"When you are willing to do what you're not yet qualified to do, sometimes, that's what qualifies you."

~Bill Johnson

Elizabeth

I stalked back to the locker room, Nagase trailing quietly behind me and letting me seethe in silence. It'd been months since the accident with Nike, and like a pathetic weakling, I couldn't stop myself from reliving it. I couldn't stop seeing Chopper and Nike in a freefall toward the water, couldn't convince myself that the odds of the situation occurring again were a million to one, couldn't convince myself that someone wouldn't go into a flat spin for simply flying behind me, no matter how far away they were.

I couldn't get out of my fucking head.

And it was affecting my flying. I still had perfect grades in all my classes, even practicing the actual flying maneuvers. But when it came to the hops, when it came to working with other people, I panicked. Plain and simple. I would be too worried about how close my wingmen were, whether they were in front of me, behind me, or to the side of me, so much so that I would be too distracted to know where the enemy was located.

Truthfully, I probably needed a therapist, but what could they do that I hadn't already tried? Talking about it wouldn't help. I'd already accepted I wasn't at fault for the accident, despite Bailey trying to convince everyone otherwise. I acknowledged I had trust issues in my wingmen because of the accident and that all my problems in the air stemmed from this particular issue, but what could I or a therapist do to convince myself to trust people again? I'd tried ignoring the distrust, which did absolutely nothing. It simply lingered like a bad cold. I tried sticking to the six position, staying well back, but my professors would get onto me that I was too far away. If I stuck to the side or led the squadron, I'd be too worried about everyone behind me.

I'd been praying my issues would be resolved by now because it was nearly the deadline to submit applications for the Sand Island program, and I'd actively been avoiding Bartlett since he'd arrived a few days ago. I vividly remember him telling me last year that he expected to see my application this semester, but what chance did I stand when I could barely function in the air? I'd decided I simply wouldn't submit it. I doubted he'd remember a freshman, regardless of me beating the simulator. Besides, even if Bartlett did, he wouldn't want me once he saw my current record. A pilot who cracks under pressure. A pilot who couldn't control her wingman, consequently getting them killed.

"Do you want to go out for dinner tonight? Get off of base?" Nagase asked casually while we stripped out of our flight suits. "There's this new Sapinian place that Cassie is dying to try."

I recognized her attempt to try and cheer me up, but I had no energy to go anywhere but the dining hall to grab some food to go and then head to my room to eat in silence and study. It was the only thing I was good at right now. I gave a simplified version of this answer to Nagase, who waited until we left the locker room and were out of earshot of potential eavesdroppers before responding, "At the risk of sounding like a nagging parent, you shouldn't be cooping yourself up in your room. It'll just make you overthink everything more."

"I think about it whether I'm cooped up in my room or not. I'd rather do it in there, though, than bring others down with me."

"That's what friends or for, Elizabeth."

"Not when I'm doing it to you for months."

"Yes, even then. Besides-" Nagase bit back a smile- "Cassie will drag you by your ear once I tell her you're not going. And if she can't get to you, we'll set Chopper on you."

I gasped in partial mock horror. "You wouldn't!"

"I absolutely would. I'm not going to let you stew in your own juices if I can help it."

I sighed heavily, realizing my friends weren't going to give me peace unless I went out with them this evening. But I had to at least find a compromise. "Can I at least drive my own car there so I can leave early if need be?"

"Fine. And it's super casual there, so we can bring our laptops to study."

"Thank you," I said, a small weight lifting off my shoulders. I didn't want to miss out on any study time since my near-perfect grades were the one thing I still had going for me. "Let me shower and get dressed. Leave at six?"

"Sounds good. I'll let Cassie and Chopper know." Nagase shot off a text to our group chat, and we parted ways shortly after to enter our respective rooms. I dropped my backpack unceremoniously to the ground and stared at my bed, wondering if I could fake a false illness if it meant I could stay in here undisturbed. However, an incoming text from Cassie stating how excited she was convinced me otherwise. I couldn't do this to my friends. I couldn't keep letting them see me down. I'd put on a brave face and pretend I was okay. It was the least I could do for all the support they'd given me since the accident.

