Screen Queens

by Lori Goldstein

  Not as smooth as she’d have made them, but enough to satisfy the client.

  Cheaters weren’t supposed to prosper.

  Tell that to the ten grand weighing down her “friend’s” bank account instead of hers.

  Maddie reached for her phone to text Lucy, who’d left while she and Delia were still sleeping. The conversation Lucy’s drunken state had staved off last night needed to happen. Maddie stroked her four-leaf clover, hoping for an explanation that didn’t make her regret staying on Lucy’s team.

  Before she could send her text, her phone rang. Though the number was unfamiliar, the New Hampshire underneath made her scramble to answer, spitting out a hello even before the phone reached her ear.

  “Maddie Li?” a woman’s voice said. “Danny Li’s sister?”

  “Yes, is something wrong?” Panic gripped her. “Is he hurt?”

  “I’m sorry to alarm you. No, he’s perfectly healthy.”

  The woman identified herself as Kerin Labbott, the camp’s assistant director. “We called your mother first, and she directed us to you. Because Danny is, well, he’s refusing to leave his cabin. He won’t say why. It’s quite unusual for him—he’s such an active participant that his cabin counselor has to corral him back in at lights out.”

  “Let me talk to him,” Maddie said, her pulse still quick, the tentacles of panic not yet released.

  Maddie heard the creak of a door and then Kerin explaining who she had on the phone.

  “Mads?” Danny said.

  He sounded stuffed up. Like he had a cold. Or had been crying.

  “Hey, kid, how those fireflies treating ya?” Maddie said breezily.

  Silence and then a simple, nasal “I miss you.”

  A vise squeezed Maddie’s heart. “I miss you too, Danny. So much.”

  “I want to go home. When you go home. When will you be home?”

  “Soon,” Maddie said, though she still had more than a couple of weeks left at ValleyStart. “But what’s wrong? Emojis don’t lie. From the ones you’ve been sending, you seemed the definition of a happy camper.”

  “Nothing. I just don’t like it here anymore.”

  “Why? Did someone say something? Or do something?”

  Silence.

  “Danny, you can tell me.” Maddie paused. “Please tell me . . .”

  “They took my socks. They won’t give them back.”

  His special socks—the ones he lived in until the smell made Maddie’s eyes water and she begged him to let her wash them. The socks Mom and Dad bought him, together, at the opening of the Gumberoo theme park.

  “I’ll talk to Kerin. We’ll get them back, okay? I promise.”

  Danny still didn’t respond, and Maddie hugged her arms against her chest, wishing it was her brother she was holding.

  “Danny, is there something else? Do you know why they took your socks? Did they need a wash—”

  “No! I washed them on my feet in the lake like every day.”

  “Okay, but there has to be a reason.”

  “They . . . This one kid said I was a liar. But I’m not a liar.”

  “I know you’re not, bud.”

  “I told everyone I knew Esmé Theot, and he called me a liar. I told them Esmé Theot read the last chapter of the first Gumberoo to me as a bedtime story, and he called me a liar. So . . .”

  “So what, Danny?”

  “I put a snake in his bed.”

  “Danny!”

  “A garter snake—won’t hurt him!”

  “Danny, it’s not right that he took something from you, but you were very wrong to put a snake in his bed.” Part of her was glad Danny was standing up for himself, but she didn’t want him to do it this way, like her parents would.

  On her laptop screen in front of her, the available games on the VR website automatically showed a small screen of the gameplay in the corner, so users could preview what the game looked like while being played. That really was one of her better ideas. Taken from her, and what did she do? She left the forum. She said nothing. She did nothing. She . . . she just let him.

  She didn’t want Danny to follow in her footsteps either. “Listen, Danny, kids can be mean. Say stuff and do stuff that’s not nice or right, but you need to tell the counselor, not put snakes in their beds. That only makes it worse. Do you understand? You can’t sink to their level. Because you have better ways to get back at them.”

  “Yeah, like what?”

