Subtly, I coaxed as much information as I could about the writing program. At least, I hoped I was being subtle. Lexi hadn't questioned my motives much, but I caught the odd trailing of her voice, as if with increasing suspicions she was piecing together my plans.

      I found the program's website easily. It was a very competitive program, with top notch internships in creative writing and entertainment journalism. They took only few students every year, and I was going to make sure Lexi was one of them.

      I skimmed through previous years' winning publications. The pieces were amazing, each author's style uniquely flawless. Each and every one captivated my attention. But none had captivated me in the same way Lexi's had. I thought my favourite brunette had every right to be intimidated. But – and maybe I was a little bias—I thought Lexi was just as deserving. Lexi wrote what people needed to hear, not what they wanted to hear. She hadn't used as extravagant words, she hadn't included mind boggling analogies, but her words spoke to the voice deep inside me, the voice of a young boy full of insecurities and self-doubt. Lexi spoke the truth; a truth that was often difficult to admit. She was blatantly honest about the difficult journey that comes from learning to love yourself; to embrace yourself in both your flaws and your aptitudes.

      With a fair bit of scrolling and clicking, I found an email that could be contacted for help. But I didn't think that would be fast enough. It was likely that they received hundreds of emails every day. It could take weeks to get a response and I didn't know how much time I had. Plus, there was no guarantee my email would ever be read. I needed something more promising.

     I was doing it the old school way.

     Eventually I found a phone number. Having spent much of my night on the phone with Lexi, and the rest of it doing research, the sun was already beginning set. Orange light seeped through my drawn curtains. I really ought to have gotten a few hours of sleep. And despite the time difference, it was a ridiculously early time to make a phone call. But I was too excited to wait.

     I was sent straight to voicemail on the first ring. I didn't hesitate to call again. I called three more times before receiving an irritated, "Hello?"

     The woman was not pleased, and it only occurred to me then that adhering to their office rules would have been the best approach to convince them to grant me this favor.

      "Hello," I returned the greeting, with a lot more enthusiasm than she. "Is this West Bridge's main office?"

      "The office opens at nine," the woman recited. "Call again—"

      "Wait!" I called urgently. "Please. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, but while I have you here can I take a minute of your time?"

     "This can't wait?"

     "I'm kind of on a tight schedule," I admitted. And what a gloomy thought to have.

      "What could you possibly want with the office that is so urgent?"

      "My friend." I cringed at the unrepresentative word. "Missed the deadline for the journalism program."

     "Ah." The way she exhaled tiredly lead to the assumption that she had had to deal with many similar calls. "Unfortunately, the deadline is final. Tell your friend to try again next year."

      "But she won't have the confidence to try again," I complained. Lexi was already struggling to convince herself that the writing route was reliable. If she began the journey to what she believes was a more reliable career plan, I knew she wouldn't come back from it. Especially if I wasn't here to talk her out of it. "She needs this now."

      "It's only a year. Not much will change."

      "Everything will change..." I insisted quietly. "I don't have a year."

      I winced; I couldn't go back now. I hated to take the pity route, but I would do whatever needed to be done to get through to the receptionist.

      From the silence across the line, I knew I had grasped her attention.

      "What do you mean you don't have a year?" she asked cautiously.

     I hesitated. It seemed like an awful load to unload on her, and I wasn't even sure if I was allowed to broach this topic, but I went for it anyways. "I'm dying," I finally exhaled, surprised that my voice hadn't turned mute. It was almost a relief to speak the words aloud. It was an awful thing to think about. But as much as I wanted to pretend otherwise, I was dying. I was technically already dead. I had few moments left in this realm, and there was no use pretending otherwise.

      The silence was longer this time, a silence of immense dread and pity. She didn't seem to know what to say. What could she even say?

      I waited patiently, letting her gather her thoughts.

      "I'm sorry—" she finally tried.

      "Not your fault. Really, it's fine." It wasn't fine. "Don't worry about it. As much as it sucks, it's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

     "Isn't there any other way you'd rather spend your time?"

