EYES EVERYWHERE
1135 Words
The Apex lobby sounds like ambition arguing with itself.
Heels clicking.
Voices overlapping.
Someone laughing too loud like they want everyone to know they belong here.
I step inside and immediately feel like I’m late to a fight I didn’t start.
“Okay,” Bella says beside me, stopping short. “Firstly—why does it smell like money and ego in here? Second of all—why do I feel like I need to outperform someone immediately?”
“You always feel like that,” I mutter.
“That’s different,” she says. “Today it feels… hostile.”
She’s not wrong.
Two people from our cohort are already arguing near the sign-in desk. Not yelling—worse. Smiling too tight. Whispering with intent.
“I heard three people got flagged for elimination,” someone says loudly as we pass.
“Already?” another voice replies. “It’s barely week two.”
“Exactly.”
Bella gasps theatrically. “Oh my God. If I get eliminated before I emotionally attach to my desk, I’m suing.”
“You don’t even have a desk,” I say.
“Details.”
We move deeper into the space. Open floor. Glass walls. Too many whiteboards filled with half-erased strategies and acronyms no one explains unless you already know them.
Someone bumps my shoulder.
No apology.
I look up and meet a girl’s eyes—cool, assessing, dismissive.
Bella leans into me. “She just sized you up like a clearance rack.”
“I noticed.”
“She’s scared,” Bella whispers. “You can tell because she didn’t even fake nice.”
I almost smile.
A sudden burst of laughter erupts near the coffee station. A group clusters around someone pitching loudly, gesturing like he’s already on a stage.
“Is he performing?” Bella asks.
“He’s auditioning,” I say.
“For what?”
“Relevance.”
We reach the elevators—and that’s when the noise shifts.
Not louder.
Focused.
I feel it before I see it. The way conversations stutter. The way eyes flick past Bella and land on me, then linger like they’re recalculating.
Bella notices immediately. “Oh. Oh no.”
“What?”
She grips my arm. “You’re getting the look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘why is she calm?’ look,” she says. “People hate that.”
The elevator dings.
As the doors open, I see him.
Eric stands inside the workspace, not elevated, not surrounded by assistants—just there. Talking easily with two executives like they’re equals.
Someone near me whispers, “That’s him.”
Bella’s grip tightens. “Tell me why the man looks like he just accidentally wandered into his own billion-dollar company.”
Eric’s eyes lift.
They find mine.
This time, he doesn’t look away immediately.
The space between us feels charged — observant and measuring.
Like he’s clocking how I’m standing after everything.
Bella inhales dramatically. “Okay. I don’t know what’s happening, but something is definitely happening.”
Eric turns back to his conversation.
But now the damage is done.
People are watching me watch him.
And Apex?
Apex loves a narrative.
I straighten my posture and step forward.
Because if they’re going to look—
I might as well give them something worth seeing.
We don’t even make it ten steps before someone claps their hands loudly.
“Alright, listen up!”
The voice cuts through the room like it’s practiced doing exactly that.
A woman in a red blazer, sharp bob, sharper smile who stands near the center of the floor. I recognize her immediately. Program director. Reputation for eating people alive and calling it “growth.”
“Morning, Apex,” she says. “Hope you enjoyed the illusion of stability.”
A few people laugh nervously.
Bella leans toward me. “I already miss yesterday.”
“Today’s agenda,” the woman continues, pacing, “is simple. Teams of four. You’ll be given a live problem. You’ll pitch a solution in ninety minutes. No prep. No notes. No Googling your way out of it.”
Groans ripple through the room.
She smiles wider. “Yes, it counts.”
That gets everyone moving.
Names are called. People cluster quickly, scrambling to align with the loudest or most confident voices.
I hear my name.
Then three others.
I turn and immediately clock the problem.
One guy already talking over everyone.
One girl scrolling her phone like she’s bored.
One quiet guy who looks like he regrets breathing.
Bella’s eyes widen. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“That’s a cursed group,” she says. “Like, horror-movie cursed.”
The loud guy—Ryan, according to his badge—doesn’t even look at us. “Okay, I’ll lead,” he says immediately. “I’ve done this before.”
I blink.
“So have the rest of us,” I say.
He finally looks at me. Up and down. Dismissive. “Cool. You can handle research.”
Bella makes a choking noise. “Oh, absolutely not.”
Ryan frowns. “Excuse me?”
Bella smiles sweetly. “She didn’t apply to Apex to fetch bullet points.”
I glance at her. “Bella—”
“No,” she says. “I’m warmed up now.”
The girl with the phone looks up. “Can we not fight? I just want to get through this.”
Ryan sighs like we’re inconveniencing him. “Look, time’s ticking. Let’s be efficient.”
I feel it then.
That familiar pressure.
The instinct to let it go.
To stay quiet.
To carry my weight silently and let someone else take credit.
I don’t.
“If you want efficiency,” I say, “you don’t start by sidelining people without knowing what they can do.”
The table goes quiet.
Ryan tilts his head. “Are you volunteering to lead?”
I meet his gaze. “I’m volunteering to collaborate. There’s a difference.”
He smirks. “Fine. Say what you’ve got.”
The screen in front of us flashes with the prompt.
A live city problem. Infrastructure. Budget constraints. Public backlash.
My brain clicks into place.
I lean forward. “We’re thinking too big. The issue isn’t the system—it’s trust. We need a solution that looks small but scales fast.”
The quiet guy’s head snaps up. “Like pilot programs?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “Neighborhood-level. Data-first. Transparency baked in.”
The phone girl finally locks her screen. “That could work.”
Ryan studies me, recalculating.
Bella grins like she just placed a bet.
I keep talking.
Because the room is loud.
The clock is ticking.
And for the first time since I walked into Apex, I’m not trying to disappear.
- Writer
