Lip sits against the lockers, legs stretched out, clipboard resting on his knee as he fills out yet another scholarship application. The fluorescent lights above buzz faintly, the hallway nearly empty aside from the occasional straggler heading to class.

You stop in front of him, tilting your head. “You look like you’re solving a murder case.”

He barely glances up. “Might as well be. This shit is impossible.”

You slide down next to him, peering at the clipboard. “Which one is this?”

“The ‘we might give you money, but probably won’t’ scholarship,” he mutters, tapping his pen against the paper. “They want some ‘personal essay’ about overcoming adversity. Thought about just stapling my birth certificate to it and calling it a day.”

You snort. “Honestly? Probably your best bet.”

Lip exhales, rubbing his forehead. “It’s just—I don’t know. Feels pointless.”

You nudge his shoulder. “Nothing you do is pointless.”

He gives you a look. “You say that like you haven’t watched me make a career out of bad decisions.”

You shrug. “Okay, some of your choices are stupid, but this? Trying to get out? That’s not one of them.”

Lip leans his head back against the locker, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, well… what if I do all this and nothing changes?”

You let the silence hang for a second before answering, softer this time. “Then you keep trying. Until something does.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just taps his pen against the clipboard again. The distant sound of a teacher’s voice echoes down the hall.

Finally, he exhales. “You’re annoyingly optimistic, you know that?”