but welcoming to me.
“Go say hi.” Lacey nudges me. “I'll wait here.”
I shoot her a look but make my way over to Alex, who's surrounded by gardening tools and what looks like packets of seeds.
“Hey,” I offer, hovering awkwardly.
“Perfect timing!” Alex beams up at me, not seeming to notice or care about my discomfort. “I'm just doing some late-season maintenance. Want to see?”
Before I can formulate an excuse, she's gesturing proudly to the small plot of land that, to be honest, doesn't look like much—just some dried stalks and scattered blooms struggling against the approaching winter.
“This is our little wildflower project,” she explains, her enthusiasm undimmed by the garden's current state. “Freddie started it a couple years ago and then the environmental society and I have taken charge.”
“It's... nice,” I say, not sure what else to offer.
Alex laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “It looks sad now, but you should have seen it in summer.” She pulls off a glove and reaches for her phone. “Here.”
She swipes to a photo that transforms my perception completely. The same small patch exploding with color—vibrant purples, yellows, and reds, swarming with bees and butterflies. A tiny, thriving ecosystem in the middle of concrete and brick.
“That's... wow,” I say, genuinely impressed. “That's the same spot?”
“Yep!” Alex scrolls through more photos. “It looked so small when we planted it, but it created this whole little world. Sometimes the smallest interventions have the biggest impact, you know?”
“We have a little sign,” she continues, pointing to a weathered placard at the edge of the garden. She nods toward the garden again, and I notice two signs I hadn’t registered before.
One is hand-painted, a little crooked, the words ‘Home for the Bees’ scrawled in cheerful, fading letters. It’s chipped around the edges, the kind of thing someone made with real care—years ago, maybe.
The other is newer. A clean white board with neatly printed info, bullet points about native pollinators and a scannable QR code tucked in the corner.
“It explains the importance of native plants and pollinators. You'd be surprised how many students stop to read it. Last spring, three different classes used it for projects.”
“They did?”
“Mm-hmm. It's become this tiny outdoor classroom. People learn better when they can see things in action, not just read about them in textbooks.”
I stare at the garden with new eyes, mind racing. Our toilet block renovation... we've been so focused on the impressive engineering aspects, the sustainable technology. But what if the most sustainable approach isn't just building something cleverly designed, but something that teaches?
“The plants do the work,” Alex is saying, oblivious to my mental breakthrough. “We just created the conditions and provided the information. The rest happened naturally. It’s beautiful what nature can do when we give it a chance to take over.”
“That's brilliant,” I murmur, more to myself than to her.
“It's pretty simple, actually,” she says with a modest shrug. “That's what I love about it.”
My fingers itch for my sketchbook. What if our design included educational components?
What if the structure itself became a teaching tool for the campus, or even for all of Mountain Springs?
Transparent panels showing the rainwater collection system, labeled cross-sections of the green roof, QR codes linking to more information about each sustainable feature. ..
“I need to go,” I say abruptly, my mind already filling with new ideas.
Alex blinks, surprised by my sudden shift, but recovers with a smile. “Oh! Sure. It was nice running into you. Tell Troy I said hi!”
I nod, already backing away. “Thanks, Alex. This was... really helpful.”
I rush back to Lacey, who's watching with undisguised curiosity.
“What was that about?” she asks as I reach her.
“I just figured something out,” I say, pulling out my phone to jot down ideas before they evaporate. “I need to get home and start writing this up.”
“What about coffee?” Lacey protests, pouting her lips.
“Rain check? This is important.”
She sighs dramatically. “Fine. But you owe me details later. About everything.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
I barely hear her as I start typing frantically, mind racing with possibilities.
Educational displays. Interactive elements.
A structure that doesn't just exist sustainably but teaches sustainability. Where the impact isn’t on the land, but on the people, so that they can go away from this, implementing things into the future.
I could text Troy about this now. My finger hovers over his contact, excitement warring with something that feels dangerously like eagerness to share this moment with him.
Instead, I tuck my phone away. I'll refine the idea first, develop it properly. Then I'll show him.
But as I walk away, I can't help but smile. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I'm excited to share something I've created with someone else.