What? “Why the hell would you say something like that?”

“It’s the truth.” She shrugged. “You can’t win everything you want in life. You already won with looks and talent, and everyone here knows you’re the best writer, so that’s probably why the teachers didn’t pick you. They know you’ll get something else eventually, and you’re friends with a huge football player, right? Just suck him off and get him to do an interview, if you want to make it.”

My jaw dropped to the floor.

“Glad I got that off my chest.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “What time are you treating me to dinner to celebrate me beating you?”

I stormed away from her and headed back to my apartment.

I’d never smoked a day in my life, but I had the sudden urge to take out one of the packs in her dresser drawer and inhale every single one of them tonight.

Hoping that she wouldn’t return anytime soon, I searched for a lighter.

Right as I was about to light up one of the sticks, my phone sounded with Kyle’s signature ringtone.

Dropping everything, I rushed across the room to grab it.

“Hello? Hello?” I answered. “Kyle?”

“Hey,” he said, his voice deep. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Not at all. I just got back to my room. How are you?”

“Pretty good,” he said. “I went ahead and signed with Reebok over Nike like you suggested. I asked for an opt-out clause at the end of two years.”

“Congratulations. I’m happy for you.”

“This call isn’t supposed to be about me, though.” There was a smile in his voice. “I have a bottle of champagne on ice in front of me, and I was hoping I would be able to celebrate with your good news, too. Did they select you for the scholarship this time?”

“Yeah.” I lied. “I just found out a few minutes ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my name was the first one on the list.” I forced a lump down my throat. “This is the happiest day of my life.”

“Then why does it sound like you’re about to cry?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Court?” He called my name. “Court, are you crying?”

“No, no … I’m—yes.” My voice cracked. “Yes, I’m crying. I lost out again, Kyle. Again.”

He let out a sigh and a soft beeping sound came over the line, his attempt to make me join a video chat.

I hit ‘accept,’ not bothering to wipe my eyes as he came into view.

“They’re never going to give it to me,” I said. “They already have all the winners in mind.”

“Then why don’t you leave?” He looked concerned. “Want to fly here and take some time off for a while? You can stay in one of my condos, or I can buy you a new one.”

“Even if I wanted to, you know that I never leave anything unfinished.”

“Right …”

A soft knock sounded at my door.

“Hold on a second.” I walked over to it and found myself face to face with a deliveryman.

A huge pink box stood on the floor next to him.

“Can you sign this, Miss?” He held out the clipboard to me, and I pulled a pen from my pocket to sign it.

“Is this from you?” I looked at Kyle onscreen.

“Maybe.”

The delivery guy pushed the box inside my room and waved goodbye.

I smiled and took my time unwrapping it.

Beneath the triple layers of pink gift wrap, was a sparkling glitter box. Inside were two bottles of champagne, a card, and a new Pitt hoodie.

Opening the card, I read his tell-tale handwriting.

For my best friend and the best writer I know.

Whether you win this round of scholarships or not, I’m happy for you.

—Kyle

P.S.—If they don’t pick you, fuck them.

“Thank you so much.” I laughed. “I appreciate your P.S. note.”

“You’re welcome.” He picked up his bottle of champagne and motioned for me to do the same. “We can toast to their loss.”

“How is it that when I try to tell you that winning isn’t everything, that you balk, but when you say it to me, it’s okay?”

“Because you have more than sixteen chances a year to succeed.” He smiled. “Playing a season of football is very different.”

“So, should I avoid talking about your team’s loss this past Sunday?”

“Don’t say a single fucking word about it.” His lips curved into a smile.

“You know, I really don’t understand why finding a job is so hard,” I said, sipping my drink. “I know it’s a recession, but there has to be something in this market, you know?”

He sighed as his eyes met mine. “Can I be honest with you for a second, Courtney?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, good.” He sat up and took a deep breath, looked as if he was debating whether to give it to me straight or sugarcoat it for old-times’ sake. “The problem isn’t the market. It’s you.”

“What?”

“You’re choosing to settle instead of being the Courtney you were in college,” he said. “You’re wasting your time waiting for people to give you some goddamn validation, when you already know how good of a fucking writer you are. So, maybe instead of begging people for a job and waiting for them to recognize your talent, just write for yourself and start your own blog or podcast. No one can prevent you from reaching out to players for interviews or sharing your words, but if you keep waiting on someone else to do it for you, we’re going to have this conversation—again, for the umpteenth time.”

“Oh, I see ...” My heart ached at the rawness of his words. “So, you’re getting tired of hearing me complain about this?”

“Yeah, honestly. It’s the same shit month after month, year after year. You’re just changing the names of the company. I just don’t think the nine to five job shit is for you. I also don’t think the program you’re in is right for you; it never has been.”

“Okay. Well, you want to know what I think?”

“Not right now, since you’re clearly pissed.” He smiled. “You told me I could be honest.”

“Well, I lied. I think you should’ve won the Super Bowl last year.”

He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

“I think that if you’d never dropped the ball, there wouldn’t have been an interception. You were unfocused and cocky, and you thought that finally getting there meant that winning was owed to you. You spent more of your offseason partying than ever, and you didn’t think that there was another team out there that could possibly beat you. And now you’re upset that the media is trashing your work ethic but deep down, you know that you fucking deserve every word.”

“You know what?” His face was redder than I’d ever seen it before. “Maybe the nine to five life is for you, Court. Since you’re so goddamn childish and you can’t even consider what I’m saying. It’s ironic that you’re talking to me about criticism and you can’t even face your own.”