Eighteen-year-old Charlotte stood in her mother’s coat on the chilly Yale campus, her blond hair whizzing around her. It was an early fall day, late September, and her mother and father had dropped her at the campus with nonchalant kisses, telling her she’d “be just fine on her own.”

And she was. She always was.

She brought her coat closer around her, her eyes tracing the backs of her fellow seniors, each of whom was preparing to apply to go to Yale the following year. They were hopeful, working toward success with bright eyes and a constant air of panic and urgency. It was the way of the elitist academic. Charlotte knew this.

A girl she’d befriended earlier in the day leaned toward her. “I think we have just one more speaker,” she said, her voice coming harshly through the fall wind. “And then we should go grab a hot chocolate somewhere. I’m freezing! Can you imagine living here? So far north? It’s not anything like my home in Texas.” She gave a grimace.

“I think I can withstand the cold,” Charlotte said, laughing. “I just want to get accepted.”

“Oh, you will. You have that look about you,” the girl said, giving her a once-over.

Charlotte shivered, oddly nervous. She knew she was rather pretty, with long blond hair and a slender build, but she so often forgot this about herself—transplanting this image with one of her in the future, parading through the many entrapments of pre-law and then law school, on the road to success.

The crowd around her began to break out in applause, and Charlotte lifted herself on her toes, aching to see the final speaker. She could just barely catch the top of a dark head, tilted down as he marched across the stage and toward the podium.

Surprised at herself, Charlotte snuck her elbow, then her shoulder, then her entire upper body between the snuggled high school seniors in front of her, finally catching full view of the dark-headed, confident, and alarmingly handsome man at the podium. He pushed his finger up the bridge of his nose, forcing his sunglasses back to his eyes.

He cleared his throat into the microphone, clearly unaccustomed to addressing large groups of people. As she looked at him, something within Charlotte sparked. Her ears strained at attention, her feet wobbled as she remained on her tiptoes, keeping her tall to maintain her view.

“Good afternoon,” the man began. He searched over the sea of heads, as if he were looking for something. It almost seemed that he made intimate, highlighted eye contact with Charlotte, but as he swiftly moved on, she sensed she was only daydreaming.

“Let me introduce myself, for those of you who don’t already know my name. Don’t be alarmed; most people at Yale don’t know my name, either… Anyway. Yes. Introduction.” He fluffed his hands through his dark, curly hair.

“I’m Sean Lawson, and I’m from a small town in the Midwest. Growing up, I had almost nothing, just a skateboard and an affinity for computers. Which, naturally, led me to the tech world. Like many of you, I saw my future at Yale. And when I got my dream… well. I knew I wanted to do anything in my power to succeed.

“I’ve been chosen to speak to you this afternoon because I have a plan for a startup company, called InvestMe.”

Sean allowed the words to hang in the air. InvestMe. Some of the students began to pass the word around, eyeing each other. Was this a part of the Yale rhetoric? Should they be taking notes? Was someone going to send them a PowerPoint?

“InvestMe is something I’ve been working on for nearly two and a half years, first out of my dorm room, then the tiny college apartment I rented with my now ex-girlfriend and our cat. It’s just me and the cat, now.”

The audience began to laugh again. Charlotte found it curious the way he spoke about his life—so self-deprecating, despite how handsome he was. She wondered if he’d looked into a mirror recently; perhaps his mind was spinning too fast to get a true sense for how others perceived him. If this was the case, she could certainly relate. She’d lost herself in textbooks for days at a time, only coming up for air when her stomach ached.

“Anyway. InvestMe is a venture that necessarily involves you—or your potential, that is. It is a venture capital site that allows young entrepreneurs to receive backing from investors. I know that sounds complicated and perhaps you’re asking yourself ‘Who in the world would want to invest in me?’ But I’m telling you. Fresh ideas are what make this world spin. And investors want your ideas. They want fresh blood. They want you.”

Several of the high school seniors began to roar with approval at his words.

Charlotte’s eyes grew large. Sean’s passion for his work was radiating from him, giving him an incredibly alluring aura.

