Planning the film wasn’t that hard. Accepting our inevitable defeat to some random school in Los Angeles with connections to half a dozen celebrities is proving to be a lot more difficult.

It’s been my dream—and Rosie’s dream—for four years now. Winning means everything, starting with a scholarship and ending with visibility in the film community.

But as important as all of that is, I need to win for an entirely different reason. If we win, I’ll finally have proof that choosing to double major isn’t a mistake. My parents will be forced to accept that I’m capable of standing on my own two feet and making a path for myself.

And more importantly, they’ll honor the agreement we made months ago and pay for me to attend USC in the fall.

If I get accepted.

“Next one,” Rosie says, waving a hand in Grant’s direction. “If I have to watch one more second of this, I’m going to scream. I still don’t understand how we lost last year. This film isn’t even that good.”

I shush her. “You’re going to set a bad example for the freshmen,” I say, before offering the rest of the room a reassuring smile. “This just means we have to work that much harder when we’re putting together the film. We still have two months left. Everyone has March twenty-nine marked in their calendars, right?”

The thirty-five people in the room nod. I pretend not to notice as half the freshmen discreetly take out their planners and mark the date.

Our supervising teacher, Ms. Somal, has long since checked out of the meeting, sitting beside Grant with her earphones in, flipping idly through a graphic novel. She looks up once in a while to make sure we haven’t set the classroom on fire, but aside from that she seems more than content letting us do what we want.

Grant clicks into the winning film from two years ago, and we all fall silent as the opening credits begin rolling. I try not to grimace, in full agreement with Rosie. Our film was better than the winning films the last three years, but we’ve still never gotten past semifinals.

We watch around three more short films before the bell rings at five, signifying the end of after-school activities. I stand up, stretching my sleeping limbs. My entire body feels jittery with the anticipation of finally starting this project after months of prepping and planning.

One of the freshmen walks over to Rosie, shyly asking her a question. I leave her to it, gathering my things instead. My earphones are loosely splayed across the desk beside a scattering of different colored pens, three different journals labeled by project, and a planner filled to the brim with Post-its. My phone buzzes, and I glance at it briefly.