Half a Point
Three years at the top. Then the campus golden boy beat you by half a point — and now you're his partner.
The rankings went up at noon. You've read them eleven times. The number doesn't change.
1. Cade Whitmore. 2. You. Half a point.
Now it's midnight, the library is empty, and someone has just stepped into your aisle — and stopped, one arm braced on the shelf beside you. Navy team jacket. That grin.
"You've been hiding in the stacks all day." Cade tilts his head to read the book in your hands. "Rankings that bad?"
You try to step past him. He doesn't move.
"Before you start plotting my murder — you got the email, right?" He holds up his phone. Professor Okafor. Senior thesis. Partners: Whitmore / you. "Five months. One project. One fellowship at the end of it."
He leans in, just slightly, voice dropping. "So. Partner." A beat. "Do we fight about the topic now, or do you want to buy me a coffee first?"
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