by Kiley Roache
“That’s a really interesting idea,” he says, skimming his notes. “I’m impressed.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“So how many users do you have?” he asks.
I look to Sara. She’s looking from Robbie to me and back.
“What?” Michael asks. “What’s going on?”
I clear my throat and turn back to him. “We’re not sure.”
“What do you mean?” He looks at Sara. “You didn’t build a way to gather that sort of information?”
“We did,” Robbie says. “It’s just...”
“We haven’t checked it yet,” Sara admits.
“You haven’t checked it?” Michael looks back to me, disbelief in his eyes.
“The thing is,” I say, “we just launched yesterday.”
He stands up. His face is red, and he seems to be holding himself back the best he can, his calm, cool, Californian demeanor gone. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. I didn’t know an exhale could sound that angry. “So tell me exactly why—besides the obvious fact of who your father is—you are in my office right now?” His gaze digs into me.
“Well...I knew it could take months to get meetings, so I sent out a few feelers yesterday.” I’m speaking too quickly, almost tripping over my words. “I didn’t know we’d be asked to meet today, I thought it’d be in a few months and we’d be in the perfect position to pitch by then.” I pause, weighing whether I should say what I want to next, knowing Sara will want to kill me. But things are already spiraling rapidly and the Hail Mary pass is my only option. “We’re hoping to hit a million users in three months.”
He shakes his head and walks to the door to pull it open. “Well maybe you should spend more of your time building your product and less planning for what you’re going to do when it’s magically the next big thing. Either way, you should definitely stop wasting mine.”
Sara and Robbie stand quietly and walk out the door with their tails between their legs.
I stay back for a second. “Sir, I—”
“Get out of my office.” He throws the notepad down on his desk. “It’s ridiculous you even had this appointment.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sara
I stare at the elevator doors, which remain closed. Robbie and I practically ran out of the office, only to get down to the lobby and realize we had no idea where to go.
Across the vestibule, Robbie is talking into his cell phone, I think to the guy who drove him here.
Braden has still not made it down. I can’t imagine what he could possibly be saying, what he’s thinking, staying up there.
I’ve never been so embarrassed, so ashamed, in my entire life. It felt like if I’d spent one more second in that man’s view, my skin would burst into flames.
“Sorry about that,” Robbie says as he hangs up. “It’s a pickup with no backseat, or he’d give you a ride too.”
“No problem,” I say. “I Ubered here, and I was planning to do the same back.”
He nods.
We are silent, and all I can think about is the giant Williams, Brown and Moore logo behind him. It dwarfs us by comparison.
I sigh. “I can’t believe how terribly that went. Like, I wasn’t expecting an offer. But I thought we’d be politely declined, not yelled at.” I run a hand through my hair. “What do we do from here?”
“Get back to work.” Robbie shrugs. “I don’t think these sort of things usually happen like lightning striking,” he says. “It’s more step by step.”
“I just thought this was it, you know?” I look out the glass doors at the overcast sky, which seems to hover low over the foothills in the distance. “Now I just feel stupid.”
The elevator dings and the doors spring open. Braden steps off, radiating negative energy.
“Hey,” I say.
He bumps into my shoulder as he passes, sending me stumbling backward, and pushes briskly past without a word.
The glass door slams closed behind him.
Oh, that is the last straw.
I push through the door, holding it open for Robbie, who is close behind me. Braden is on foot, turning right onto the road just as Robbie’s friend’s pickup pulls into the drive.
“Go on home.” I turn to Robbie. “I’ll take care of the drama king.”
“Are you sure?” He looks from me to the boy who is taking off down the street on foot like he is filming a melodramatic music video.
“Yeah, we don’t both need to waste our time.”
I wave goodbye and head after Braden, almost running to catch up. My shoes pinch my feet, and the wind picks up, blowing my hair wildly, turning it into a tangled mess, I’m sure.
“Would you care to explain what the hell happened in there?” I say when I am within earshot.
Braden glances over his shoulder, but then turns forward without a word, continuing down the street. There is no sidewalk, just the quiet, winding road surrounded by trees. The branches rustle in the wind and the sky gets even darker, making it look more like dusk than midafternoon.
“Braden!” I yell.
“What?” He stops walking and spins around. “What could you possibly want now?”
“Don’t talk to me like that.” I’m taken aback. “You are the one who was supposed to handle the businesses side. I built the damn thing—you’re the ‘CFO.’” I mimic him with a goofy voice. “Remember? Why the hell would you send us into a meeting with zero preparation?”
“I didn’t think they would get back to me that quickly. I—” He grabs his head, digging his fingers into fistfuls of his usually perfect hair. He turns to the side and paces into the road.
