31. Alex

ALEX

NOW – SOPHOMORE YEAR – MAY

T he gentle whir of my laptop fan is the only sound breaking the midnight silence of my apartment. I blink, my eyes dry and strained from staring at the screen for hours. The GSRI application form glows back at me, a digital representation of my dreams—and right now, my obsession.

“Just a few more tweaks,” I mutter to myself, reaching for my long-cold cup of coffee. The bitter liquid makes me wince, but I welcome the jolt of caffeine. Sleep is a luxury I can’t afford right now.

“Alex?” Tara’s voice, thick with sleep, startles me. She’s standing in the doorway of my room, hair mussed and eyes squinting against the harsh light of my desk lamp. “It’s 2:00 a.m. Are you seriously still working on that application?”

I force a smile, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. “Just finishing up some details. Go back to sleep, I’m fine.”

Tara frowns, not buying it. “You said that yesterday. And the day before. When was the last time you actually slept?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” I quip, turning back to my laptop. “Or when this application is perfect. Whichever comes first.”

“Alex…” Tara’s voice is softer now, tinged with concern. She moves closer, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “This isn’t healthy. You need to take a break.”

I shrug off her hand, irritation flaring. “What I need is to finish this application. The GSRI program is my shot at making a real difference, Tara. I can’t afford to mess it up.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret my harsh tone. Tara doesn’t deserve my frustration. She’s only trying to be a good friend.

“Alex?” Tara’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “You okay? You kind of zoned out there.”

I blink rapidly, trying to push the unwelcome thoughts away. “Yeah, sorry. Just tired, I guess.”

Tara’s expression softens, her concern clear. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”

“I don’t,” I snap, the lie bitter on my tongue. “He made his choice. EcoTech and its dirty money. So much for caring about the environment.”

The words come out sharper than I mean, but I can’t help it. All the hurt and anger I’ve been burying for weeks surge to the surface. I remember our last fight with painful clarity:

“It’s not that simple, Alex!” Freddie had shouted, frustration etched on his face. “The world isn’t black and white.”

“Oh, please,” I scoffed. “That’s what people say when they’re selling out. Enjoy your corporate paycheck, Freddie. I’m sure it’ll keep you warm at night while the planet burns.”

The memory makes me wince. We’d both said things we couldn’t take back. Now, weeks later, the gulf between us feels insurmountable.

Tara sighs, pulling me from my thoughts. “Look, I know you’re hurting. But working yourself to death won’t fix anything. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? The application will still be here in the morning.”

I want to argue, to insist that I’m fine—that I don’t need sleep, or breaks, or anything but my determination to succeed. But the concern in Tara’s eyes makes me pause. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do need a break.

“Okay,” I concede, closing my laptop with a soft click. “You win. I’ll try to sleep.”

As she pads off to the kitchen, I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. The sudden absence of the screen’s glow hits me harder than I expected. My body feels heavy, like I’m made of lead rather than flesh and bone.

The soft clink of a mug being set down rouses me from my half-doze. Tara’s standing there, a steaming cup in hand and a gentle smile on her face.

“Here,” she says, passing me the tea. “Drink this, then straight to bed, okay?”

I nod, taking a small sip. The warmth spreads through me, soothing in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. “Thanks, Tara. I’m sorry for being such a pain lately.”

She shrugs, perching on the edge of my bed. “That’s what friends are for. To annoy you into taking care of yourself.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the occasional sip of tea and the distant hum of traffic outside. It’s nice, this moment of peace. But as always, my mind drifts back to the lab, to the project, to Freddie.

“I keep thinking about the mine,” I admit quietly. “All that work we did, all those plans we made. It feels wrong to just walk away from it.”

Tara nods, understanding in her eyes. “Have you thought about reaching out to Freddie? Maybe you two could?—”

“No,” I cut her off more sharply than I intended. “That’s not an option. He made his choice.”

“Alex,” Tara starts, her voice gentle but firm. “I know you’re hurt, but?—”

“But nothing,” I interrupt again, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “He’s going to work for EcoTech, Tara. EcoTech! Do you know how much environmental damage they’re responsible for? How many communities they’ve destroyed? And Freddie’s just okay with that?”

The words come in a rush, all the pent-up frustration and disappointment I’ve been holding back for weeks. Tara listens quietly, giving me space to vent.

“I just don’t understand,” I continue, my voice softer now. “How could he throw away everything we believe in? Everything we worked for?”

Tara falls quiet for a moment, considering her words carefully. “Have you considered that maybe he’s not throwing it away? That maybe he sees this as a different way to make a change?”

I scoff, though there’s less heat behind it than before. “By working for the enemy?”

“By working from the inside,” Tara counters. “Look, I’m not saying I agree with his choice. But Freddie’s a good guy. Have you considered that maybe he’s fighting the same battle, just differently?”

Her words settle into my mind more deeply than I expect. They remind me of the community meeting last month, when I’d been so sure I was right. So certain of my position. But then Sandra had shown me that sometimes, you have to compromise to save what you can. That being too rigid in your beliefs can end up hurting the very thing you’re trying to protect.

“Remember what happened at the meeting?” Tara adds, like she’s reading my mind. “How you were ready to die on that hill until you heard the whole story?”

I bite my lip. Maybe I do have blind spots—especially when it comes to stuff like this. Emma’s death left such a deep wound that sometimes it’s hard to see past my anger, past my need to prevent anyone else from experiencing that kind of loss.

“It’s just...” I struggle to find the words. “After Emma,” I choke on the next words.

“I know,” Tara puts an arm around me and holds me close. She reaches into her pocket, pulling something out. “Actually... I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give you this.”

In her palm lies my leaf pendant, the silver gleaming like new, the chain repaired.

“Tara...” My voice catches.

“I found it in your jewelry box when I was borrowing earrings last week,” she explains quickly. “I hope I haven’t overstepped, but I couldn’t bear seeing you without it. And I know I don’t know the full story about where it came from with Emma, but I know she gave it to you, and...” She takes a breath. “I just wanted to do something to help. You’ve been so down lately, and honestly? It looked super cute on you.”

Tears blur my vision as I take the pendant from her. The familiar weight of it in my palm feels like coming home. “You didn’t overstep,” I manage. “This is... Thank you doesn’t seem like enough.”

Tara helps me fasten it around my neck, her fingers gentle. “That’s what best friends are for,” she says softly. I think, not for the first time, about how grateful I am to have her in my life.

I shake my head, overwhelmed by emotion, as I touch the pendant now resting in its rightful place. It’s too much to process right now, when I’m this tired and emotionally raw. But I can’t quite silence the little voice wondering if maybe, just maybe, I’ve been too quick to judge about other things too.

As I pull away from her arms and finish my tea, a yawn escapes me, my body finally succumbing to exhaustion.

“Okay, that’s it,” Tara says, standing up. “Bed. Now. Doctor’s orders.”

I chuckle weakly, too tired to argue. “Since when are you a doctor?”

“Since my best friend decided to become a zombie. Now sleep. The world-saving can wait until morning.”