The Unwanted Pact With My Enemy

"If you fail this final project, you lose your scholarship," Professor Cromwell said, his voice cutting through the dusty air of the sculpture studio. Vesper's stomach dropped. She gripped the edge of the wooden sculpting table, her knuckles turning white. The syllabus in front of her suddenly felt like a death sentence. "This semester, you will create a life-size woodcarving," Cromwell continued, slamming his wooden pointer against the chalkboard. "And to break you out of your comfortable little artistic bubbles, your models will be drawn at random from the athletic department." A collective groan echoed through the room. Vesper wiped her sweating palms on her thick canvas apron. She hated athletes. They were loud, arrogant, and took up too much space. Professor Cromwell pulled a cardboard box onto his desk. "Line up. Draw a name." Vesper's heart hammered against her ribs as she shuffled forward in the line. When it was her turn, she reached into the dark box. Her trembling fingers brushed against a piece of paper with rough edges. She pulled it out. She slowly unfolded the slip. Her eyes locked onto the bold black ink. Slade Forrester. Her lungs stopped working. The air in the room suddenly felt too thin. The girl standing next to her peeked over Vesper's shoulder and let out a loud, dramatic gasp. "Oh my god! You got Slade Forrester!" Every head in the studio snapped toward Vesper. "The basketball captain?" someone whispered loudly. "He's the hardest guy on campus to deal with. Good luck getting him to sit still for five minutes." Vesper's face burned. The heat crawled up her neck and settled in her cheeks. She crumpled the paper slip in her fist, her nails biting into her palm. The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Vesper didn't speak to anyone. She shoved her carving knives into her heavily scratched canvas bag, yanked the zipper shut, and pushed her way out the heavy wooden doors. The cold autumn wind hit her face, but it didn't cool her burning skin. She pulled her phone from her coat pocket and opened the university directory. Her fingers shook slightly as she typed his name. His public student email and phone number popped up. Standing under a massive oak tree, she typed out a rigid, overly polite text message explaining the assignment and requesting his schedule. She hit send. A 'Read' receipt appeared almost instantly beneath her blue bubble. Vesper stood in the freezing wind. Five minutes passed. Then ten. The screen remained blank. Her stomach clenched. The sheer arrogance of ignoring her instantly triggered a memory she had tried to bury since freshman year. The airport terminal. The chaotic rush of towering athletes pushing through the crowd. Slade Forrester, laughing with his teammates, swinging his massive duffel bag without looking. The heavy bag had slammed directly into Vesper's vintage brass-cornered suitcase-the one her grandfather had left her. The brass lock had shattered. The suitcase burst open, spilling her grandfather's custom, hand-forged woodcarving tools across the dirty linoleum floor. Slade hadn't even stopped walking. He just glanced over his shoulder, tossed out a careless "My bad," and disappeared into the crowd while Vesper fell to her knees, frantically gathering the scattered blades with tears blurring her vision. A gust of wind whipped her hair across her face, pulling her back to the present. Vesper bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. Polite texts weren't going to work on a guy like him. She opened the campus sports portal. The men's basketball team was currently holding an open practice at the main recreation center. Vesper adjusted the strap of her canvas bag. She turned on her heel and marched toward the massive glass building across campus. She grabbed the freezing metal handle of the gym doors and pulled. The heavy scent of floor wax and stale sweat hit her like a physical blow.