Cracking my neck and blasting my "Get Your Ass in Gear" playlist on my phone, I swiftly began getting ready. Moving almost robotically, I showered, dried my hair, did my makeup, curled my hair, and repacked my backpack to ensure I had the necessary study materials and, most importantly, my wallet.

Shouldering the bag over my shoulder, I did a once over in the mirror to confirm I looked presentable. Through my foundation, concealer, and eyeshadow, I could see the dark circles under my eyes, easily missed by most, but I could see them, and I worried my friends would, too. Still, this was as good as it was going to get. I texted the group that I was ready to go and that I'd meet them at the restaurant. Cassie tried to convince me to wait a few minutes and ride with her, but I responded that I valued my life and would be taking my own car. I received a middle finger emoji back.

I strode down the hallway and toward the entryway to the dorms, where I heard a familiar gruff voice. Instinctively, I lowered my head, praying to God that he wouldn't notice me. I'd had good luck so far. Maybe it'd hold out.

"Cadet Banks!" Bartlett called out, and I halted, cringing inwardly as I lifted my head to meet his gaze and stand at attention. I saluted him as he stopped in front of me. "At ease, cadet."

I lowered my hand but remained standing tall and tense. "Captain Bartlett."

"Come with me." The firebrand pilot began strutting off. All I could do was follow. I didn't dare pull out my phone in his presence in the event of seeming rude. Surely this 'talk' wouldn't last long…

Well, more like I hoped it didn't.

We stepped out into the brisk winter air, and in the distance, I could see Chopper swaggering to his truck. I tried to send him a message telepathically to look over at me, but he was wholly engrossed in his phone. Probably talking to some new girl he was into. Or updating Genette on me since I sure as hell wasn't telling my brother my problems.

I followed Bartlett into the Professor's Wing and down to his temporary office. I stood in front of his impeccably organized desk while he shut the door. He then plopped into his chair and motioned for me to sit, which I did without question. Bartlett eyed me with sharp curiosity and said, "The deadline for the Sand Island Program is tomorrow at twelve hundred hours."

"Yes, sir." Shit. I knew where this was going, and I was absolutely not prepared for this meeting despite all the times I'd played it out in my head.

"You didn't strike me as the type to submit something last minute."

"I don't wait until the last minute, sir."

Bartlett checked his watch. "It's seventeen-forty-five hours. What's your definition of last minute?"

"Eleven-fifty-nine hours?" I gambled on the sarcasm, hoping it'd annoy him enough to kick me out then and there, but to my chagrin, the corners of his lips quirked up.

"I appreciate your attempt at humor. Is that when I can expect to see your application?"

My heart skipped a beat. "No, sir."

"Then when can I expect to see it enter my inbox?"

Here goes nothing… "I wasn't planning on submitting it this year, sir."

"I thought I told you last year I wanted to see it when you were eligible to apply. Unless I'm mistaken, sophomores are eligible, and you are a sophomore, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, if the requirements haven't changed, what has?"

"I have, sir. I assumed with my recent track record that I wasn't the type of candidate you were looking for."

"You presume to know exactly what I'm looking for?"

"Based on your acceptance of prior cadets, it's not too difficult to figure out. You want the best of the best. And as of this year, despite what my grades might reflect, I'm not that. Not anymore."

Bartlett's eyes narrowed in on me, but not without a small amount of concern. "Is it because of the accident with Nike?"

I shifted in my seat, feeling horribly uncomfortable. "Yes, sir. I recognize what happened is not my fault, but I'm… I'm still dealing with the aftermath of it."

"Talk to me, Kid."

"There's not much to talk about, sir. I couldn't convince my wingman to back off, and because of that, she flew in my jetwash, which sent her into an uncontrollable spin. I had to watch her and Chopper eject. I knew she died on impact, but I didn't hear for hours about Chopper's status- if he was alive or dead- and that messed with my head. It's the closest I've come to losing someone I-" I stopped short, nearly saying 'love,' and that wasn't something I wanted Bartlett to know. I dropped my head, finally unable to hold his gaze, and continued, "It's the closest I've come to losing someone I care about, and it's gotten to me. I can't get out of my head when I'm up in the sky. I can do everything perfectly until we do the hops and mock fights. Then I'm useless."

