Page 122 of The Substitute Fiancée

The other two are strangers.

A stern-looking man in his forties, dark suit. And a younger woman, glasses perched on her nose, her gaze attentive, almost probing. I greet them, my voice hesitant.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” they reply, their expressions unreadable.

“Miss, you may begin,” the man says in an impersonal tone. “We’re listening.”

I comply, hands damp with sweat, plug my USB drive into the projector, then take a deep breath.

“I chose to work on the theme Movement and Persistence Through Time. My project is based on the combination of three elements: transparency, light, and movement.”

I turn off the lights and project the first slide.

My lost works appear on the screen. Then the four watercolors, the painting I worked on at Alexander’s over Christmas, and two new oil paintings. Rushed, not quite finished, but emotionally powerful.

I speak for fifteen minutes. About light passing through translucent layers. About movement fading away. About what remains when everything else disappears.

My voice grows steadier as I go.

When I finish, a deafening silence settles over the room.

The man takes notes. The woman leans toward Ms. Mainville and whispers something. My professor nods.

“Thank you, Miss,” the man finally says. “Please step outside while we deliberate.”

In the hallway, time stretches.

I pace. Sit down. Stand up again. Stare at the closed door.

Five minutes? Ten? An eternity.

The door finally opens.

“Sam, you can come back in.”

Ms. Mainville’s face is unreadable.

I sit down. My legs are trembling.

None of them smiles.

My heart tightens and sinks somewhere deep in my stomach. I’ve failed.

“First of all,” the woman begins, “thank you for your presentation.”

She pauses—endlessly.

“We were impressed by your perseverance. Many people would have given up after such an ordeal.”

I don’t know whether that’s a compliment… or polite preamble to rejection.

“What do you think of your presentation?” the man asks.

I hate that question, but if I’m going to fall, I might as well do it with grace.

“I think this project has real potential,” I say calmly. “And that it would be a shame not to see how far it can go.”