She felt lust grasp her heart—she’d never been truly attracted to anyone before, and yet this man, who’d given up the typical college experience in order to fight for success, really captivated her. She had to close her mouth, noting that it was hanging open, her mind absorbing and memorizing his every syllable.

Sean continued, speaking about the mechanics of the program, about the long hours he’d put into it, and about how it was to be completed before his graduation in the spring. At that time, the moneymaking would probably begin.

He snapped his fingers, his face falling into faux-panic. “I mean, that’s the plan. Wish me luck. And if not, invite me to your parties, okay? Because I’m going to need something to do if it’s not this.” He laughed with ease, his eyes darting out across the crowd.

He finished the speech, and the presentation for the potential students ended. Charlotte’s temporary companion reached forward and grasped her shoulder, yanking it back lightly. “Hey! Are you ready for that hot chocolate?”

But Charlotte pushed forward in the crowd, giving the girl a quick goodbye. “Sorry!” she cried out, her heart jolting in her chest. An invisible force was leading her far from the crowd of high school students and toward the stage, where Sean Lawson stood chatting with several professors and other Yale hopefuls. She strung her fingers through her hair, noting the chilly wind had caused it to fluff out—she probably looked like a mess.

As she crept closer, Charlotte realized that several of the Yale hopefuls were gushing about Sean, just as she’d been, privately.

“Your speech was just incredible,” one boy said, sniffing, his glasses dwarfing his face. “I couldn’t get enough of it. You truly demonstrate your passion for technology. It’s inspiring for those of us who’ve never thrown a football.”

Sean laughed, clutching his stomach and leaning back. But as he took another step from the professors and youthful students, he was suddenly bombarded. A massive group of reporters and what seemed to be potential investors, all of them in smart suits, their noses high, swept toward him.

Microphones were lifted into Sean’s face. He looked like a deer caught in headlights—his face went pale and he stuttered, hearing 20 different questions thrown at him all at once. The tiny high-school senior who’d made the ‘nerds stick together’ joke looked dejected and began to walk away, his hope of becoming friends with Sean drowned out by reality.

Charlotte realized it, all at once: this man was going to be famous. He was going to be something special—a very important, very rich man. She swallowed at the prospect of it, thinking that she was viewing the sun on its trajectory through the sky. This was just the beginning of morning’s first light.

And she’d been foolish to think, even for a second, that he would speak with her. She remembered, her eyes darting around the scene, that she’d even wanted to ask him to grab a coffee. She’d imagined them seated in a cozy, Yale café, eyeing each other. He would be nervous, because she was pretty and young and vibrant; she would be nervous, because he was everything she yearned to be, on the precipice of something great.

Perhaps they would ease themselves into conversation. Perhaps they wouldn’t feel so lost in each other’s presence, as Charlotte so often did with her peers.

But naturally, her daydreams were fading as more and more cameramen pushed lenses close to Sean’s attractive face, and more and more suits surrounded him, pushing business cards. Sean looked taken aback—celebrity status was clearly not his aim. As he peered to the right, outside of the sea of ravenous men and women, his eyes stumbled upon Charlotte, who was unabashedly staring at him.

Their eyes connected, and Sean gave her a sudden, self-conscious smile. Charlotte returned it, lost in the moment, unsure if it was truly happening or not. It was almost as if the world had stopped for them—no longer could she hear the scrambling newscasters, waving their microphones. No longer could she sense that she was surrounded by hundreds of her high school senior peers, each of them humming and hawing about what to major in.

Soon, the growling press pack grew even more ravenous, even hungrier. One of the journalists reached forth and grasped Sean’s sleeve, causing his and Charlotte’s smiles to falter. Sean’s eyes were then focused solely on this journalist. He was angry, yelling “What do you think you’re doing?”

Sean reclaimed his sleeve, and Charlotte watched as one gleaming cufflink, once attached, popped off and dropped to the ground, bouncing toward her. In the hubbub, nobody else noticed.

She paused, gazing at it, without breath. And then, as she looked upwards once more, she noted that one of the speaker handlers had dived into the chaos and grabbed Sean, scurrying him away from the questions, from hungry people willing to grab and yell until he gave them what they wanted.

