Delia’s breathing grew rapid.
All that work! All my work!
The scream stayed inside but tore through her. Sweat broke out on her forehead, her palms, her armpits, her feet . . . so much . . . enough to drown in. She leapt from the table. “I have to go.”
She had to tell Maddie and Lucy before someone else did. She whirled around, only half hearing Eric’s attempts to calm her. She rushed to the nearest exit, and then, once outside, drove her feet hard into the ground, running so fast that her lungs struggled to keep up. She tore down the path under the arbor toward the dorms. She was so focused that she heard the laughter before she even realized she was on the ground. She’d tripped. Apparently eyelash glue had a shelf life. She stared at the sole of her shoe beside her as pain roared in her knees.
Gavin and a few other guys from ValleyStart were laughing. Sitting on the benches in front of the dorms and just . . . laughing. Already bright red from her sprint, heat spread deeper beneath her skin. She pushed herself to her knees, then to her feet. She bent to retrieve the torn sole and stopped, instead chucking off her broken sneaker and leaving it on the sidewalk.
Her ascent up the stairs was slow. Scrapes burned the heel of her foot and her right knee. When she reached the door, she realized she didn’t have her key. She knocked, and Lucy let her inside.
She refused Maddie’s offer to wash out her cuts, didn’t answer when Lucy asked if she was all right. She just walked to the desk and used Lucy’s computer to show them.
Lucy’s face paled.
Maddie’s eyes turned cold.
No one spoke, so, finally, Delia did. “What are we going to do? Demo Day’s in a week!”
No response.
“Should we report it? We should report it.”
“Because that worked so well last time,” Maddie said.
They both looked to Lucy. But she was staring at the floor. She mumbled something about needing air, covered her eyes with her butterfly-frame sunglasses, and headed for the door. Delia wanted to stop her, to keep her here, with them, so they could figure this out, together. But she was out the door before Delia could find the words to make her stay.
“How could this have happened?” she said to Maddie. To the Maddie who’d arrived on day one. Sullen and distant.
Without a word, Maddie lifted her bag off the top bunk and left.
Delia stood in the center of the room—alone.
She shut Lucy’s laptop. She couldn’t have the code—her code—staring at her. She spun around, not knowing if she should stay or go. Finally, she slumped onto her bed, her head sinking into the pillow that Lucy had insisted she keep. She pulled her eyes away from the Ada Lovelace quotation under her bunk and rested them instead on her mom’s suitcase. Each of its stickers soon blurred as she gave in to her tears. Her body began to tremble and her head started to swim and suddenly there wasn’t enough air in her bunk, in the room, not even the hall that she stumbled into.
She was suffocating, hot, burning up, spots blinking in front of her eyes. Her hearing dulled and her stomach rocked with nausea.
Disoriented, she whirled in place, searching for the right way to go, for which end of the hall led to the balcony . . . to air. On her last circle, she saw it. She staggered down the hallway, shoved the door open, and rummaged in her pockets until she found her phone. Dizzy, she gulped down air, but her heart still beat in her ears as she jammed her finger on the call button.
“Delia!” her mom crooned. “How’s everything? We want to know everything, every detail. Here, I’ll put you on speaker.”
“Mom, I—”
“Hanging ten yet?” her dad said.
Delia had no hope of giving him the laugh he wanted. She grappled for words, still light-headed and woozy.
“Dad, Mom, I’m not sure what’s happening—”
“Because we haven’t been keeping in touch,” her dad said. “We wanted to wait until things were final before—”
“But we should have called sooner,” her mom interrupted. “We know how upsetting this is for you, but, honey, we’re good. We’re great. We accepted! Your father proposed an absurd counteroffer, and they said yes!”
“Still got my acting chops,” her dad said. “Total poker face, though inside I was having a panic attack.”
Delia’s heart was exploding out of her chest and she needed them to call 911 because she thought she was having a heart attack but was this . . . that’s what this was? A panic attack?
It was like she was in a free fall with nothing left to catch her. “I . . . you . . .” She pressed her hand against her chest, then gripped her necklace, hoping to steady herself. “You actually did it?”
“Done and done!” her dad said. “And we did something else—we booked our flights. We can’t wait to see your production.”
“Demonstration,” her mom corrected.
Delia closed her eyes to combat the black spots. “You’re coming? Here?”
“You have to ask?” her mom said. “We love you, Delia. We’re so very proud of you.”
“So proud.” Her dad sounded choked up.
And Delia’s heart quit racing and simply . . . broke.
She stayed on the phone for a minute or two longer before she told them she had to go. Her heart used each beat to normalize, and she stood still, waiting. She wanted to call Cassie, but what would she even say? She clung to the railing, holding it tight between her hands, the cool metal lowering her temperature, inviting her to lean her body against it, so hard and deep that she hung over the side, looking down at the fountain in the quad. She pressed her forehead to the metal, rubbing back and forth, listening to the gently bubbling water before she turned to let the coolness soothe her sweaty back—and there was Eric. Standing in the doorway, her backpack in his hand, the panic that was easing inside her written all over his face, living in his eyes, ones full of pity.
