Project Snap Decision

Chapter 3

With all the stares I'm receiving at work as I walk in, I can't help but fear the worst has happened to me yet again: toilet paper is stuck in the waistband of my pants.

Panicking, I feel around my lower back for the culprit. Luckily, there's nothing for my hands to grab onto. I heave a sigh of relief. That day in the sixth grade has haunted me well into my twenties.

If it's not toiletpapergate, I'm not sure why people are looking at me like I have a massive growth. I put my head down and hurry to my office.

Flinging myself into my chair, I slam the door closed with my foot. The office is that tiny. Papers are strewn everywhere, and my desk takes up a majority of the real estate. There's a small coffee table and a single chair against the opposite wall from my desk, and that's about it.

At least I can bury myself in my important work for the day and ignore the rest of the compound. I definitely don't feel like seeing Stevie today after I wholeheartedly rejected her bid to have me on the reality show. She ambushed me last week after another critical failure on the Feline Scope (the old bitty satellite) and tried to convince me that going to space with an idiotic football player as my sole crewmate was a good idea and not a death wish.

Sitting in my office, I roll my eyes just thinking about it. It's so absurd it's not worth talking about. There's no way NASA will actually let us go to space anyway, no matter what they say to Stevie about viewership numbers. It's too expensive.

Besides, I've begun talking to Boeing. There's actually a future there, and a lot more money to be rolling in.

My computer dings and I see that I have a barrage of emails I should be tending to. I start to get to work when suddenly, my office door nearly flies off its hinges.

I whip my head up and see Stevie burst in and slam the door closed behind her, as if she's running from something. Her brown curls are frizzed out in a halo framing her delicate features. She has a gleam to her cocoa eyes I distrust immediately.

"Okay what the actual FUCK Stevie? I thought I'd try and do some real work today, but you decided it was the time to break my door in half?" I seethe.

"Shut up and listen to me Camden." Stevie blurts. "I need you to trust me and be quiet for once." I open my mouth immediately to snap at her, but she cuts me off.

"What I have to say is ten times more important than your weak comeback right now." I close my mouth reluctantly. "Joe Burreaux is right outside this door, waiting to meet you."

Of all the heinous things I imagined Stevie uttering, this is by far the foulest. I cannot do this today. "Bitch, you better be joking." I snap.

"I'm absolutely not and I need you to pull it together right now. He's coming in here and he wants to talk to you." This was bad for about at least a hundred different reasons. I begin to protest, but Stevie just turns and whips the door back open. All my important reasons die on my lips when Joe peaks his head into my cramped office.

Joe's blue eyes assault me first. He peers at me with a boyish-openness I can't help but find kind of charming. He takes another step through the door, and leans against the frame. Stevie is hopping up and down silently behind him, her expression contorting in a combination of satisfaction and ecstasy of having pulled one on me. I crack half a smile despite myself. What a bitch.

"Wow, NASA really spares no expense with their best engineers, huh?" Joe says as he surveys my meager workspace.

"Oh, well I didn't realize we were escorting NFL rejects around the office today, or I would've tidied up." I speak without thinking. It doesn't even make sense; he was injured not fired.

Despite my weak retort (Damn, Stevie was right!) Joe seems unfazed.

"Look, Camden, is it? I get that I may not be your first draft pick to accompany you on this training journey, and ultimately, into space, but I came here today to reassure you that you have nothing to worry about." He cracks a smile, revealing a small dimple on his right cheek.

"I can appreciate your confidence, but what the hell makes you believe you're qualified enough to become an astronaut? Do you realize that people train for years, if not decades to do this?"

"Well, I love space. I always have, since I was a kid. Even while playing football, I never fully let go of that interest. I spent a lot of my free time researching all kinds of space phenomenon." He offers.

"By 'researching,' do you mean watching YouTube?" I deadpan. Joe blinks before a slow grin spreads across his face.

"Yeah, that's the gist of it." He says simply, shrugging off my condescending tone.

I roll my eyes. "Look, that's very considerate of you, uh Joe, is it?" He smirks. "But respectfully, I could care less about your reassurances. I am not going to hop into a space tube death trap with you just because you batted your pretty eyes at me and told me it'd be okay." I turn back toward my computer in a clear dismissal.

Joe chuckles, a rich deep sound. I feel him, rather than see him, take another step toward me.

"You think my eyes, are pretty, huh?"

Exasperated, I spin back to glare at him.

"If that's all you took from what I just said, then I am definitely, wholeheartedly refusing to go to space with someone as hopelessly dense as you." Apparently, that was the final straw for Stevie, who had been listening just outside the open door.

"Okay, Camden, that's enough out of you. Joe, I apologize for her surly attitude and, frankly, insulting comments. I know Mr. Nelson is very eager to meet with you, why don't we head to his office, and we can discuss who will be your partner at a later date?"

The entire time Stevie spoke, Joe kept his eyes locked on mine, a faint challenge in his expression. He nods absently to Stevie, and begins to back out of my office.

"I'll see you around, Camden." He practically whispers, and just like that, he's gone.

Head reeling, I slowly turn back to my desk. My computer is flashing with a Teams call I'm supposed to join, but instead of moving to answer it, I stare blankly in front of me.

Instead of the mounting pile of work on the monitor, all I can see are a pair of blue-gray eyes, slipping away with my dreams.