“I’m sorry,” Sean said curtly, sneaking through a side door. “I’m sure I’ll be able to answer your questions shortly, but it seems I must go now.”

Charlotte grinned inwardly at his apology, his awareness that he needed to be nice to everyone to keep his opportunities open, even the most wretched of the press.

As the sea of journalists began to disperse, Charlotte knelt to the sidewalk, removing her glove. She grasped the freezing cold cufflink, sitting naked on the pavement, and she brought it to her heart, remembering the warmth of Sean’s smile and the impossible energy with which he’d spoken to the Yale hopefuls.

If I can retain even an ounce of that kind of hope and drive for my future, Charlotte thought, I’ll be fine.

She whirled herself back toward the exit, marching through the historic campus, keeping her head down in the rushing wind. Her parents were waiting in their humming vehicle at the end of an old driveway, near a sorority house. Her father had his face buried in a newspaper, and her mother was sleeping, her eyelids twitching. Charlotte had half a mind to move them to the backseat, so she could drive them home, like children. But she simply grinned, tapping the window.

“Hello, darling,” her father said as she jumped into the back, swiping her gloves from her hands. “How was your first day at Yale?”

“Not my first day, Dad,” Charlotte said, her voice sarcastic. She felt playful, energetic. “But, to answer your question, my first day on Yale’s campus—and maybe my last, to be fair—was absolutely a dream. It’s so gorgeous. It’s filled with impossibly brilliant minds.”

“None as brilliant as yours, my dear,” her father said, cranking up the heat. “Anything good to report?”

Charlotte eased her head back on the backseat headrest, her mind dancing. She reached into her pocket and found the cufflink, certain she’d keep it with her as a token, a memento of the day and the brilliant, rousing speech. “You should have seen this speaker,” she said, her voice whimsical. “He had this remarkable idea. An online platform, to help people invest in entrepreneurs. And the way he talked about it—”

“Online platform?” her father said, his voice gruff. He was an insurance salesman from the suburbs of Hartford, and he thought even the prospect of college was quite silly. But he had driven to Yale for his daughter; he loved her more than the world. “Sounds kind of dumb to me. People don’t actually want to invest in entrepreneurs, do they?”

“I think they do,” Charlotte countered.

“Well. I guess that’s something you’ll learn about at Yale,” her father said, teasing her. “But until you prove me wrong, agree to disagree.”

In the backseat, Charlotte rolled her eyes, her mind centered on another life, another world. Her mother snored on.

“Do you want to stop halfway home to get some dinner?” she finally asked, feeling her stomach rumble now that the excitement and adrenaline had died down a little. It was only a 40-minute drive home, but she felt like a celebratory slice of apple pie from her favorite diner was in order to top off the amazing day she’d had.

“Sure, pumpkin,” her dad said.

And with that, the vehicle zoomed out onto the streets outside of Yale University, a place Charlotte had now set her heart on attending.

She would be the precise kind of nerd Sean Lawson had spoken about in his speech, keeping her head down and maintaining her focus at all costs. And she would be proud of this fact, even as her eyes grew to need glasses, even as she watched other peers pair up and have hope for safe and beautiful—if not cookie-cutter—futures.

Throughout many years of university at her dream school, Charlotte would keep that cufflink safe in her grandmother’s jewelry box, stowed away, waiting. She would read about Sean Lawson as he propelled into stardom, almost immediately after that fateful day when she’d seen him speak. He would eventually be listed as one of the richest men in his 20s for five years running—until he hit his 30s.

And all the while, Charlotte would feel she had a kind of link to this man, felt that they’d shared a moment in time, immediately before he’d been thrust into becoming a household name. There, in that Yale courtyard, they’d had the same, frightened smiles.

Throughout her college career, Charlotte never spoke of her infatuation with Sean Lawson. She never showed anyone the cufflink; rather, she maintained the memory, calling to it when she felt lonely or unsure of herself.

When she ultimately accepted a job all the way across the country in Seattle, she knew she hadn’t taken the position simply because Sean was a tech scene mover and shaker in the great Pacific city. No, she’d always had an inkling she would end up out west.

And Sean had nothing to do with it.