Page 51 of Stranded

She looks at me.

“Who are you going to be? What mark are you going to leave? What is it that you—and only you—can give the rest of us?”

That’s it. I’m sure of it now. Now that I’ve seen my work with fresh eyes—and I’m not same the person who made those things anymore—I know why Professor Meyer said what she did at the end of last year.

She sees what I’m capable of, and what I’ve been holding back.

“Whatever that thing is that you have to offer, there’s only one sin in this class: hoarding it for yourself. Because, by the end of the semester, you’re going to have to be ready to share it with the world. Got it?”

We murmur in agreement.

“First assignment.” She scoops up her briefcase and opens the snaps, pulling out an armful of folders. Her heels click briskly as she walks along the row, tossing a heavy folder onto each of our desks. “By the end of the semester, this is what you’ll present me. These are portfolios, each showcasing a mini-collection from a well-known designer early in their careers.”

I swallow hard and grab my folder, pulling it close to me.

“Study it tonight,” she tells us. “Be ready to answer questions tomorrow.”

Chairs squeak on the floor as we grab our backpacks and bags to shove the folders into. Professor Meyer strides back to the lectern and waits for us all to straighten up to begin the lesson in earnest.

All I can hear is Alph’s voice in my head.“You’re going to be top of the class. I just know it.”

And suddenly, I have an idea.

I’ve been stressing out about not knowing what I needed to do, or how I can get better. But now that I have some of the answers… I know who has the rest of them.

This might be crazy. But it might just work.

Chapter

Nineteen

ALPH

One weekinto the school year, the upstairs living room looks more like a workshop than a home.

I’ve been trying to keep my nose out of Ronan’s business, but neither of us seems to want to close that dividing door between us. It’s just more convenient to pop our heads upstairs or down to talk about our schedules or dinner plans.

Or if I hear an alarming amount of thudding and cursing.

“Ronan?” I take the last few stairs with caution. I can’t even peek between the banisters—there are cardboard boxes in the way now.

Ronan’s response is a strangled groan. I peek around the corner and catch my breath at the sight of him lying face-first on the floor.

Shit, is he?—

“I’m too pretty for manual labour.” Ronan rolls his head slowly until his cheek is squished on the floor, looking up at me. He’s all sweaty and out of breath. “I borrowed a wheelbarrow. I’m never doing that again.”

“Oh, my god,” I laugh as I crouch by his side, offering him a hand up. He grabs my forearm and groans, and I easily lift him to his feet. “I’ll teach you to drive the golf cart soon, okay?”

Ronan’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Are yousureabout that offer?”

I squint at him. “Should I be?”

“Yes. I’m definitely a world-class driver. I’ve never had any incidents.”

I hesitate and glance out the large front window to the driveway. “I mean… I’m not at the top of the golf cart hierarchy yet. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“We’ll find out.” Ronan sighs and sits on top of a cardboard box, which immediately buckles under his weight. He just sticks out his legs and rides it down until he reaches the contents and stops sinking.

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