Five years later
A huge wave of applause washed over me as I stepped onto the stage, my heels sinking into the grass. The dean's voice boomed through the speakers as I walked up to the podium, calling out my name. For a moment, I let it sink in – all those late nights, endless cups of coffee, and nonstop drive had finally paid off.
“Maeve Winters!” he announced, and the crowd cheered louder.
I glanced toward the back, where Zara’s voice rose above the rest. "That's my girl!" she yelled, no holds barred. The audience erupted in laughter, and I couldn't help but crack a smile. That was Zara - always the life of the party. She was the only one who had my back at school, and sometimes I wondered what I had done to deserve a friend like her: funny, loyal and brave.
The diploma felt heavier than I thought it would as the dean handed it over. My fingers wrapped tightly around it, with a big cheesy grin plastered on my face for the cameras. But inside, I was a mess - a jumbled mix of pride and nerves. I scanned the crowd for Mom and Dad and spotted them near the back. They applauded politely, with warm but exhausted smiles. I knew the struggle they'd put in to get me here, and that weight was crushing me, just like the student loans hanging over all of us.
***
Later that night, the apartment was filled with the smell of leftover pizza and the faint fizz of cheap champagne as Zara popped the bottle. She poured it into plastic cups and handed one to me, grinning as she raised hers high.
“To adulting!” she declared, her voice dripping with exaggerated drama. “And by adulting, I mean figuring out how not to die broke.”
I snorted, clinking my cup against hers. “Sounds like a solid plan.”
Zara flopped onto the couch, draping one leg over the armrest like she owned the place. “So, what’s the first move? Do we sell our souls? Because, honestly, I’m not above it.”
I laughed, though the knot of anxiety in my chest didn’t ease. “If that’s the case, we’ll need something stronger than this champagne,” I replied, taking a sip that fizzed against my tongue. The sweetness was almost cloying, but I drank it anyway.
She yawned dramatically, her eyes half-lidded as she watched me. “You’ve got this, Maeve. You’re like, the queen of pulling miracles out of nowhere.”
I wished I believed her, but as she rolled over and buried herself in the couch cushions, I turned to my laptop. It sat open on the coffee table, the harsh glow of the screen mocking me with a dozen rejections.
I scrolled through the job listings again, ignoring the ache behind my eyes. Entry-Level Marketing Associate—Three Years Experience Required. Junior Analyst—MBA Preferred. Every posting was a reminder of how little experience I had and how far I still had to go. I sighed, rubbing my temples.
And then I saw it: Final Interview Invitation: Elite Enterprises. My pulse quickened as I opened the email, reading it twice to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. It wasn’t just any job—it was the job. Elite Enterprises was one of the most prestigious firms in the city. The starting salary alone could chip away at my student loans faster than I’d dared to hope.
I jumped up, shaking Zara awake. “Zara! Wake up! Look at this!”
She groaned, squinting at the screen I shoved in her face. “What is it now?” she mumbled.
“I got an interview!” I practically squealed. “With Elite Enterprises! Final round!”
Zara raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sleepy grin. “Fancy. Just make sure they’re not running a cult.”
I laughed, swatting her arm. “Six figures aren’t cult money.”
“Good for you, Maeve,” she said, rolling back into the cushions. “You’ve got this.”
As I set my alarm for the next morning, a flicker of hope sparked in my chest. This was it—my chance to make everything worth it. I just had to nail the interview. How hard could it be?