“Lia.” He stepped forward.
“No,” she said. “Not . . . don’t, just don’t.”
Don’t call me Lia here, now, after you saw me making out with the railing . . . after I freaked out like the geek I am and always will be. . . . I’m a fool. A complete and utter fool and this place isn’t my place and isn’t my home and never will be and why did I ever want it to be and how did I think I could actually be here . . . how did I think I actually belonged?
How could I give up everything I had to even try?
Humiliated, she grabbed her bag from Eric’s hand and pushed past him, feeling every bit like the girl from Littlewood who should have never left.
What am I even doing here?
TWENTY–FIVE
TROUGH OF SORROW • The period of struggle a startup faces after a significant setback, when quitting seems the most reasonable option
LUCY’S SHEETS TRAPPED HER like a straitjacket. Instead of sleeping, she’d turned this way and that, twisting her bedding around her. As the morning light filtered through the window, she clawed and kicked her way free.
None of them had slept much. Somewhere around midnight and again at about three, Delia had tried to get them to talk about what had happened, but Maddie just hugged the wall, her back to them, and Lucy remained quiet, knowing there was nothing to say.
Nothing she could say. Because this was all her fault.
It was the username. She’d recognized it immediately. “PissingInATinCan.” Aka Gavin Cox. Did he want her to know it was him? Or did he think she wouldn’t remember? She needed it to be the latter. The latter meant he was using any and every advantage to win; the latter at least she could understand even if she had no idea how he could have done it. But the former, being that mean, that vindictive against her, hurt in a place so deep Lucy didn’t have a name for it.
A Maddie-sized bundle lay buried under her covers, but Delia’s bed was empty. Lucy set her feet on the floor and unplug
ged her phone from its charger.
The ValleyStart daily text mocked her:
ValleyStart: Week 5 and still alive? Then tonight you better crack the whip, for tomorrow’s our Pulse field trip!
The tour of Ryan’s company. Lucy jammed her finger down and deleted the text.
She then opened her email. Only one new message downloaded, the bold lettering forming a word Lucy had been able to spell since she was four. Her heart wedged itself in her throat.
Please.
Her finger gently tapped the screen, and she closed her eyes, knowing when she opened them, her world would never be the same.
She opened. She read. She kept reading. She read again. And again. And again and again and again and it never changed.
How could it not change?
She ripped off her pajamas, wanted to keep ripping, right through her skin, this skin that was being eaten alive by something devouring it from the inside, something she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. And she didn’t. She didn’t want to be in this skin any more than she wanted to be here in this room, in this dorm, in this life. She just didn’t . . . didn’t want . . . she didn’t have anything left to want.
She tore the pennant off her wall, jumped out of bed, and clawed through her closet, yanking her exercise tights and tank off the hanger so hard that she fell back against the bunk bed. The thud roused Maddie.
“I’m trying to sleep,” Maddie groaned.
Lucy ignored her and wrenched herself into her running gear. She rammed her feet into her limited production sneakers, opened the door, and ran.
Past the fountain in the quad.
The eagerness shown in updating your application, while commendable, ultimately called certain values held in high regard by our institution into question.
Past the student center.
Concern arose regarding the promised recommendation from Mr. Ryan Thompson that never arrived.
Past the ValleyStart headquarters.
This concern deepened as claims of social media prowess were proven to be false.
Past the library.
Misrepresentation, be it from a lack of follow-through or purposeful deceit, cannot be disregarded.
Past the computer science center.
When considered along with the unfortunate circumstances of your missed interview, which was not preceded by a notice of cancellation or need to reschedule . . .
Past the tech day camp.
. . . we regret to inform you that we will not be able to offer admission to our incoming class and your name has been removed from our alternate list.
Past and past and past.
Removed removed removed.
Lucy’s arms pumped and her feet pummeled the ground.
Have a nice life, loser.
She sprinted through the park that bordered the edge of campus, her eyes zeroing in on the backless bench in front of her. She stayed her course, closing the gap, and when she neared it, sprang into the air to hurdle it. One leg stretched out, clearing it easily, but the toe of her other foot clipped the edge, and she pitched forward, plowing into the ground face-first.
The impact forced all the air from her lungs and she rolled onto her back, grappling for oxygen. Pennant still clutched in one fist, she wrapped both hands around her torso and curled her legs toward her stomach, reaching for them, holding herself, rocking, fighting the tears rising to the surface. And then, she flung her arms and legs to the side, spread-eagled on the ground, and screamed.
It wasn’t until she finally stood that she saw the playground off to the side. Swings, slides, merry-go-rounds all motionless, halted as children and parents and nannies gawked at the spectacle that was Lucy Katz.
She waved.
And curtsied.
Then plopped onto the bench that had tried to kill her, motionless herself until her last tear dried.
Now what?
* * *
* * *
She spent the morning wandering through campus, her walk as aimless as her life. She shredded the Stanford pennant as she went, dropping strips of felt into trash cans along the way until there was nothing left but bits of red fuzz beneath her fingernails.
