Worth It

Cruz stood on the edge of the NYU outdoor track, arms raised overhead as she stretched. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, the sky still a pale wash of gray and pink. Coach Joe’s voice carried across the field, barking orders at a couple of distance runners finishing their last lap.

Bobby jogged in place next to Cruz, the muscles in her arms and legs visibly tense even through her workout gear. The two of them had shared countless mornings like this—cold air, tired bodies, and the unrelenting pressure of maintaining peak performance. Both were seniors on the track team, both determined to make this final semester count.

“Manuelos, Bobby, warm up with four laps,” Coach Joe called, her voice echoing in the near-empty stands. “Then we’re doing sprints.”

Cruz gave a curt nod. She inhaled the crisp air and began an easy jog, Bobby falling into step beside her. The rhythmic pounding of their feet on the rubber track felt familiar, almost comforting.

Bobby shot her a sideways look. “You good? You look like you didn’t sleep.”

Cruz half-shrugged, eyes fixed on the curve ahead. “I didn’t sleep great. Thinking about this semester.”

“You mean the track meets or the fact that we have to survive that Politics of the Middle East class?” Bobby asked, mouth twisting wryly.

“Both,” Cruz admitted. Plus the fact that I have no real plan after graduation and no family to fall back on.

They picked up the pace, the conversation falling into ragged breaths. After the four laps, they joined the other sprinters for a series of short, explosive runs under Coach Joe’s watchful eye. Each sprint left Cruz’s lungs burning, but she relished the adrenaline rush. It reminded her that no matter how uncertain her future felt, she could still rely on her body to push forward.

Bobby finished a sprint, hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “Coach is in a mood,” she panted.

“She wants us ready,” Cruz replied, wiping sweat from her brow. “Especially since we’re seniors.”

Bobby nodded, glancing at Coach Joe, who was eyeing her stopwatch. “Yeah, I know. But you look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders, dude. Lighten up.”

Cruz forced a small smile. “Working on it.”

--

An hour later, Cruz and Bobby walked back to Greenwich Hall, carrying duffel bags and half-finished Gatorades. The morning practice had ended, leaving them both sweaty and sore. At least the day’s classes didn’t start for another two hours.

They headed up to their shared dorm apartment—Room 0805, two small bedrooms and a modest common area. Cruz tossed her bag onto the couch, ignoring the pile of textbooks that threatened to spill off the coffee table.

“I’m dying for a shower,” Bobby groaned, rifling through the mini-fridge for something cold to drink. “You want to go first?”

“Nah, you go,” Cruz said, dropping onto the couch. “I need to check if we got any updates from Professor Asif.”

Bobby rolled her eyes. “If you say so. Don’t complain if I use up all the hot water.”

Cruz’s phone buzzed, and she fished it out of her pocket. She scrolled through an email from Professor Asif about the class readings, reminding everyone to come prepared for an in-depth discussion on contemporary challenges in the Middle East. They’d only been to one session so far, but the professor’s strict approach was already clear.

They also had a mandatory major research paper—Asif had hinted it would be a cornerstone of the semester, requiring at least twenty pages. Cruz’s chest tightened at the memory of his announcement. Twenty pages and mandatory office hours with both him and Aaliyah.

She sank deeper into the couch. Great, she thought, picturing Aaliyah’s composed face. A mandatory one-on-one with the TA who’s basically an expert on all this stuff—and who also makes me want to hide under a desk.

In the bathroom, the water roared to life, and Bobby started singing off-key. Cruz pressed a palm over her eyes, letting out a silent laugh. Despite the tension, she couldn’t imagine going through this final semester without Bobby’s constant teasing and support.

A few more months, then… what?

She had no family safety net—no father, no mother, no siblings to call if things went south. Just the track team, Bobby, and maybe a hope that she could land a job or fellowship somewhere. Otherwise, once graduation came and the scholarship ended, she’d be out on her own.

--

After showering and dressing in jeans and a faded NYU hoodie, Cruz made her way to the kitchenette, where Bobby was munching on a protein bar.

“You’re quiet,” Bobby noted, handing Cruz a granola bar. “Is this about the research paper, or are you just tired?”

Cruz ripped open the wrapper, studying the pale morning light filtering through their window. “A bit of both. We have a track meet in a few weeks, and I’m trying not to let my mind drift to post-graduation stuff.”

