Screen Queens

by Lori Goldstein

  Maddie leaned in to better hear Nishi. “You’re from the East Coast?”

  “New Jersey. Tell me, is it drinking out of mason jars or adding a ‘preneur’ to every noun that gets you?”

  “Both. It’s all so surface.”

  “Not what you expected?”

  Maddie sighed. “No, it’s exactly what I expected.”

  Across the room, Lucy was standing on a chair, shining the flashlight on her phone over the crowd. Maddie lifted her hand and gave a halfhearted wave.

  “Maybe not everything,” Maddie qualified, surprising herself.

  They both watched as Lucy weaved her way through the dance floor to reach them.

  “She’s performing well,” Nishi said. “I suspect she doesn’t exactly relish the idea of following in someone else’s footsteps.”

  Maddie cocked her head.

  “Of course she hasn’t mentioned her mom. Well, Abigail Katz was in tech before someone told her she shouldn’t be.” Nishi looked at Maddie, considering her words. “Navigating the Valley takes some adjustments, more for those of us who don’t look like Mark Zuckerberg. I won’t deny the heavy level of self-importance and the frat boy mentality. But there are smart people with some great ideas here. We just need more of them.”

  “Ideas?”

  “People. Especially ones that bring new perspectives. Like your team.”

  Maddie gave a derisive laugh. “Yeah, Lit’s going to change the world.”

  The edges of Nishi’s lips gently curled before she forced them back into a straight line. “Maybe it will and maybe it won’t. But the people behind it can.”

  “Hey!” Lucy said to Maddie. She nodded to Nishi. “Hip place, right?”

  “It’s very Ryan. You’ll see during the Pulse field trip at the end of the program. You seemed to be having fun, though?”

  Lucy tilted her head. “You aren’t?”

  “CEOs don’t dance.”

  They could all see Ryan twirling Emma Santos.

  Nishi corrected herself. “Different rules for the gents. It is Silicon Valley, after all.” She gave her seat to Lucy. “Just about time to start loading up the bus. Remind me never to chaperone again. And when I don’t listen because I’ve got a memory like a sieve and a heart like a Disney character, remind me not to do it in heels.” She slipped off her shoes and swung them in her hand as she headed toward Ryan.

  “Have you been here the whole time?” Lucy asked.

  “Mostly.”

  “Come on, Maddie. Don’t you want to get to know people? Tonight was supposed to be about having fun.”

  “And by fun I assume you mean kick-starting a summer fling?”

  “Summer what?”

  “An incubator boyfriend. Looked like you were testing out candidates.”

  “Dancing’s just dancing, Maddie. No one has time for dating.”

  “Don’t tell Delia that.”

  “Where is she? I’ve been looking all over for you both.”

  “She’s out front.”

  “You didn’t leave her alone, did you?”

  “She’s an adult. But no, she’s with Eric.”

  “That’s what I need to talk to you both about.”

  “Delia’s love life?”

  “No, not directly anyway. And since when does Delia have a love life?”

  Maddie shrugged.

  “We have to be more proactive.” Lucy climbed up on the stool and spun Maddie’s seat to face her. “Look, you know Emma Santos? Eric’s teammate?”

  “Of course. She’s really talented.”

  “More importantly, she’s a 7.” Lucy held up her phone, open to the Pulse app. “Last week she was a 5.”

  “Well, good for Emma?”

  Lucy tucked one leg under her to sit up higher. “Good for all of us. One week into the program and she shot up two whole Pulses. That’s how important ValleyStart is. Just think what it can do for us.”

  What Maddie knew about Pulse came from Sadie, and she didn’t really think getting free iPhones and tickets to football games would matter this much to Lucy.

  “It’s not really my thing, Lucy. I’m sorry I can’t share your enthusiasm. I just think there are more important things to worry about than Pulse.”

  “It’s not just my thing, it’s everyone’s thing.” Lucy sucked in her bottom lip and spat it back out. “Listen, I get it, you’re not from here, you don’t want to be from here, so you don’t realize just how huge this incubator is. Or what it can do.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice lacked its usual bravado. “What I need it to do. Because I’m wait-listed, Maddie. Wait-listed at the place that’s been my dream since before I knew what the word ‘college’ meant. If simply being at ValleyStart can make Emma’s Pulse—our Pulses—rise, then just think what a successful beta test . . . what a win can do. If we win ValleyStart . . . if we intern at Pulse . . . there’s no way Stanford doesn’t let me in.”

  Maddie wasn’t sure what to say, and in the time it took for her to decide, Lucy straightened her spine and reclaimed her authoritative tone. “Your design skills are sick, sure. But you don’t care about any of the rest of it. You’re not in it like me and Delia.”

  Maddie pulled back in surprise. She’d laid the foundation, the typography and color scheme. She had designs for the logo and buttons. Maybe she wasn’t pulling all-nighters, but the user interface was easy stuff. “Because I don’t need to be. You don’t have to worry about my part.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I do have to worry, because your part is my part, my part is Delia’s part, Delia’s part is your part, it’s all connected. Or it should be. We’re a team. It’s like you don’t want to be. Makes me wonder why you even bothered applying in the first place.”