Raindrops fall around me, a few at a time. One drops directly on my head, feeling almost as if an angel was tapping me with her finger.
“No, that’s not fair,” I say. I straighten my shoulders, building up my nerve. “Don’t act ignorant. You could have waited until we were ready, but you didn’t want to.”
He turns back around and stares at me, his mouth agape.
“You want so badly for this to be huge. Saying it was ready when it wasn’t, talking it up to the paper, setting expectations waaay beyond what we could hope to achieve.” I laugh, even though it’s not funny at all. “You don’t build anything—all you do is screw us over.”
“You think I don’t know that?” His voice cracks. “You think I don’t know that I am not the one who comes up with ideas or knows how to build them?”
He sits on the curb and clasps his head over his knees.
“Oh...” I was going to tell him not to sit, that the mud will ruin those expensive pants. But he’s on the ground before I can warn him.
I purse my lips, trying to find the words to respond. I wasn’t expecting Braden, of all people, to be so vulnerable, but that doesn’t make me less mad at him. Or maybe it does. I don’t know. Pity and anger swirl inside me, like red and green smoke competing for room.
I stay silent and just look up and down the road, watching as a Tesla races past in the opposite lane, headlights cutting through the ever-increasing rain.
Braden looks up at me. “Do you know why they talked to us fuckin’ months before I would’ve expected them to?”
I shake my head.
“Because his partner recognized my last name. He even said in the email to ‘say hello’ to my dad.” He rolls his eyes. “Classic.”
“Are you...complaining about your dad helping you?” I think of my own parents, who were overjoyed about Educonnect but had no idea what it did. They have no way to help me in this field, but would give just about anything to be able to.
He laughs. “God, I must sound like such a brat.”
“I wouldn’t say that...” I say.
“That’s because pageant girls know not to be rude to your face,” he jabs.
“It’s just...” He starts again, the vulnerability back in his voice. “So many people at this school have built themselves from nothing. They were the top kids at their high school, the pride of their hometown. And I’m sure that they feel like, you know, if they can make it this far, they can make it. Because they know how to help themselves.”
I tug the hem of my dress as I take a seat next to him. Water starts to soak through as soon as I make contact with the wet pavement, and I cringe at the thought of ruined fabric but try to push the concern out of my mind and focus on the teary-eyed boy in front of me.
“Do you know what my dad said when I got in here?” he asks, not waiting for an answer. “‘Good, I’ve sure as hell donated enough.’ There was no excitement—for me, it was like, if I hadn’t gotten in here, it would’ve been an embarrassment. How the hell am I supposed to make them proud if nothing I do will ever be impressive?”
I stare at him as the rain picks up even more. The sky seems to open up, and my dress is soaked through in seconds. I’m sure my makeup is running down my face like charcoal tears.
They say it’s sunny three hundred days of the year in Santa Clara County, California. Today seems to be one of the other sixty-five.
“You want to know why I’m so anxious to be part of something huge? Because every year I’m not doing something earth-shattering is another year I fall behind where my father was when he was my age.”
“That’s so unreasonable,” I say. “Being a millionaire under thirty shouldn’t be the bar.”
“It is to my parents.”
“Aw, c’mon. They can’t actually think that.”
“Sara.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been going to schools with at least a fifty-thousand-dollar yearly tuition since preschool. Do you know how successful I have to be to return on that investment, to not be a loss to my parents?”
“But you’re their son, not a stock. And sure, they’ve helped you, but you’ve worked hard too. They might be hard on you, but of course they’re proud of you.”
“I think you assume they’re better people than they are.” He turns away from me, looking into the grove of trees that lines the road. I turn to look too. Many of the branches are yellow or gray, and I suspect the trees are probably appreciating this break from the seemingly ceaseless California drought.
“Fifty-thousand-dollar preschool?” I ask.
He nods.
“That must have been just insane,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “The point is to be a feeder into elementary school and then high school. After that we had the highest rate of acceptance into Ivy Leagues in the country.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I’m sure.” I try to imagine what it would be like, for a letter from Warren or Harvard to be the expectation, not cause for celebration.
“We, uh...” He clears his throat. “We also had one of the highest rates of suicide.”
My heart drops.
“Not to mention eating disorders, drug abuse.” He shakes his head. “It’s so much pressure, you know.” He wipes a tear from his eye. “My close friend, he was, um... He passed away. I think—I think—” He stumbles over his words, letting out a sob.
I move closer to him, putting a hand on his back.