Bobby gave her a sympathetic look. “I get it. But hey, you’ve always been good at landing on your feet. You’ll figure something out.”

Cruz wasn’t sure how to reply. She appreciated Bobby’s confidence, but her own chest felt tight with doubt. No father, brother in jail, brother and mother dead. She had nothing except the scholarship that was about to evaporate.

She tried to push away the grim thoughts and forced a grin. “Time to face Asif’s class, right? And Ms. Hot TA.”

“Finally, you admit she’s hot,” Bobby teased, a playful twinkle in her eye.

Cruz rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t hide a small smirk. “You’re the one who keeps bringing it up.”

“Because it’s hilarious watching you squirm.” Bobby slung her backpack over her shoulder. “But in all seriousness, maybe you should, you know, talk to her? Be friendly. See if she’s approachable.”

Cruz laughed without humor. “Approachable. Right. She looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine and talks like she wrote half the textbooks we’re reading.”

Bobby shrugged. “Doesn’t mean she’s not nice underneath. And you’ve got nothing to lose.”

Cruz swallowed her retort, remembering how Aaliyah’s eyes had briefly met hers in the last class. The sensation of being seen by someone so poised had rattled her. I’m not the type to chase fantasies, she reminded herself. But maybe a little flirting wouldn’t hurt.

--

They arrived at the lecture hall with a few minutes to spare. The space buzzed with conversation as students filed in. Bobby steered Cruz toward two seats near the middle—close enough to hear but not so close they’d be in the professor’s direct line of fire.

Cruz dropped her backpack, heart already pounding from the leftover adrenaline of track practice and the swirling tension in her mind. She pulled out her notebook and pen, determined not to get called out for unpreparedness this time.

Professor Asif strode in, stony-faced as usual, adjusting his glasses and scanning the room. “Good afternoon, everyone. I assume you’ve done the assigned readings?”

A few chuckles rippled through the class, but Asif didn’t smile. “Excellent. We have a lot to cover.”

Cruz tensed, glancing at Bobby, who offered a reassuring grin. We did some reading last night, at least, Cruz thought. I won’t sound like a complete idiot.

Just then, the door opened again, and Aaliyah entered, carrying a stack of papers. She was petite but carried herself with a calm confidence. Her dark hair framed her face in a neat style, and her eyes—brilliant, intense—swept briefly over the students before she took a seat off to the side.

Cruz tried to hide the sudden heat in her cheeks. She forced her gaze to the front of the room, but the awareness of Aaliyah’s presence pulsed in the back of her mind.

“As I mentioned last time,” Professor Asif said, “there will be a major research paper worth a significant portion of your grade. Twenty pages minimum, with proper citations. And you’ll each schedule two mandatory office hours: one with me and one with Ms. Amrohi.”

Bobby glanced sideways at Cruz, eyebrows raised. Cruz exhaled, trying to quell the anxious flutter in her stomach. One-on-one with Aaliyah.

Asif continued, “We’ll begin by narrowing down topics in the next couple of weeks. Ms. Amrohi has kindly compiled a list of recommended readings if you’re unsure of your focus.”

Aaliyah nodded. “I’ll be emailing you all links to academic journals and archived resources. Feel free to contact me if you have any questions.”

Cruz dared a quick look in Aaliyah’s direction, heart thumping. She tried to focus on her notes, but her mind kept drifting to the idea of a quiet office, just her and Aaliyah, discussing some lofty political topic.

Get a grip, she scolded herself. This is an academic thing.

--

Mid-lecture, Asif began asking questions about the assigned readings. Cruz sat straighter, hoping she wouldn’t be singled out—she’d read the basics, but not in exhaustive detail.

“Bobby,” the professor called, surprising both of them. “What’s your understanding of the concept of colonial legacy in shaping modern nation-states?”

Bobby coughed. “Uh, well, the reading highlighted how arbitrary borders and external governance affected local power structures and ongoing conflicts. Basically, it’s like the lines drawn by colonial powers didn’t really care about ethnic or tribal divisions.”

Asif nodded. “Good. Can you name a specific example?”

Bobby paused, shooting Cruz a brief, panicked glance. Cruz discreetly nudged her notebook, where she’d jotted down a reference to the Sykes-Picot Agreement.

Bobby’s eyes flicked down. “The… Sykes-Picot Agreement?”