  Maddie had seen Lucy angry, and this wasn’t that. Anger Maddie could handle. Disappointment was something else.

  Part of her wanted to explain to Lucy why she was here, what Danny and his future meant to her—that it meant more to her than her own. But Lucy didn’t have siblings, didn’t seem to have any real friends beyond those she’d partied with in high school. How could she understand doing something that wasn’t entirely self-centered?

  “Why did you help Gavin?” Maddie suddenly asked.

  Lucy once again began chewing on her bottom lip. “Why not?”

  “Because he’s the competition. And an ass.”

  “It’s just lecture notes. He could get them from anyone.”

  “But he didn’t. He got them from you. Which seems out of character for you both. Unless he’s messing with your head. Or you, his.”

  She shrugged. “We have history. Sometimes people act the way they do for a reason. Besides, I help him, and down the line, he helps me. It’s how things work. It’s business. It’s life.”

  “Not mine. I don’t use people.”

  “I didn’t say I did. Or was. Give and get isn’t the same as using people.”

  “Says the person who’s doing the ‘getting.’”

  “Are you speaking hypothetically or from experience?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. Because people act the way they do for a reason, and I can’t understand your reasons unless you tell me.”

  Maddie laced her fingers together on the table in front of her, a tiredness that she could no longer blame on jet lag weighing her down. The energy it took to be here was sometimes more than she thought she had.

  “Fine, whatever,” Lucy said. “But you said yes to us, and this may not be important to you, but it is to me and to Delia. You hopped on board this train; there’s no getting off now.” Lucy tossed her leg out from under her and dropped down from the stool. “Don’t make me regret staying with you.”

  Maddie sighed in frustration. Sharing her feelings alternated between a quick retort and a
well-placed eye roll. She and Danny were different with each other, but her parents . . . her dad’s preoccupation with the business left less time—literally and figuratively—for hugs and I love yous. And her mom . . . her distance increased in direct proportion with her success, as if displays of affection even at home translated to weakness. If it weren’t for Danny, Maddie may have turned out even more like them.

  She reached for her four-leaf clover, holding it tight, missing Danny and her bed at home and the way her family used to be before her parents turned into people she no longer recognized—ones she didn’t really even like anymore. She suspected their juvenile behavior of late, badmouthing each other and jockeying to be seen as the true force behind the agency, was a precursor to a split—personally and professionally. Maybe it was for the best. But telling someone wouldn’t change anything. So she didn’t. She just watched the now-angry version of Lucy that she was familiar with get smaller and smaller as she walked away.

  TWELVE

  EARLY STAGE • When a startup’s product or idea is undergoing development or testing and not yet ready for release

  FOR THE FOURTH TIME, Delia regretted letting Lucy straighten her hair. Because every time she reached for a nonexistent curl to wind around her finger, she must have looked ridiculous—like she was swatting invisible flies.

  The dress she let Lucy talk her into wasn’t just three inches too short and so tight it was bruising her ribs; it didn’t have pockets. She’d spent the past ten minutes trying to concentrate on what Eric was saying all the while wondering what to do with her hands.

  Eric leaned on his, clasped behind his back, which rested against the side of the building. He’d opened the door for her as they’d exited the club. Delia coming out second meant he got the building to support him while she only had the sidewalk under her feet and not even a curl to fiddle with.

  “Turns out,” Eric said, finishing a story he was telling her about his last customer of the day, “he didn’t realize he had the wrong power cord. Guy was trying to jam his roommate’s adapter into his laptop. Took a damn drill to the thing.”

  “Did you say a drill?”

  “Yup. Figured all he needed to do was make the opening bigger.”

  “He’s lucky he didn’t fry the whole motherboard.”

  “And that he had enough juice for me to transfer all his files since he doesn’t own a backup drive and doesn’t believe in the cloud.”

  “Meaning he doesn’t believe it exists?”

  “Oh no, he believes. And if you’ve got twenty minutes and nothing better to do I can tell you all the things he believes, like how it’s an alien planet’s way of infiltrating our minds.”

  “He really said that?”

  “Nah, just doesn’t understand how it works.” Eric grinned, and something fluttered in Delia’s stomach. “But my story’s better, isn’t it? Keeps things interesting, at least. ‘Don’t count the days, make the days count.’”

  Delia stared at him.

  “Smooth, Shaw.” He hung his head, and some of the long brown strands casually swept across the top fell over his ear. “Real smooth, quoting your grandmother.”

  “No, I, uh, I like it.” Her hand lifted toward her hair and she forced it down, somehow perching it on her hip and inciting a true battle over whether it looked or felt more awkward.

  “Then you’ll have to come to dinner, because she can’t take two bites before she’s spouting another one.”

  Delia inched her hand down her side. She’d never been so conscious of her body before and couldn’t help wishing this preoccupation had struck earlier—like when she was dancing. How had she danced? How had she danced like that?

  When Eric had begun talking to her at the edge of the dance floor, she’d been grateful for the darkness that hid her bright red face. But the volume made it hard to hear, so he suggested they go outside. The instant the cool air dried her sweaty forehead, it was like she’d come back from another world. To the Delia who would never set foot on a dance floor, let alone tango on one, in front of strangers, in front of her peers, her classmates. Eric.

