Page 54 of End Game

He knows what he wants. The only question is what order he will accomplish it. Does he get his MBA now or in five years? Does he start out in actual accounting or are they going to funnel him directly into the corporate executive pipeline?

Me, the future is still up in the air. I don’t know if graduate school is in the cards for me, at least right now. I don’t want to move far away. Now that I’m back, I want to stay in New England. I need to be within easy commuting distance of Amherst. I don’t want to be more than an hour or so away should anything happen. At the same time, I don’t see a reason to sacrifice my future or my wants and needs forever just because of my dad’s diagnosis. He wouldn’t be happy if I put my entire life on hold for him.

I’ve spent the last however many years working to be the best soccer player and balance school at the same time. Now, soccer is almost over, and the end of school is drawing ever closer. I don’t know what happens next year. Do I go off to grad school? Do I get a job somewhere? An internship? I honestly have no clue. There’s no road map, no other person making this decision for me.

When it comes to a career, I want to do something with nutrition and dietetics. I want to help people. What that looks like, I’m not certain.

So much is undecided. It sets my teeth on edge. I don’t know what city I’ll be living in, if I’ll be in grad school, if I’ll have a job. I know nothing. All I know is that Barrett will still be my best friend, and will still do everything in his power to make me happy. Because that’s what he’s done all along. I don’t foresee that changing anytime soon. I hope.

I’m not exactly sure what I expected of a psychology department mixer held at a local bar. Maybe for it to not be a stuffy, pretentious event? Yeah, right.

Ostensibly, the meet and greet is supposed to be an informational meeting for people who are interested in going to grad school next year or the year after. Somehow, I have a feeling a good percentage of the people here are more interested in the three free drink tickets passed out when we walked in.

Tucker and Mason were already here when I arrived, talking with a woman I vaguely recognize as being in one of my classes.

“Diana! Hey!” Mason says, giving me a hug. “Good to see you. How was your game?”

Well, even though we didn’t win, the team gelled a whole lot better, so I’d consider that a win.

“Not bad. Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

Tucker laughs. “Only Barrett looking sad and despondent without you.”

“Oh no. What happened?”

“He missed you,” he says, like he can’t believe how thick I am.

“I missed him, too,” I admit, and he grins.

“Oh, have you met Dvora?” Mason says. “She’s in our study group for abnormal psych.”

She gestures to the woman beside her. She’s about my age, about my height, with fair skin and dark hair in a perfect curly high ponytail. My hair has never not once looked as good as hers does right now. Her tortoiseshell glasses and funky oversized blazer pair perfectly with her hot pink miniskirt and fishnet tights. She’s effortlessly stylish and immediately I hate her and want to be her at the same time.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Diana.”

“Dvora,” she says. “I think we’re in the same ethics class?”

“I thought I recognized you,” I say with a half laugh. “I transferred in this semester, so I’m still meeting everyone.”

She smiles. “And you want to go to grad school?”

“Considering it. I’m a double major, also studying dietetics, and I’m not sure what direction I want to go in yet. Keeping my options open,” I explain. “And you?”

“I want to go into research,” Dvora says, definitive and sure. I like that. “My minor is in statistics.”

“Good luck,” Mason says. “I nearly failed stats both times I took it. Miles—my friend—he had to tutor me. In the end, I still ask him for help with my homework whenever we have to compile statistics.”

“Barrett and I used to study together back when I was still at USC. We would screen share and he would walk me through my homework,” I admit. “I’m so glad my best friend is a math whiz.”

Tucker shrugs. “They never offered to help me with my homework.”

Mason flips her hair over her shoulder. “You’re not as pretty as I am.”

“You’ve got that right.” He ducks down and presses a kiss to her temple. “I’m glad my buddies were able to help you succeed. We need to take advantage of every opportunity that comes our way.”

There are eyes on me. The guy from the other night—Trey—is leaning against the bar. His eyes scrub over me again. I raise eyebrows at him and slowly his mouth spreads into a grin.

“You know that guy?” Tucker asks, nodding in his direction. His lip curls in distaste.