The library faded behind her as Faye strode toward the Student Council and Science Club meeting room. The air buzzed faintly with the hum of printers, the shuffle of papers, and the clicking of keyboards. It smelled faintly of coffee and whiteboard markers—chaos disguised as order.
Jason was already there, sleeves rolled up, reviewing plans with that dependable calm she'd come to recognize. Around him, students from both councils huddled in small groups, their chatter mixing with the rustle of documents.
Faye sat across from him, organizing the exhibit charts. Her hand moved with mechanical precision, but beneath her calm exterior, her mind was a storm. Deadlines. Grades. Her mother's expectations. The looming Cambridge scholarship.
Her phone buzzed, the vibration slicing through her focus.
> Mom:Faye, remember why you're here. Being at the top isn't just for you—it's for your future. Don't let anyone, not even yourself, distract you. Show them your best.'
Another message followed almost immediately.
> Dad:' Discipline and focus, Faye. Make your mark. Nothing less will do.'
She stared at the screen for a moment too long. The room blurred at the edges. Her fingers tightened around her pen.
---
Flashback – One year earlier
The Lopez household, warm light spilling across the dinner table.
Her mother sat at the far end, posture perfect, voice clipped.
"Second place again?" she'd said, tone even but heavy. "Faye, you're capable of being number one. You just need to focus harder."
Her father nodded, not unkindly. "You're talented, anak. But talent isn't enough. You can't waste time with… distractions."
Faye had smiled that polite, practiced smile. "I understand, Mom. Dad."
And she did understand—because in their eyes, her worth was measured in medals and rankings.
That night, she'd studied until the house fell silent, until the glow of her desk lamp blurred into dawn.
---
Now, sitting in the meeting room, Faye felt that same pressure coiling in her chest.
Jason's voice broke through. "Hey, Lopez—what do you think about merging the sustainability booth with the innovation exhibit? The Science Club could run demos, and we'll handle the logistics."
She blinked, returning to the present. "That's… reasonable," she said after a pause, flipping through her notes. "As long as we have data to support it. I'll prepare the charts."
Jason smiled. "Perfect. I'll get the council to handle publicity. Clint's designing the posters."
"Already done," Clint said from the corner, raising a hand. "You two are like productivity machines."
Mira, sorting printouts beside him, grinned. "Machines who secretly hate each other's guts."
Jason laughed. "Don't start, Mira. We're *perfectly civil*."
"Barely," Faye murmured without looking up.
The group chuckled, easing the tension. Jason's warmth spread easily—it always did. He was checking in with everyone, complimenting small efforts, fixing a jammed printer, and remembering each student's name.
Watching him, Faye felt something strange twist in her chest. He was kind to everyone—helpful, steady, and sincere. The way he smiled at Mira when thanking her for coordination… the way he joked with Clint while sorting supplies… it was the same warmth he'd shown her.
*So he's like this with everyone,* she thought, the realization leaving her both relieved and oddly hollow.
She looked back down at her notes, forcing herself to focus. This isn't personal. It's just leadership.
Jason turned toward her again, holding out a spreadsheet. "Here, can you double-check the booth expenses?"
Their hands brushed briefly. Faye froze, pulse quickening. She forced her voice steady. "Got it."
Jason didn't seem to notice, already helping a first-year fix a crooked banner. His easy laughter echoed across the room, light and genuine.
Faye stared after him for a heartbeat longer, then lowered her gaze. Her chest felt too tight.
*Focus, Faye. This is for you. For Mom. For Dad. For everything you've worked for.*
She clicked her pen and opened her planner. For a long moment, she simply stared at the blank page of tomorrow's date. Then, slowly, she drew a clean, deliberate line across the middle of the paper—steady, straight, final.
No distractions. No hesitation.
To everyone around her, she looked as composed as ever—co-leading smoothly, balancing the details, making sure everything ran perfectly.
But inside, something heavy and sharp had settled into place.
The line was there now—clean, invisible, and irreversible.
---
By the end of the meeting, night had fallen. The faint buzz of the fluorescent lights filled the silence as they packed up. Jason turned to her, holding out a folder.
"Hey, don't forget this. It's your booth permit."
"Thanks," she said, taking it carefully. Their fingers brushed again, but this time she didn't flinch.
Jason smiled, tired but warm. "We make a good team, Lopez."
Faye forced a polite smile. "Let's just keep it that way—for the sake of the project."
He nodded, not realizing the weight behind her words.
As the room emptied and lights dimmed, Faye lingered a moment longer, staring at the glowing Cambridge poster on the wall. Its bold letters seemed to whisper: *Only one can take the spot.*
She inhaled deeply, straightened her blazer, and walked out without looking back.
The sound of her footsteps echoed down the empty hallway—measured, unbroken, sure.
Jason, still gathering his papers, paused for a second. Something tugged at his chest. He didn't know why—but it felt like something had quietly changed.
He shook it off with a soft laugh and turned off the lights.
Faye didn't see him glance once more toward the door she had just walked through.
The line was drawn.
And Jason Blake would never know.