  “Like proving you were right. Hold on.” Maddie swiped open the photo album on her phone and searched. She chose two images, both of Danny with his wide, crooked grin beside Esmé Theot in their house—the “Li Family” sign above their mantel clearly in the background. At the time she signed with Maddie’s parents’ fledgling agency, Esmé technically lived in Boston, but she was at Maddie’s house so often it was like she lived with them. The publishing world was new to all of them, and they learned it together. “Check your messages. And show that kid who Danny Li is.”

  After talking with the camp director, Maddie hung up and texted her mother:

  Get your son more Gumberoo socks.

  She pulled her laptop toward her and punched in the graphic design forum site, scanning the threads. She found the one she knew would be there, a congratulations on the gaming site going live. It had always been a supportive group—they’d cheered her when she’d gotten into design school. She scrolled through the congratulations thread, taking in the confetti and champagne, but the anger that normally bubbled up was replaced with something else. She seized on the feelings of empowerment building and added her own comment to the thread: “Congrats! Encouraged to see how well you incorporated all my ideas. Next time, though, ask first.”

  In her profile settings, she turned the notifications back on, eager to see the responses.

  A text popped up from her mom: What size? I’ll have my assistant send them.

  No, not your assistant, you. With a note. FROM YOU. SIGNED BY YOU.

  She thought of Sadie.

  And send a second pair here, along with a signed copy of the series.

  The full series, every single book.

  Maddie closed her texts and logged in to the ValleyStart portal. The private messages section was alight with news of the party and how “RT” showed up. “RT”—like if word leaked no one would be able to crack the code. She scrolled back, noticing a posting on the Pulse-a-palooza thread. Someone had asked if Emma could get them in since she was one of the 10s playing. The last comment read: “No dice on entry. RIP Crushing It Emma Santos. She’s a peon like the rest of us now. Comatose.”

  Comatose? Hadn’t Sadie said she was a 4? Now she was a 1? Maddie thought back to what Sadie had said about how unusual it was for a 10 to fall so fast. Maddie had been so sick of Pulse and Ryan Thompson that she hadn’t wondered why. Until now.

  * * *

  * * *

  By the time Lucy came back, Maddie was hyped up on cashew cheese Hot Pockets and iced coffee left over from the party in the common room.

  “Look,” Maddie said, shoving her phone in Lucy’s hand and forcing her to drop her shopping bags.

  “Maddie, can I get in the room first?”

  “You’re in, now look.”

  Lucy looked. “YouTube. You really are getting the hang of this newfangled thing they call social media, aren’t you?”

  “Emma’s on it.”

  “Along with ninety percent of the world. And I’m starting to get a complex, here, Maddie. You’re more obsessed with a departed team member than your own.”

  “It’s just that her following’s pretty decent. Same as on Snapchat and Instagram and even Facebook. Her fan page has a crap-ton of likes.”

  “From creepy old dudes, most likely.”

  “Including Ryan Thompson.”

  “Ryan
’s not creepy.”

  “Is that what you learned last night?”

  “We were just talking.”

  “What was that you said to Delia? ‘Just talking doesn’t walk you to your door’?” Maddie joked.

  “He didn’t.”

  “Close enough.” Maddie eyed Lucy. “I saw you together.”

  Lucy moved to her side of the room and delved into one of her shopping bags. “I fell. I was in my monster heels and I tripped. Lucky he was there, otherwise I’d have gone headfirst into the quad.”

  “You didn’t look like you were falling.”

  “Because he stopped me.”

  “If he stopped me like that, I’d report him,” Maddie said.

  Lucy dropped the black dress in her hands and spun around. “For saving you from, oh, I don’t know, certain death?”

  “For putting his hands where they shouldn’t be. If you were doing more than ‘just talking’ then it’d actually be better. But since you weren’t . . .”

  “We weren’t.”

  “You should mention it to Nishi then.”

  “Maddie, it was nothing. I was drinking. Three beers. I had three beers.”

  “So?”

  “So stumbling’s entirely my own fault.”

  “The stumbling, but the catching . . .”