     "You mean this wouldn't be the top of your bucket list?" I laughed wryly.

     The woman didn't dare laugh with me, my joke seemingly a little too morbid for her taste, but I liked to think that I had earned myself a smile, even if a sad one.

     "This means a lot to me," I divulged, more seriously. "She means a lot to me... I just want my life to have a had a purpose and I feel like I can do that through her."

     I heard the sound of clicking nails, as she considered my words.

     "I'm listening," she finally mustered.

      With a sigh of relief, I told the woman, whom I learned to be named Susan, about Lexi and her passion for writing. I made a point of acknowledging that Lexi was the most responsible, punctual person I knew. She'd have never missed the deadline if shared the same belief that I had in her.

     "As much as I'd love to help," Susan said despondently. "I'm just the secretary."

     "There's really nothing you can do?"

     "Unfortunately, not."

     "You can't sneak a copy of her work in their submission pile?"

     "Most of the submissions are online, and they would see me."

     "And if you handed it directly to them?" I proposed.

     "They would disregard it," she said. "It wouldn't be the first time I tried."

     I heaved a heavy sigh, racking my mind for more ideas.

     "Can you give me a number or an address. I could plead my case in person."

     "You're quite persistent," Susan chuckled.

     "I've been told."

     "But to do what you ask could mean losing my job."

     "I understand," I answered sincerely. It wasn't a fair thing to ask. "There's really no other exception that can be made?"

     "None..." I didn't miss the slight hesitation in her tone. "None that I can think of to say the least. I promise to try my best."

     "Thank you," I said genuinely. "I know this isn't in your job description."

     "If I think of anything, I'll get back to you," she said. "Take care, Jaxson—"

     "Do you want to hear it?" I asked swiftly, words firing out in hopes to stop her from hanging up.

     "What?"

     "Lexi's work," I clarified. "I could read it to you."

     "My opinion has no power in the decision-making process."

    "I know. But I'd like to hear your opinion... Lexi thinks I'm being bias."

     Susan laughed. "Are you?"

     "I have every reason to be, but I don't think there's a need for me to be."

     "Is this friend by any chance more than a friend?"

     "Am I that obvious?"

     "She's a lucky girl." I could hear the smile behind her words. "I'd love to hear her work."

     Grinning, I threw my laptop open, enthusiastically reciting the words that I had read countless times that night.

     I paused dramatically when I reached the last sentence, leaving room for thought.

     "Good?" I inquired after a few moments.

     "Very." Susan sounded speechless.

     "I knew I wasn't being biased."

     Susan laughed again. In the background I heard the quiet rustling of papers and suspected that the office was busier than she let on.

     "I don't want to keep you from your work," I said sadly. At least I could go to bed with the reassurance that I did everything in my power to try to make this happen. "Sorry for calling so early and thank you for listening. Have a nice day..."

     Inching my phone away from my ear, finger prepared to end the call, I barely heard her urgent plea.

     "Wait!"

     "I'm still here," I assured a little too eagerly. Hope fired into my chest.

      Susan hesitated. "Do you have a car?"

      "I do..."

      "Do you have the means to drive to the office this weekend?"

      "Yes?" I answered uncertainly, inching forward in my seat as if to reel in the good news more quickly.

      "This is probably very stupid, and I beg you not to mention my name." Susan's voice quieted, and my body practically shook with anticipation.

      "Of course!" I agreed eagerly. "I won't breathe a word about it."

      "They're going through the first round of submissions on Sunday," she said. "It's a private event, but if one were to drive to the address found on our website... say around 2 o'clock, and the secretary just so happened to forget to lock the side door, once could potentially convince the panel to make an exception."

     "Susan." I grinned madly. "You. Are. Amazing."

     "Doesn't mean it'll work out."

      My smile didn't falter. "You're giving me a chance. For that alone, thank you."

      "Take care, Jaxson."