"They don't train us how to handle the death of a comrade," Bartlett said, his voice surprisingly gentle, "let alone our friends. It's hard enough to experience it as a battle-hardened warrior, but it's even tougher as a cadet. You are still young and impressionable, and you're not used to compartmentalizing."

"That's just it. I'm very good at compartmentalizing the majority of things. But this, no matter what I try, I can't stop thinking back to the accident."

And I was terrified. Terrified of it happening again. Terrified that if I couldn't move past this, I wouldn't be able to be a fighter pilot. And what would I be if not that?

"I know what's wrong with me, I just need to fix it, and everything I try doesn't work. So, I just have to keep pushing through it and trying new techniques to move past this."

"It takes a strong person to admit what you did and an even stronger pilot. You're right about the pilots I want to recruit. I want them to be the best of the best. That being said-" Barlett leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the desk- "being the best of the best doesn't mean you're only perfect on paper and in the eyes of your professors. If it was, Chopper wouldn't have made it into the program last year because, yes, he has great grades that put him in the top five percent of his class, but his professors' feedback wasn't wholly positive. But see, I liked that. And when I saw him go head-to-head with Hardin to defend you, I knew right then that was the kind of pilot I wanted. Someone who stands up for others and for what's right. Gotta say I enjoyed seeing him put Hardin in his place not once, but twice."

"I know you did. I'm pretty sure I caught you laughing at one point."

"To avoid getting reprimanded by Powell for the thousandth time that day, I hid it as well as I could, but yes, I did. I digress, though. When it comes to you, it wasn't you beating the simulator that sold me on you. It was learning how you handled the incident with Captain Charter and how you handled Bailey's character assassination attempts, my favorite being you beating her record on the simulator because of pure spite."

I bit back a smile. "I figured the best way to prove her wrong was to keep beating her records."

"Which evidently paid off. But that's why I like you, Cadet. That's why I wanted you to submit your application back then, and regardless of what you're going through right now, I still want you to submit it, and I expect to see it in my inbox before eleven-fifty-nine hours tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," I replied, hoping he couldn't see my dismay. Maybe I'd get lucky, and he'd reject it after all, but knowing Bartlett, much like me, once he set his mind to something, he rarely, if ever, didn't get what he wanted.

Bartlett dismissed me, and I exited his office with my head held high. Only when I stepped outside did I lower it, letting the high expectations wash over me. I wasn't cut out for Sand Island. Not this year. Perhaps not ever. If I couldn't move past the accident, I'd have no future in the Osean Air Force.

Still, I would never dare to defy Bartlett's orders. With a heavy sigh, I shuffled off toward my car, wishing I could back out of my dinner plans with my friends and hide away in my room, but I'd promised myself I wouldn't drag them down in my melancholy and problems, so I was going whether I wanted to or not.

I arrived a short time later at the restaurant. Nagase and Cassie still hadn't arrived, but I found Chopper in a corner booth, already sipping on a drink and munching on some chips and guacamole. When I approached, he beamed, and a genuine smile spread across my face.

"How the hell did I beat you here when you left before me?" Chopper inquired while I sat next to him, taking the outer seat. That way, if I wanted to leave early, I could.

"Bartlett called me into his office to talk about my application," I said nonchalantly. I'd avoided telling my friends I hadn't submitted it yet and that I had no intentions of doing so, and they never asked, so it'd worked out well so far.

"You mean the one you haven't submitted yet?" Chopper shoved a chip in his mouth and raised his eyebrows at me as if daring me to lie about it.

I whipped my head around to face him. "How'd you know?"

"Bartlett was on my ass about it the other day. He's under the impression, albeit a wrong one, that you listen to me."

"Why didn't you tell me he talked to you?"

Chopper shrugged, eating another chip. "Because I wasn't going to push you to do something you didn't want to do. So, what did he say?"

"He wants me to submit it and said he expected to see it in his inbox before the last minute of the deadline."

"Elizabeth, you realize him saying that basically means you're getting a spot, right?"