  “Maddie, it was my stumble, my catch, and my call. I sent out the message about the party. If anyone finds out . . . I can’t lose this. I’m so close.” Lucy reached into her purse, took a deep breath, and pushed her own phone into Maddie’s line of sight. “I’m Racing. Seven, Maddie, I’m a 7. Just in time for the beta test. Do you have any idea what this means? For Lit? For us? And we have Ryan Thompson to thank.”

  Maddie forced a smile, except all she could picture was Emma Santos saying the same thing. Right before she went from Crushing It to Comatose.

  As Lucy tried on what looked like an entirely new wardrobe, Maddie opened the Pulse app and signed up for an account.

  EIGHTEEN

  SWEAT EQUITY • The equity or ownership stake gained in a startup due to its founders’ hard work and perseverance

  IN ALL THE YEARS Delia had been coding—creating the theater website, adding the online ticketing system, expanding Delia’s Den to include the likes of Grace Hopper and Mary Jackson—she’d never had pain in her wrists. And yet a single night where a Frisbee tournament, a skateboarding competition, and a “hottest tech gadgets of the year” convention collided threatened to sideline her. Could one possibly get carpal tunnel from jabbing buttons on a microwave?

  Though it was almost midnight, light filtered out from under nearly all the doors as Delia made her way down the hall. ValleyStart teams may have been running on fumes, but they were still running. She heard a slew of curses from a room far down, smelled nachos from one near, and heard the pounding of music from another and the pounding of a fist in response next door to it. She unlocked the door to her room and kicked off her shoes. She set her backpack on the floor by her bunk and nodded to Maddie, who was still awake, headphones in her ears. Lucy seemed to be asleep in her bed, facing the Stanford pennant on her wall.

  As quietly as she could, Delia downed two ibuprofen and crawled into bed. The moment the night turned to the next day, ValleyStart sent its daily message:

  ValleyStart: Proof comes through use. And that proof starts today. The beta test is here: hooray!

  And Delia could only think of home.

  Even though the shows had resumed their regular schedule, being two hours behind meant even theater folk would be asleep. Instead of calling her parents, she texted Cassie.

  Cassie: You know it’s like two in the morning right, Dee Dee?

  Delia: I showed you how to set up your “Do Not Disturb.”

  Cassie: I turned it off.

  Delia: Then don’t complain if I wake you.

  Cassie: You didn’t.

  Delia: Then don’t complain.

  Cassie: Who said I was complaining? Just asking if you know it’s two in the morning. Why are you awake?

  Delia: Work. If I even smell cashew cheese again, I may hurl.

  Cassie: I’m hurling just thinking about it.

  Delia: And why are you awake?

  Cassie: Wired after the show. You know.

  Delia: So it has nothing to do with a certain usher you’re crushing on?

  Cassie: Please don’t attempt to rhyme. But, yes, we’re watching a movie together right now.

  Delia sat up straighter.

  Delia: In your house?

  Cassie: I wish. She’s in hers, I’m here. It’s a tragedy.

  Delia: A regular Juliet and Juliet. Did you ask her out yet?

  Cassie: I will. Right after you ask the E-man out.

  Delia sucked in her bottom lip.

  Delia: Truce?

  Cassie: Truce.

  Delia: Now tell me about the multiplex.

  * * *

  * * *

  Delia wished she hadn’t asked. Because now it was two in the morning her time and despite her exhaustion, sleep refused to come. Cassie had said the past few nights were almost full and that the upcoming weekend, which preceded the Fourth of July—always a solid time for the theater—was sold out. Yet her parents were still in talks to sell the theater. And buy a Winnebago, according to Cassie.

  With her head on her pillow, Delia stared at the stickers on her mom’s suitcase. She’d already been everywhere. New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Paris, London, even Singapore. Each sticker represented the life her parents had before it included her.

