The funny thing about friendship is how often the roles flip.
Not so long ago, Sophie was the loud one pulling me into light.
Now… it was my turn to hold the flashlight.
It was a normal Tuesday — until Sophie screamed from the bathroom.
I leapt off my bed, thinking she burned her hand with a curling iron or saw a cockroach.
She came flying out with a toothbrush in her mouth and her phone in hand, eyes wide.
"Charlotte," she mumbled through the foam. "Read this. I can't — I'm — is this real!?"
I read the email aloud:
Dear Ms. Sophie Lane,
You have been shortlisted for the Harmony Global Arts Scholarship Program. You are required to attend an in-person interview this Saturday. Congratulations.
I looked up at her.
She spat her toothpaste out and squealed.
"I made the shortlist! For Harmony! CHARLOTTE, THIS IS HUGE!"
And it was.
Harmony was the scholarship for creative arts — fully funded, global internship opportunities, mentorships, and a future most people only dream about.
Sophie twirled and screamed, then suddenly froze mid-spin.
"Oh no."
"What?" I asked.
"I don't have anything to wear."
For once, I was the one with the color-coded plan.
I made flashcards. I curated mock interview questions. I practiced handshake firmness with her. (Yes. Handshakes.)
I even made her rehearse her "Why do you deserve this scholarship?" speech in front of our stuffed animals.
Sophie flopped on the bed in defeat on Thursday night. "I'm gonna bomb this."
"You're not," I said firmly.
"I ramble. I sweat. I talk too fast when I'm nervous."
"You're passionate. You're honest. You're Sophie Lane."
She blinked. "Wow. That's something I would say to you."
"Exactly," I smirked. "I learned from the best."
Saturday arrived like a storm.
Sophie wore a navy blazer over a white satin blouse and soft pink slacks. Her curls were pinned half-up, and she looked like a professional powerhouse.
"I feel like I'm going to faint," she muttered as we approached the campus conference center.
"You won't. But if you do, at least faint gracefully. Like an Oscar winner."
She laughed — the nervous kind — and turned to face me.
"Thanks for everything, Charlotte. Seriously. I don't know how I would've prepped without you."
"You would've," I said. "But I'm glad I got to be part of it."
I gave her a thumbs-up as she walked into the building.
Then I sat outside the interview room like an anxious parent at a spelling bee.
The interview lasted forty-five minutes.
Sophie walked out pale, then gradually broke into a grin.
"I think… I killed it."
"YES!" I shouted.
She laughed and practically tackled me in a hug. "I told them about my painting from last year, and the mental health mural, and the way art helped me process my dad's illness—"
"You owned it."
"I really did."
We celebrated with milkshakes and fries that night.
James joined us late and toasted her with a ketchup packet like it was champagne.
"To Sophie," he said, "the soon-to-be scholarship queen."
Watching her shine wasn't just beautiful.
It was inspiring.
Sophie reminded me that dreams are allowed to be loud.
That ambition doesn't always wear a suit — sometimes, it wears oversized earrings and paint-stained jeans.
And as she glowed with joy and hope…
I felt proud. Not just of her.
But of us.
Of the way we'd become women who held each other up.
One dream at a time.