“Precisely,” Asif replied, turning to the board to jot down notes. “This type of external interference established patterns of conflict we still see today.”

Cruz breathed a silent sigh of relief. Crisis averted.

But then Asif looked at her. “Cruz, do you have any additional insights or a contrasting view?”

She clenched her pen, swallowing hard. Don’t freeze.

“I—uh, I agree with Bobby’s summary,” Cruz began, voice shaky. “And I think the reading suggested that these borders also impacted cultural identities. Like, certain groups found themselves split across different states, which fuels tension.”

Asif nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Good. Keep that in mind as you shape your research topics.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cruz spotted a subtle smile on Aaliyah’s face. She couldn’t tell if it was approval or amusement, but it made her heart flutter regardless.

--

When the lecture wrapped up, students collected their things in a flurry of rustling papers and hushed chatter. Cruz jammed her notebook into her backpack, trying to avoid any conspicuous glances at Aaliyah.

“You survived,” Bobby teased, standing and stretching. “Thanks for the notebook nudge, by the way.”

Cruz flashed a grin. “Hey, that’s what friends are for.”

A small queue of students approached Asif and Aaliyah with questions about the upcoming research paper. Cruz debated lining up as well, but the idea of standing face-to-face with Aaliyah, with half a dozen people listening in, made her stomach clench.

Instead, she and Bobby headed into the hallway, which was already bustling with students from other classes.

“Whew,” Bobby said, tugging her backpack straps. “I actually talked in class without sounding like a total idiot.”

Cruz laughed softly. “Me too. Small victories.”

Bobby’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “So, about scheduling those office hours…”

Cruz groaned. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Bobby pressed, “you have to do them anyway. Might as well, you know, see if you can form some sort of connection.”

Cruz gave her a light shove. “She’s my TA, not my new best friend.”

“Who said anything about ‘best friend’?” Bobby wiggled her eyebrows, but her playful tone softened into something more reassuring. “Look, if you don’t want to flirt, that’s cool. But at least don’t be scared to talk to her. She’s there to help.”

Cruz ran a hand through her hair, feeling the faint burn of embarrassment at the tip of her ears. She’s right, though. I do need help—academically and maybe personally. But the latter was out of the question.

“I’ll schedule a meeting,” Cruz conceded. “But purely for the paper.”

Bobby patted her on the shoulder. “Whatever you say.”

--

They decided to head to the dining hall for lunch, weaving through crowds of students bustling about. The line for food stretched nearly to the entrance, a testament to the midday rush.

Cruz grabbed a tray, selecting a meager salad and some fruit. She had a limited meal plan, and though it was subsidized by her scholarship, the fear of finances loomed constantly. I should probably skip the coffee, she thought, eyeing the prices. Every dollar counts.

Bobby noticed her hesitance. “You want me to spot you for a better meal?” she asked quietly.

Cruz shook her head. “No, I’m good.”

She hated feeling like a charity case, even around Bobby. Her father had vanished from her life before she could walk, her mother and brothers were gone—there was no other safety net. If she couldn’t figure out a job or a place to live after graduation, she’d be alone.

They found a table in a corner of the dining hall, next to a window overlooking a small courtyard. Bobby plopped her tray down, loaded with a burger, fries, and a soda. Cruz tried not to feel too jealous.

“You know,” Bobby said between bites, “you could look into those scholarships for grad school, or even a part-time gig.”

Cruz shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. I’m just… overwhelmed. Finishing strong in track, writing a giant research paper, no family to call if I can’t make rent…”

Her stomach twisted at the admission. She rarely voiced these anxieties out loud.

Bobby reached across the table to give her hand a squeeze. “We got you. And if you need a place, Tex or Randy would let you crash on their couch.”

Cruz managed a half-smile. “Thanks.”

Still, a couch hop felt like a last resort. I want more than that, she thought fiercely. I want a real life, a real future.

--

They chatted a bit longer about track and classes, eventually finishing their meals. As they stood to leave, Cruz’s phone vibrated. She fished it out, reading a text from Tex.

[Tex]: Practice at 5. Coach says don’t be late or we’ll be doing suicides.

Cruz rolled her eyes and typed a quick reply:

[Cruz]: Got it. Not about to die on the track today.

She stuffed her phone back into her pocket, then caught the concerned look on Bobby’s face.

