How to break a heart

What is success?

What is success?

You tell me, because I've been staring at a piece of paper for what feels like the last twenty years asking that question.

I refuse to ask for help. Come on Angelica. Write a few hundred words on a piece of paper. Not rocket science. I openly sigh. Urgh.

I walk into Eliza's room. "Eliza, can I get some help."

She turns around and looks at me sadly. "What with?"

I come and hug her. "What is success?"

Eliza thinks for a moment. "To me, happiness is having love and family. Kind, understanding arms wrapped around you."

I look skeptical and Eliza laughs. "Love can't be that bad."

"From my experience, yes it can! I've only ever had one boyfriend and he was a major flop."

"Don't even start! Angelica, I could make a book out of all the boys you've rejected. It's not that love isn't there. You just turn it down! But I bet love is gonna crawl into the crevices. Just you wait."

I think for a moment. "Eliza, are you okay from the break up?"

She sighs. "No. I cried away all the tears in the world, but I don't feel much better."

I hug her and she buries her head in my shoulder. I feel so bad for doing this to her.

**Time skip**

So, after an hour or two, this is what I've got.

What is success?

Success is just a word in the end, but it's so many different things. Success is

And then it stops. I know right. Great essay and I have to write three.

**Time skip** 

At the end of class, I wait for Alexander. He's really surprised I waited for him.

"I thought you hated me?"

I do, right?

"Oh, make no mistake, sister-cheater. I still hate you."

He raises his eyebrows. "What is this about?"

"Well, you know that assignment? I'm stuck. You're in my group, so sadly, I have to ask you for help."

"Oh, that?"

"Yeah, I just don't know. What IS success?"

"Success is whatever success is to you."

"Wow, thanks. Helpful." I say flatly.

He grins. "To me, success is making my name heard. Taking shots and using them, not sitting around. Fullfilling my dreams. Landing my name in the history books, standing on the heads of all the haters."

"Literally?"

We're both now imagining that. I just know it.

"Well, you've actually been helpful. Thanks, I guess? But I still hate you obviously."

"Right. Obviously. Also, give me your wrist."

What?

"Ummm. I'm fine thanks."

He ignores me and grabs my wrist, scribbling down his number with a pen he seems to conjure out of thin-air.

"Call me. For the project. Obviously."

Then he walks away.

**Time skip**

I sit down at my desk. I write. The page fills up with words and then a second. Then a third. Because now I know, success is whatever success is to you.