My Professor's Secret

23|

twenty-three

"It's time," Taylor screeched, bouncing up and down on her tiptoes behind me as I hovered over my laptop, trying to gather the courage to submit my essay for the writing competition finally.

Surely the essay itself was spotless. I'd spent the last two days cramming every bit of knowledge and guidance I'd gotten from Professor Thornton—and my mother—into it. For once, performance anxiety failed to move me.

It wasn't fear of failure that had me hesitating. It was the truth.

The embellishments in my story added an artistic touch, but they didn't account for what that incident in New York had actually cost my family and me. That realization felt heavier than anything else. It wasn't just my story to tell—it was theirs too. Exposing my own scars was one thing, but laying out my family's hardships for a panel of judges whose only job was to reduce it to a letter grade felt... wrong.

Our story meant more than that.

"Send it!" Taylor urged from behind me, her excitement practically spilling into every word. I didn't have to see her face to know she was smiling. "I want to be the first one to congratulate you the second they read it and realize they've discovered a star."

I glanced over my shoulder.

She was grinning—wide, unapologetic—before skipping over to the mini fridge like she hadn't just been shouting in my ear. Despite the way my chest felt tight with anticipation, her mood didn't go unnoticed.

This was the first time since Shaylynn left that she seemed genuinely okay.

Even though we hadn't said anything about it since that first conversation, it was obvious she still held onto some resentment—about Lynn confiding in me instead of her. For days, I'd debated whether I should bring it up again, but I kept coming back to the same conclusion.

She needed space.

My attention shifted back to the screen.

I thought about Professor Thornton—about the confidence he had in me to even suggest I submit something like this. Even when doubt managed to slip in, it didn't change the fact that my work deserved to be seen.

I had my mom to thank for that, and in a way, she was also the reason this felt so difficult. If I failed, I'd be failing her.

That thought alone was enough to make my stomach twist—but not submitting it at all would be worse. She wouldn't have let me sit in hesitation like this. She would've talked me through it, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to question.

Trying and failing was always better than not trying at all. At least then you knew where to begin again. I swallowed, but my throat was too dry, forcing a sharp breath down instead. And before I could think about it any longer, I hit submit.

"It's done," I said, finally exhaling the pressure that had been sitting in my chest. "According to this, I'll know in a week."

The list of rules and regulations stretched longer than I cared to read. I skimmed past it, knowing that if I let myself focus too long, I'd start second-guessing everything I had just sent in.

So I didn't.

I shut my laptop and leaned back in my chair, letting my spine settle for the first time all morning.