When her eyes rested on the tall glass windows and steel frame of the computer science complex—a modern anomaly on the mostly white stucco and red tile campus—Lucy realized where she was: outside Nishi’s office. Lucy was inside and knocking on her door before thinking through why.
“Lucy?” Nishi said, glancing at her phone. “I don’t see you on my schedule—”
“I’m not. Sorry, I can go.”
“No, no, come in. I’ve got some time.” She sipped from a small blue ceramic mug. “What can I help you with?”
Lucy hovered in the doorway, inhaling the warm spice of Nishi’s chai, unsure how to answer. Because she needed help, they all did, so much help.
“Is it your presentation?” Nishi said. “I can’t imagine it’s not perfect down to the fade-ins and -outs. You’ve been meticulous about taking notes on everything since the first session. Your notebook must be an excellent blueprint for Lit.”
Her notebook. Lucy’s notebook was an excellent blueprint for Lit. It contained everything they’d thought and done and hoped to do. And had been missing for days. Since the night with Ryan.
A shock wave jolted her.
His car.
When they’d careened across the street and into Ryan’s driveway, everything she had with her was thrown to the floor. She’d grabbed her bag. She remembered grabbing her bag. And then she remembered grabbing her notebook off the table in the restaurant. She’d never put it in her bag.
Ryan had it. And must have given it to Gavin.
And it was then that she knew the answer to her earlier question. Gavin wanted her to know it was him. Same as Ryan did. They wanted her to know they did this—together. That they teamed up to destroy not just Lit but her. Because if she told about the code, she’d have to tell about that night with Ryan. And the one with Gavin. Everything would come out. And it wouldn’t matter who Lucy was or wasn’t; all that would matter was what it looked like. What she looked like. And that wasn’t anything good.
So what? She’d already lost everything.
Nishi sat behind the desk, an increasingly confused look on her face, but Lucy was remembering a different expression: the awe she’d shown upon meeting Lucy’s mother.
Which meant Lucy had just one thing left: her reputation. And Maddie’s and Delia’s. She had to protect all of them.
She moved into the office, her hand at her side, her fingers typing a quick text to Gavin.
Take it down. You won.
Three little dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again.
She didn’t care—whatever he had to say, Lucy was done with Gavin. She blocked his number.
An extra layer of guilt weighed heavy on her as she sat in the wooden chair across from Nishi. She switched off her ringer and shoved her phone under her leg.
“Lit is . . .” Lucy struggled to finish her sentence. Finally, she simply told the only truth she could. “Things aren’t going the way I planned.”
“Is that all?” Nishi pushed her laptop aside.
“I’m sorry, but . . . what?”
“Don’t get me wrong. Earthquakes, root canals, zombie apocalypse—plans have their place. But happy accidents? Why, they’ve given us everything from Corn Flakes to pacemakers to Post-it Notes. To me.”
That got Lucy’s attention.
Nishi folded her hands together, the long sleeves of her tunic, red with a small black teardrop pattern, resting against the desk. “I was an engineer. That’s what I came here to do and to be. But when I got sick of crashing on my cousin Sanjay’s couch and eating a diet of ramen, I took the only job I could get, which was in marketing. But it was pl
anning three product launches, four focus groups, and my boss’s daughter’s wedding all in one year with inferior software that led to me creating my own.”
“Your first company.”
“Listen, Lucy, I just think when life hands you lemons and all you can think to do is make lemonade, you’re not trying hard enough. And you’ve never had my mom’s lemon chicken biryani.”
Lucy drew in a breath.
“Sound familiar?”
“My mom. Except hers was lemon cake.”
“Never had much of a sweet tooth. But the sentiment stuck. Heard your mom say it in a talk when I first moved here. You know she was one of the first women in tech to reach a C level?”
“But she’s stayed there. Under three different CEOs.”
“Exactly,” Nishi said. “She’s stayed. Under three different CEOs. All voted out and yet the business is more profitable each year. Why do you think that is?”
Lucy had never thought of it that way before.
“Women like your mom, they give hope to the rest of us that we can be firsts too, be it the first with brown skin or a name that’s hard to pronounce or whatever isn’t what people expect to see on a founder’s profile page. You might say she’s the reason I never quit.”
A hardness pressed against the sides of Lucy’s throat, and she stared at the new scuff on her formerly pristine sneaker. But inside she thought, Me too.
“So,” Lucy started, “if we needed to change Lit, could we? Could we present something else?”
“A happy accident? Sure, why not? The mentoring and beta tests are all to help teams put together the best presentation that they can. If a team wants to forgo all of it, that’s their choice.”
And Lucy knew, she had to find Maddie and Delia.
TWENTY–SIX
SYNERGY • Working together so the combined effect is greater than the sum of the parts
IT WAS THE THUNK that finally roused Maddie from bed. She climbed down from her bunk, smelling a bit like Danny’s favorite socks. She opened the door, and a hefty overnight package fell into the room. The return address wasn’t one she recognized. Unlike the handwriting on the note inside.
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