[2022 Wattys Winner] When love cynic Madison Watson starts university, she vows to follow three simple rules.
One: Work out at least twice a week.
Two: Get an internship.
Three: Stay away from men.
But after a chance encounter with th...
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Devi's raspberry-red pen left a trail of markings along our study proposal, but she might as well have been using a scalpel to tick and underline my bare flesh. That's how I felt during mine and Ivy's first feedback session—like me, not just my work, was being judged.
And it truly was my work. Ivy, bless her, hadn't contributed any more than a font change five minutes before our session. She was an Arial girl, apparently, whereas I'd always made like the Romans. And, like Caesar himself, I was eyeing Devi's all-black pantsuit and glimmering gold watch, wondering how on earth to attain that amount of effortless togetherness for myself. Her dark ponytail was high and bouncy, her blazer tailored to such excruciating detail that it made me want to run out of the room, throw off my oversized sweats, and get my life together.
It was people like Devi who pulverized the myth that one can't be both fabulous and smart.
"I think it's an interesting topic," she said, pen hovering above my paper. Tick. "It's unique." Another tick. "It's clearly quite personal to you." Okay, that one stung... "It's not something that I expected to see, which I suppose is exactly what I asked for." Her eyes drifted up to meet mine. "You're showing that the idea of a soulmate is a construct?"
"Yes—"
"Right," Ivy interrupted, and I closed my mouth.
Our feedback session with Devi was the first time we'd met up face-to-face since being paired up for the assignment, and I was quickly reminded of how domineering a force my lab partner was. It was easy to forget how bold and headstrong Ivy was when she was merely a phantom who existed on my phone. But sitting next to her again, side-by-side, I once again found myself playing Ron to her Harry.
Although in our black-on-black ensembles, maybe I was more the Draco to her Snape.
Devi studied me for a second longer before fixing her attention on Ivy.
Ivy explained, her lips painted the same shade of mulberry as her nails, "We're showing that, in the digital age, love can be manufactured. It can be forged, based on the data available about a person alone." Ivy kicked up her shoulders in a shrug, turning to me as if waiting for validation. She wasn't. "Anyone can turn themselves into the perfect boyfriend or girlfriend, which eliminates the idea of a perfect match in its classic form."
Something inside of me sizzled as she spoke—spoke the words that I had written. Then again, we were partners. I supposed I was going to have to get used to sharing credit for my work. But maybe I wouldn't have minded so much if Ivy was making more of a contribution than just saying my words out loud.
Devi cocked her head as she took Ivy in, her eyes moving between her and our proposal. She had a unique habit of opening and closing her mouth when she thought, as though she were breathing the words that danced through her mind before speaking them aloud.
Finally, she cleared her throat, clasping her hands on the desk in front of her. "Neither of you is majoring in philosophy, I take it?" It was a question, but she said it like a statement.
