FYI: I Outpitched You

FYI: I Outpitched You
Chapter Five

The week’s assignment had been submitted. Final assets uploaded, polished, triple-checked, and blessed with the blood, sweat, and half a dozen venti cold brews from each team. Now there was nothing left to do but wait.

Waiting, of course, was hell.

Callie hated idle time. Peyton knew this.

Which was exactly why Peyton had, mid-Thursday breakdown, pulled out her phone and said, “We’re going to the amusement park.”

“Excuse me?” Callie blinked.

“Trust me,” Peyton said. “Two hours away. The rides are fast, the churros are greasy, and it’s exactly what we need.”

So, Friday morning, Beacon & Wren packed into two cars and hit the road.

The drive was filled with throwback playlists, car snacks, and Peyton’s dramatic readings of campaign taglines that didn’t make the cut. They rolled into the park just as it opened—sun shining, roller coasters roaring, the smell of sunscreen and funnel cakes thick in the air.

By noon, they were drenched from water rides and screaming on coasters. Callie wore sunglasses and a baseball cap, laughing more than she had in weeks. She felt… light. Like college again. Like the day before finals when the cramming stopped and life felt wide open.

They ate pretzels and cheese fries, took group selfies, and competed to see who could keep their eyes open the longest on the Drop Tower. Peyton won. Barely.

“Next challenge better be as thrilling as this ride,” she joked, halfway upside down.

Callie laughed. And for once, didn’t think about Miles.

\---

Across town, Catalyst Media was indulging in an entirely different kind of break.

A luxury spa retreat.

Elise had booked the package and insisted it was “team wellness.” Miles raised a brow but didn’t argue. Not when champagne flutes were involved.

He lay face-down on a massage table, listening to tranquil harp music and the faint bubbling of a nearby water feature.

“You know,” Nick muttered from the next table over, “I think my chakras just opened. Or at least my spine.”

Miles chuckled. “Enjoy it. Monday’s coming fast.”

Afterward, they rotated through the sauna, hot tubs, and steam rooms. Elise and Marissa opted for mud baths and aromatherapy facials. The guys smoked cigars in the private spa lounge, laughing over client horror stories and inside jokes.

Lunch was served on the terrace—crisp rosé, salmon tartare, and something green that Elise claimed was kale but tasted like basil-laced mystery.

Miles leaned back in his chair, letting the warmth of the sun and the peace of the moment settle over him. It felt good. Not just the spa.

The team. The momentum. The work.

He felt ready.

\---

That evening, back in the city, Callie met her best friend at their usual dinner spot—a cozy tapas bar with fairy lights and sangria pitchers.

Lana greeted her with a grin and a dramatic wave. “You survived Week One!”

“Barely,” Callie said, sliding into the booth.

They ordered everything—patatas bravas, shrimp skewers, garlic bread soaked in oil—and caught up between bites and sips.

“So,” Lana said after a refill, “how’s the competition?”

Callie hesitated.

Lana narrowed her eyes. “Oh no. That look. Spill.”

Callie took a deep breath. “It’s Miles. Thatcher.”

Lana nearly choked on her sangria. “As in coffee-date, heartbreak, ‘I-think-he’s-my-soulmate-but-then-he-ghosted-me’ Miles?”

Callie nodded.

Lana leaned forward, eyes wide. “This is it. Your second chance.”

Callie snorted. “This isn’t a Hallmark movie.”

“No, it’s better. It’s real. Callie, you guys were so close to being something. You flirted all of freshman year, had that swoony kiss before summer break, and then—boom. Gone.”

Callie stirred her drink, quiet for a moment.

She remembered it clearly. How he used to meet her at the library with extra flashcards. How their “study sessions” turned into slow conversations about nothing and everything. The way he looked at her like he already knew her.

And that kiss.

Under the campus archway, right before summer.

She thought she’d found her person.

Until sophomore year, when his girlfriend transferred. And suddenly, she was the other girl. The inconvenience. The one who didn’t belong.

Lana touched her hand. “Maybe it’s not too late.”

Callie looked up, skepticism in her eyes. “Maybe it is.”

What she didn’t know—what she couldn’t know—was that just a few feet away, at the corner of the bar, Miles sat with his best friend Cal and Cal’s fiancée.

He’d spotted her the second she walked in.

She hadn’t seen him.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since.

Cal followed his gaze and smirked. “That her?”

Miles nodded slowly.

“She’s still stunning,” Cal said.

Miles didn’t answer. He just sipped his drink and watched her laugh at something Lana said. A laugh he still remembered.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, he wondered if the door she closed all those years ago wasn’t completely locked.

Not yet.

\---

Then both their phones buzzed.

An email from VitaRush. Subject line: Week One Results & Feedback.

Callie opened it immediately.

To both teams:

Thank you for your Week One submissions. The level of creativity, thought, and branding consideration shown was exceptional. The VitaRush board reviewed both teaser campaigns with enthusiasm.

Catalyst Media:

Excellent use of minimalism and visual rhythm.

The boxing gym concept was clean, striking, and impactful.

However, it lacked a clear emotional hook and brand relatability for non-athlete consumers.

Beacon & Wren:

Strong concept execution with dynamic transitions and inclusive casting.

The idea of small victories and everyday hustle resonated deeply with our test audience.

Slightly overproduced, but emotionally compelling.

Week One Winner: Beacon & Wren.

Congratulations to the winning team. Week Two's challenge will be revealed Monday morning at 9AM.

Callie blinked, then stared at Lana.

“We won,” she said softly.

Lana grinned and practically squealed. “I knew it!”

Callie laughed, heart pounding. Slowly, her team began trickling in, joining the table one by one. Peyton spotted the expression on Callie’s face and let out a loud whoop.

Lana raised her glass. “To the queens of Week One.”

Moments later, a bottle of chilled champagne was delivered to the table.

“From the gentleman at the bar,” the waiter said.

Callie turned. Miles tipped his whiskey glass toward her, his smile soft and sincere.

He mouthed, Congrats.

She stared for a moment, then cracked a faint smile.

Thank you, she mouthed back.

She clinked glasses with her team, her heart doing something wild and unprofessional.

And Miles just watched her, still smiling, as if losing to her might not be the worst thing in the world.