“You sure you’re okay?” Bobby asked, voice low. “You seem… I dunno, on edge.”

Cruz sighed. “Just everything, you know? This paper, the scholarship ending, the weird flutter in my stomach every time Aaliyah’s around… it’s all hitting me at once.”

Bobby hooked an arm around Cruz’s shoulders in a half-hug. “We’ll survive. Now come on, let’s go watch cat videos before we both crash from stress.”

A reluctant laugh escaped Cruz’s lips. “Yeah, all right.”

They left the dining hall, meandering through the bustling campus. The winter air was brisk, but the sunshine felt warm on Cruz’s face. At least I have Bobby, she thought. Without her, I’d be completely lost.

--

By late afternoon, they found themselves in the library, claiming a small table near the back. A hush hung in the air, broken only by the rustle of pages and the soft whir of a printer.

Cruz opened her laptop, determined to get a head start on research. “I can’t keep slacking on this paper,” she murmured. “If I go into office hours with nothing, Aaliyah will think I’m an idiot.”

“She won’t think that,” Bobby said, scrolling on her phone. “But yes, do some reading.”

Cruz dove into online databases, searching for articles on colonial legacies, conflicts, and humanitarian challenges. She scribbled notes on a pad, occasionally highlighting key terms. The paper started to feel slightly less daunting, though still enormous.

Bobby typed something on her phone and snickered.

Cruz raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

“I texted Randy about you scheduling office hours with Ms. Amrohi. He says you should bring flowers.”

Cruz stifled a laugh, though a rush of embarrassment colored her cheeks. “I hate all of you.”

Bobby grinned, shaking her head. “We love you too.”

Cruz glanced at the time on her laptop: 4:15 p.m. Not much time before track practice. She quickly bookmarked a few promising articles.

Her gaze drifted to a blank email draft she’d opened to request an appointment with Aaliyah. She stared at the screen, heart thrumming.

Should I just do it now? Schedule the meeting?

She imagined Aaliyah reading her email, the corners of her mouth curving ever so slightly as she replied. Cruz’s pulse quickened. This is ridiculous. She’s just a TA.

But something in her chest refused to calm. Maybe… maybe I’m allowed to be a little excited.

She closed the laptop abruptly, ignoring the undone email. “We should head to practice,” she announced, standing up.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Sure, but I saw that blank email window. You chickening out?”

“Not chickening out. Just… not ready. I’ll do it later, okay?”

Bobby smirked but grabbed her bag without further argument.

--

They made it to the track a few minutes before five. Coach Joe was already there, arms folded, an unreadable expression on her face. Teammates milled about, doing stretches and idle chatter. The air smelled of rubber, fresh sweat, and a lingering hint of winter chill.

Cruz couldn’t ignore the subtle tension in her muscles, a mixture of physical fatigue and mental strain. But the moment she stepped onto the track, she felt something shift inside her—a drive that momentarily overpowered her fears.

Coach Joe blew her whistle. “Line up! We’re doing intervals.”

Cruz and Bobby exchanged a quick glance, then jogged to the starting line. The routine was familiar: sprint, rest, sprint again, pushing their bodies until lactic acid made their legs heavy. Cruz relished the burn. In these moments, nothing mattered but the next step.

Mom, Dad, brothers… they’re all gone. Aaliyah… out of my league. The future… uncertain. The thoughts flickered through her mind between intervals. But I’m still running.

When they finally staggered to a stop, sweat pouring down their faces, Coach Joe offered a rare nod of approval. “Good hustle,” she said. “Now go cool down.”

Bobby collapsed onto the infield grass, panting. Cruz joined her, both of them staring up at the darkening sky.

“I guess everything’s uncertain,” Bobby mumbled. “But at least we have the track.”

Cruz inhaled, her lungs still burning. Yes, we have the track—for a few more months.

Then she remembered the half-written email in her laptop. She would schedule the office hours. She would face Aaliyah’s poised presence and hope she didn’t embarrass herself. And she’d keep working on the research, on her future, on building a life that didn’t vanish the moment graduation ended.

One step at a time, she thought, gaze drifting to the first stars appearing overhead. That’s how she’d always survived—by moving forward, even when the path was dark.

She placed a hand over her chest, feeling her heart race. She was alive, determined, and maybe—just maybe—ready to see if life had more to offer than running from her past.