Page 11 of Seeds of Friendship
“Where do you think they find the deposits? Magic?” Alfie's voice is condescending but informative. “They need people who understand mineral formation, extraction viability, environmental impact assessments. It's literally where science meets money.”
Troy and Ethan are still arguing about Einstein, but I'm stuck on Alfie's words. Six figures. Set for life. Mining companies hiring science people, not just business majors.
“You considering it?” I ask, trying to sound casual. “The mining industry?”
Alfie shrugs. “Maybe. The money's insane. I’m more interested in research and the planets though. I’ll probably go down that route.”
I think about Dad's cough, the stack of bills, Mom's tired eyes. For a moment, I consider it. Switch to geological sciences or chemistry. Use what I'm actually good at. Make the kind of money that could fix everything.
But that would mean more years of school to catch up. Business is faster. Broader. I can get internships now, start making connections. I can't afford to spend time on fascinating when my family needs practical.
“Smart,” I say, shoving the thoughts aside. “But I'll stick with business. More flexibility.”
Alfie gives me a look I can't read. “Your loss. Business majors are a dime a dozen. People who understand actual science and can apply it to industry? That's where the real money is.”
“Both involve money though,” Ethan points out, still struggling with the frame. This thing's bigger than he is.
“Everything involves money,” Alfie says darkly.
While they argue, I watch Alfie dust off his jeans—designer, definitely, though he's trying to dress them down with a plain t-shirt. His watch catches the light when he moves. It's subtle, nothing flashy, but I know enough to recognize expensive when I see it. The kind of expensive that doesn't need to announce itself.
They’re debating if the poster is art, but my mind's elsewhere. On possibilities I can't afford to explore. On the irony that the thing I'm actually good at could lead to the money I need, but I'm too locked into the “practical” choice to change course.
Later, maybe. After I get the business degree, get a job, get my family stable. Then I can think about what's fascinating.
For now, practical has to be enough.
“We're taking it,” Troy declares, grabbing one end of the frame. “Freddie, you agree, right?”
I look at Einstein's ridiculous face, tongue out, hair everywhere. “I mean... It's free art.”
“It's not art!” Alfie protests, but Troy and Ethan are already moving.
“You need help?” I ask, mostly to avoid walking next to Alfie. Guy still scares the shit out of me with those cold stares and that way he has of making everyone feel like idiots.
“Nah, we got it.” Ethan grunts, immediately banging the corner into a stop sign.
Alfie pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is how you all ended up without housing, isn't it? Terrible decision-making skills.”
“Says the guy who also ended up without housing,” Troy shoots back.
“That was different. My situation was... complicated.”
I wonder what 'complicated' means in rich-person speak. Parents forgot to donate a building? Butler didn't submit the forms?
We're halfway back, Einstein tucked under Troy and Ethan's arms like the world's most awkward battering ram, when Troy stops so suddenly that Ethan nearly drops his end.
“Oh, shit!”
“What?” I follow his gaze. Four guys are walking toward us, and even from here I can tell they're not freshmen.
They've got that upperclassman swagger, the kind that comes from knowing exactly where you fit in the social hierarchy.
They're all built like they live at the gym.
“Whatoh shitwhat?” Ethan asks, still struggling with Einstein.
“That's Connor Matthews,” Troy says, voice tight. “The guy I was supposed to room with. The one who wants to murder me.”
