Chapter 2 — Debating Privilege

Jace

The streaks of late-morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the psychology lecture hall, landing in broken patches of warmth on the polished desks. I leaned back in my chair, balancing it precariously on its two hind legs, feeling the faint rush of teetering just on the edge of balance. My notebook lay in front of me, blank except for a few halfhearted doodles—a soccer ball in one corner, a stick figure mid-kick in the other.

Professor Ames had been droning on about ambition and privilege for the better part of twenty minutes, his voice steady and measured, like the hum of background noise at a coffee shop. I should’ve been paying attention, but topics like this were always a little too theoretical for me to latch onto. What did any of it matter when life was about action, not analysis?

Still, my attention wandered—habit, not intention—to the front of the room, and there she was: Hannah Carter.

She sat as straight as a ruler, her expression sharp and focused. The sunlight caught in her auburn ponytail, making it shine like copper wire, and her glasses perched neatly on her nose as she scribbled furiously in her notebook. Even her writing was intense, the scratch of her pen loud enough that I could hear it from halfway across the room. It was like she was trying to wrestle every word Ames said into submission and pin it down on the page.

I smirked to myself, remembering yesterday’s clash in the library. Carter didn’t just exist in a space—she filled it. Commandeered it, even, as if her very presence dared anyone to challenge her. And her glare? That was next-level. It wasn’t just a look; it was a laser beam, pinpointed and precise, that could sear the skin right off you if you weren’t ready for it.

“Let’s open this up for discussion,” Ames suddenly announced, snapping me out of my reverie. “Ambition versus privilege—how do these factors shape success? Does one outweigh the other? Thoughts?”

The energy in the room shifted. Students straightened, notebooks rustled, and a low murmur of interest rippled through the space. I shifted forward slightly, my chair settling onto all four legs. This, at least, sounded like it might be interesting.

Of course, Carter’s hand shot up first.

“Ambition is the driving force behind true success,” she said, her voice crisp and confident. “Privilege might give someone a head start, but it doesn’t guarantee anything. Hard work and determination are what carry you across the finish line.”

The room hummed with soft agreement. Heads nodded. Pens scratched. A few students murmured their approval. It wasn’t surprising—Carter had that kind of conviction that made you want to agree with her, even if you didn’t. She wore her belief like armor, polished and impenetrable.

But something about her certainty made me itch to push back.

I raised my hand lazily, but I didn’t wait for Ames to call on me. “Ambition’s great and all,” I said, my tone casual, “but let’s not pretend privilege doesn’t tip the scales. You can hustle all day, but if someone else has connections or money, they’re starting miles ahead of you. It’s not exactly a fair race.”

Her head whipped toward me so fast I was surprised her ponytail didn’t crack like a whip. Those green eyes of hers locked onto mine, narrowed into a glare that could’ve melted steel. Around the room, conversations stilled. A couple of students leaned forward, their expressions lit with the kind of curiosity that only came from smelling a good fight.

“Are you saying ambition doesn’t matter?” she shot back, her voice as sharp as the edge of her pen.

Hook, line, and sinker. I let my chair drop forward, leaning onto the desk with a casual grin. “I’m saying it’s naïve to think ambition is *enough.* Someone can hustle all they want, but if they don’t have anything to fall back on? One bad break, and they’re out of the game. Privilege cushions failure. Ambition doesn’t.”

The flicker of surprise in her expression was so quick I almost missed it. She masked it with a raised eyebrow and a tight grip on her pen, but I caught it—a tiny crack in her armor. “Privilege might open doors,” she countered, her voice rising slightly, “but if you don’t have the drive to walk through them, it’s meaningless. Ambition is what keeps you moving forward, even when the odds are stacked against you.”

“Sure,” I said, leaning in now as the debate caught fire, “but isn’t it easier to keep moving forward when the odds are *less* stacked against you? Privilege doesn’t just open doors—it makes sure they’re easier to walk through. Meanwhile, someone without those advantages might have to kick the door down—if they even get close enough to try.”

The tension in the room thickened, pressing against my skin like static electricity before a storm. A couple of students glanced between us like spectators at a tennis match, their pens hovering midair. Ames stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, his expression halfway between amusement and approval.

Hannah’s lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes pierced mine, her pen still clutched in her hand like a weapon she was ready to wield. “So what’s your solution?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence. “Just accept that some people will always have it easier and give up?”

I shrugged, letting a grin tug at the corner of my mouth. “Not saying that. I’m just saying not everyone starts on the same playing field. Recognizing that isn’t giving up—it’s being realistic.”

“Realism doesn’t excuse complacency,” she snapped, her words laced with fire.

For a moment, it was just the two of us. The room, the students, even Ames—all of it faded into the background. Her glare pinned me in place, but beneath the sharpness, there was something else—something raw, unspoken. A flicker of vulnerability, like a candle flame caught in a sudden gust of wind.

“You’ve clearly thought a lot about this,” I said, keeping my tone light but steady. “Guessing you’re one of those people who had to kick the door down, huh?”

Her jaw tightened, and the flicker turned into a spark—hurt, maybe? It disappeared almost as quickly as it had come, replaced by that steely determination she wore like a second skin. “Not everyone gets handed a free pass,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less cutting.

Before I could respond, Ames clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. “Well-argued, both of you! This is exactly the kind of spirited discussion I want to see in this class. Let’s keep that energy going.”

The room exhaled, and the tension dissipated like mist under the sun. The debate moved on, but my thoughts stayed stuck on the way her words had hit me—harder than I’d expected.

When class ended, I took my time gathering my stuff. My notebook was still blank, save for a few more stray doodles, but I didn’t mind. Across the room, Carter was scribbling furiously in her notebook, her movements as sharp and precise as the words she’d thrown at me earlier. It was like she was trying to bleed the tension out onto the page.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and started toward the door, but as I passed her desk, I couldn’t help myself. I leaned down slightly, just enough to catch her eye.

“Good debate, Carter,” I said, letting just a hint of amusement seep into my voice. “Might even call it fun.”

She looked up, her eyes narrowing into that familiar glare. “Glad you enjoyed yourself,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Some of us take this class seriously.”

I chuckled. “Oh, I take it seriously. Just maybe not *as* seriously as you. You should try having fun once in a while—it’s not all bad.”

Before she could respond, I straightened and strode out of the lecture hall. The crisp afternoon air hit my face as I stepped outside, sunlight glinting off the campus’s cobblestone paths. My smile lingered, small but genuine.

Carter was sharp, relentless, and far more complicated than I’d expected. And for reasons I couldn’t quite name, I couldn’t wait to see how she’d react the next time I pushed her buttons.