  Delia leaned over the side of her bed and dragged her backpack closer. She reached into the front pocket and pulled out the San Francisco sticker she’d bought in the campus bookstore before her shift. The Golden Gate Bridge, which was red, not gold, sat atop the name of the city Delia kinda sorta loved even though she’d only caught a glimpse of it. She ran her fingers over each letter before returning it to her backpack, slipping it inside the other thing she’d picked up in the bookstore: a brochure and application to Mountain View University.

  She’d never be able to afford it.

  Unless, maybe, just maybe, she won ValleyStart, and it was enough to earn her one of the merit scholarships listed in the back of the financial aid section. Maybe she could even start in the spring semester.

  She’d have to leave Littlewood, Cassie, her parents. She couldn’t imagine that. Then again, a few months ago she couldn’t imagine ValleyStart either.

  Suddenly Lucy flipped over and grumbled, “Maddie.”

  No response.

  Lucy then tossed back her covers. “Maddie!”

  “Yes? Headphones, sorry.”

  “It’s after two. Your dedication to Lit is stellar, truly, but do you have any idea how horrific blue screens are for sleep? You’re keeping us up.”

  Maddie tapped the bunk. “Delia, you’re awake?”

  “If I wasn’t, I would be now, but yes, I’m awake.”

  “Perfect.” Maddie snapped on the light clipped to her bed, and Delia and Lucy both groaned. “I’ve been working on this all night.”

  “Lit can wait until the morning,” Lucy said. “And if I’m saying that, even though the beta test is tomorrow, you know how very tired I must be. And I’m running out of concealer.”

  “This isn’t about Lit.” Maddie climbed down from her bunk and plopped herself in the middle of the room. “It’s Pulse. It’s Ryan Thompson. Something’s not right.”

  Lucy put a pillow over her head, muffling her words. “I swear, you mention Emma Santos, and I’m screaming bloody murder.”

  “Emma?” Delia said. She and Eric had been doing a lot of their programming together. She’d always thought coding was a solo endeavor. But having someone to code alongside, to bounce ideas off of, and to brainstorm solutions with ha
d shown her just how much she’d been missing and what she had to look forward to at a company, working as part of a team. And yet while she was able to spend time delving deeper into the complexity of database servers, Eric had been forced to learn more of the design elements. All while Emma’s “family emergency” seemed to be her need to play her guitar in dive bars, at least according to her Instagram. “You’re talking to Emma? The girl who left Eric’s team with some made-up excuse?”

  “No, I’m not talking to Emma,” Maddie said. “I’m researching her. Because her Pulse shot up so fast, relatively speaking. I’ve compared her trajectory with a dozen others, and, Delia, I’d love your input since this is really your area of expertise, but it’s just not adding up. Things that should lift aren’t and things that shouldn’t are and it’s all—”

  “A complete and utter waste of time,” Lucy said, tossing her pillow at Maddie. “You’re not even working on Lit? You’re keeping us up all night and you’re not even working on Lit? I swear, Maddie, I don’t understand what’s gotten into you.”

  “It’s not me. It’s Pulse.” Maddie trailed her fingers through the shag rug. “You know, maybe I should reach out to Emma directly. There was this thing she wrote right after she left about Pulse having no heart or something. Sadie showed it to me. I checked her profile after I signed up for my account, but it’s not there anymore. But I know it was. So, I could contact Emma, or maybe even tweet something about Ryan and—”

  “What?” Delia shot out of bed. “I’m here on a scholarship, Maddie.” She wanted to say more, that her roommates might know what that word means but not how it feels, but Delia wasn’t one for conflict. And yet between her parents and San Francisco and Mountain View and her wanting this so much—not just for them but for herself—conflict was starting to consume her. That a ValleyStart win and maybe financial aid to Mountain View U could remotely be possible scared her like The Shining. It meant giving up everything she knew, all that felt right and safe, but still she wanted to keep it possible. She couldn’t have whatever this new obsession of Maddie’s was ruining it for her. “A scholarship that’s sponsored by Pulse, by Ryan Thompson. And you’re, like, what? Investigating him? Don’t you realize how bad that’ll look? For all of us?”