"Yeah…" I pulled out my laptop and fired it up, holding my tongue about why I didn't want the spot. I didn't want to drag Chopper down more than I probably already had. I needed to change the subject or at least act more upbeat about it. "On the bright side, I don't have much to do on the application! I've filled it out off and on since it became available in the event that I chose to submit it."

"Do you want any help with it?" Chopper suggested sincerely.

My heart warmed at the offer, but I shook my head. "No. This is something I need to do myself. Although I do have one request."

"Anything."

"Could you not tell Nagase and Cassie I haven't submitted it? I haven't told them, and if they find out, they'll force it out of me about why."

"Of course. You know they'll find out sooner or later, though, right?"

"Yeah, but by then, I should be able to talk about it more easily. On a different note-" I eyed Cassie and Nagase entering the front door- "how many baskets of chips have you finished? Because I've been here less than five minutes, and you've already killed a full one."

"Don't judge! I'm hungry!" Chopper protested, picking up on my immediate need to change the subject. "But to answer your question, this is my second, but only because I accidentally knocked my first drink over onto half the first basket."

"Hey, you two!" Cassie chirped, a pale Nagase at her side. I smiled sympathetically at the latter and knew I'd be asked for a ride back to base later.

"I think I saw my life flash before my eyes about fifteen times," Nagase said, collapsing into the booth and scooting over for Cassie. "And it takes fifteen minutes to get here!"

Cassie rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, you're being dramatic."

"Cass, we love you, but your driving is terrifying, and we have no idea how you got your license," Chopper stated. He grabbed the appetizers and lifted them in her direction. "Chips and guac?"

"Don't try to placate me with food after you just insulted me." Still, she took a handful of chips and put them on her plate. "So, we working on things together? Or are we working on different things and commiserating silently?"

"The latter. I finished most of my work due tomorrow," Nagase replied.

"Overachiever." When I declared the same thing as Nagase, Cassie rolled her eyes. "God, how are you two so good at not procrastinating?"

"I got the easy stuff out of the way. I still have a few papers to work on."

"Oh! Have you finished Hardin's yet?"

"Do you think I consider his class easy?"

"You're so smart, you just might."

"Uh-huh. I've just started my outline for his paper. What about you?" Nagase and Cassie began chatting about the paper. Meanwhile, Chopper and I put in our earbuds. We started working on our own things, taking them out occasionally to order more food and ask questions about our work. However, all of mine were discreetly directed at Chopper via IM since I didn't want Cassie and Nagase to know I hadn't submitted my Sand Island application.

The more I worked, the more anxious I became, the more I thought about the accident, the more I reinforced it within myself that I was not cut out for the program this year. Bartlett would surely realize it, too, so why was he so hell-bent on me applying? What made me so special?

An IM from Chopper popped up on my screen. It read: If you keep bouncing your leg that violently, people are going to think there's an earthquake.

I immediately stopped the leg bouncing and replied: Sorry…

Need anything? He queried.

An extra strong margarita. Maybe two. I joked, if only partially. If only I was old enough to legally drink. Maybe then, the alcohol would take the edge off and give me some courage I so desperately needed at the moment, even if it was liquid courage.

I'd order one for you if they'd let me! Chopper stated. How about deep-fried ice cream instead? Or churros?

I sent him a gif of two cartoon men going, "Both. Both is good." Honestly, they did both sound good, and God knows I'm a stress eater. The only thing keeping me fit was the required workout sessions every day.

I reread my application once more, even though I'd already done so about fifteen times since I'd finished it earlier in the evening, agonizing over every word and every detail despite not wanting to submit it in the first place. If I was going to be forced to do this, I still wanted it to be as perfect as possible.

Do you want me to hit submit for you? Chopper messaged me.

I nudged his knee rather violently with mine. Stop watching my screen, you creep.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him smirk while he typed. It looks fantastic, for the record.

Still doesn't excuse your creep status. But thanks.

Want me to hit submit for you?

No, I'm a big girl. I can do it. And with that, I went back to my application and did as I said. I submitted it. Now, it was a wait-and-see game, and I prayed to God and even Razgriz that I wasn't chosen, something I never thought I'd say.