  Heat again rose in her cheeks, and she clutched the dress fabric between her fingers, willing the flush not to spread to her neck. She turned and looked down the block, comparing San Francisco to her memories of Chicago. She imagined the sheer number of streets lined with endless buildings, big and small, were indicative of any city. But the river she and her parents had walked along was missing, as were the trees. In their place were, as far as Delia could tell, deathtraps Lucy had called “hills.” She’d been convinced the bus was going to topple over headfirst more than once before they pulled up to the club.

  Even now, she couldn’t see a distance greater than a couple of blocks before the steepness concealed what lay beyond.

  “How’s Lit going?” Eric asked.

  Delia faced him. “It’s still early, but we, uh, we think it’s viable. Slack’s helping us share ideas and links and keep track of questions, which is good since Lucy seems to have as many as the lines of code we’ll ultimately need. For the prototype, it’s just, well, the crowdsourcing aspect’s new for me, but I’m making headway on the—” She stopped. “Sorry. You shouldn’t let me do that.”

  “What?” Eric said.

  “Ramble. You were just being nice, and I’m going on and on about details you couldn’t possibly care about especially since you’ve got your own app you’re working on, and how’s that going anyway? And I’m not just asking to be nice, and, oh boy, I’m doing it again.”

  Eric’s smirk meant Delia was definitely turning as red as the beets her dad grew every summer. The ones Delia wished she could taste now, even if—especially if—it meant watching Cassie eye them with suspicion no matter their form, including fried like potato chips.

  “I was being nice,” Eric said. “But I also care about the details.”

  “No one actually cares about the details.”

  “Were you at the same hackathon I was? Caring about the details is how we all got here.” He pushed himself off the wall. “Still crazy to me sometimes that I’m actually here.”

  “I know. I go back and forth between what’s crazier: that I’m here or that here actually exists.” She rolled a rock under her sneaker—the one she’d glued the sole back onto with Lucy’s surprisingly strong fake eyelash glue. “Silicon Valley. As mythical as—”

  “Gumberoo School.” When Delia didn’t respond he said, “You know the series, right?”

  “I know the name, but I’m not much of a fiction reader.”

  “This cannot be. Hanging with a girl who hasn’t read the Gumberoo? Impossible!”

  The way Eric’s hazel eyes widened followed by a toss of his hair infused the flutter in Delia’s stomach with the strength of a hummingbird.

  “You know what else is impossible?” he said.

  “What?” Delia hoped her voice was louder than the thrumming of her heart.

  “That we’re here in this amazing city and seeing nothing but the inside of a pretentious club and this one little street corner.” He pulled out his phone, and Delia wondered if he was as relieved as she was to be able to break eye contact.

  She and Eric talked all through their shifts and had been texting a lot too, mostly about how traitorous she felt to their beloved Python since Lucy had forced her into using Swift. Even Delia could admit their shared interest in coding and ValleyStart and aversion to pea milk lattes meant she might be slightly more interesting to Eric than the guy taking a drill to his laptop. They were friends. She liked him.

  Except she might like like him.

  “Okay.” Eric looked up from his phone. “What do you say to some sightseeing?”

  “Now?”

  “No better time, as my grandma would say.”

  “But, I mean, it’s just . . . can we?”

  “Who’s gonn
a stop us, Ryan Thompson?”

  Delia’s foot found that rock, and she pressed until she could feel the edge through the bottom of her shoe. She wanted to say she wasn’t sure if they’d be breaking any ValleyStart rules and that she couldn’t be tossed out of the program because her whole plan of helping her parents save their theater relied on her not just being in the program but excelling in the program. She wanted to say she’d never walked in a city without an adult’s supervision and even if Eric was technically an adult because he was eighteen that wasn’t the same thing and what if they got lost or missed the bus back or—

  And then he took her hand.

  And all she said was, “Okay.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Which she came to regret with . . . each . . . huff . . . and . . . puff . . . up . . . this . . . godforsaken . . . “hill.”

  This city needed a pulley system. With each street they climbed, Delia lost more and more feeling in her toes. Which maybe she could tolerate if Eric’s long, soft fingers were still entwined with hers, but he’d only held on long enough to encourage her to start this trek up Mount Everest.

  The sightseeing so far had mostly been of cement as Delia carefully watched her every step. Her occasional upward glances caught boarded storefronts that transitioned into empty storefronts and finally some actual storefronts. Though now closed, the shops sold things like fair-trade clothing and gourmet coffee and organic dog food—sometimes all in the same place. Scattered in between were a few restaurants with stark white tables, light fixtures that looked like artichokes, and plants cascading down from living walls. Most of it cool, all of it requiring more funds than she had to enjoy.

  They approached the corner just as the traffic light turned red and Delia gave a silent thanks. “Maybe we should turn back?”

  “Just a little farther.” Eric’s breaths were also labored, which made Delia feel better. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  The light changed and the hand signal beckoned them forward. Though Eric had slowed his pace, Delia’s thighs still screamed.