He takes a long, shaky breath. “I think he started to feel like if he couldn’t be perfect, he didn’t want to be alive. Which makes no sense, you know? Because it’s impossible to be perfect, and—” Tears run down his face. “And he was such an amazing guy. He made so many people so happy. I mean his laugh... Goddamn, I’d do the stupidest shit to make him laugh because it was just such a happy sound—it was contagious, you know? And that’s the thing, he had all these things in his mind he thought he had to be, but damn it, if he was just here right now, and I could talk to him and make him laugh about something stupid? That would be the best thing in the world.”
I lean forward, pulling Braden into a hug. He wraps his arms around me, slowly at first, like he is unsure. But then I feel his body give in, falling into mine. I can feel him shake as he sobs into my shoulder, trying to catch his breath.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “Just breathe. It’s okay. Just breathe.”
Chapter Sixteen
Braden
The email from UCLA comes while I am at the student union working on homework. I prefer to work here between the food court and the big shady patio. The library is too quiet, like a tomb, my room too easy to nap in, and the dorm lounge too rowdy and filled with people wanting to offer you a beer. Here, with the smell of Subway bread, and coffee brewing at the ever-crowded Starbucks, there is the perfect amount of activity for me to concentrate.
I type a reply quickly.
We are considering a number of candidates to be included in the next round of school launches and will get back to you as soon as possible. If you have interest in being the Campus Rep for your school, which includes automatic promotion to gold status, please send along a complete marketing plan, along with your résumé as soon as possible.
Best,
Braden Hart
CFO, Perfect10
I’m only sort of lying. We wanted to launch to the next ten schools on the same day and were hoping to announce which schools by the end of the week. The problem is that we received requests from only eight, or I guess, nine, now. So the competition wasn’t exactly as fierce as I might have let on.
UCLA is one of the ones we want most—being a public school, it will bring up our number of users substantially but maintain an aura of exclusivity because it’s also a top university. But I don’t want them to know that. We want each school to be hyped they were selected and feel like they won out against huge competition. Same for each campus ambassador.
“Is that Perfect10?” a female voice says.
I reach to close my computer slightly before looking behind me. But the girl isn’t looking at my screen. She’s looking at the phone of the girl sitting next to her. They seem to be here together, sitting at the same table with the same pink Starbucks drinks in front of them.
The second girl, a pretty brunette in a purple dress, blushes. “Yeah, I just got it today.”
“Dude.” The first girl pulls her phone from her bag. “I got it a week ago, and I am literally addicted.” Her voice bounces over every syllable of the word literally as if to add emphasis to her already-hyperbolic use of the word.
“Did you hear...” Girl One leans in as if to tell her purple-clad friend a secret, although her voice loses none of its volume. “Joe Fitzpatrick is on it?”
“The quarterback?” The purple-dressed girl’s eyes go wide.
“Yeah.” Girl One smiles, seeming pleased with the reaction to her information.
“No way!”
“I know, right. Last year I would spend entire Friday nights trying to find what party he was at. Now I just have to get to platinum.”
Great, I think. We are assisting stalkers.
Well, only if this chick makes it to platinum. I look her up and down. And without some really creative photo editing, she won’t.
“Have you chatted with him yet?” Purple Dress leans forward.
“No, not yet, but I will soon. I’ve already made it into an exclusive level.” She flips her hair. “Silver.”
“Oh, that’s really cool,” Purple Dress says innocently. “I’m not sure how to check mine.”
I make a mental note to make the status check button more obvious. After all, if people don’t know where they stand, they won’t be driven to change it. Maybe we should move it to the main page—or, uh, Sara and Robbie should move it to the main page.
“I mean, you probably don’t have one yet.” Girl One laughs. “But here, I’ll show you,” she says with pride, taking Purple Dress’s phone. She swipes and clicks a few times co
nfidently.
And then the smug look falls from her face. “That can’t be right.”
“What?” The other girl leans forward, worry in her eyes. “Am I in the totally ugly one or something? Oh my god, am I not in one at all?”
“No.” Girl One sets the phone down on the table. “You’re in Gold. How the hell are you already above me? You just got the app.”
“Really?” Her eyes light up, and she reaches for the phone. “I’m gold!”
“Yeah whatever, it’s just a stupid app.” Girl One puts her phone in her backpack and zips it closed with purpose.
Although stupid app seem like terrible words to hear about the thing I have dedicated the last few months of my life to, this is actually the best possible conversation I could have overheard.
Excitement is one thing. I know people are excited by the app from all the press we’re getting. But people read an article or see a commercial about a product, get excited about it, mean to check it out later and then forget to buy it all the time.
But this girl is frustrated. From her slouched shoulders to the frown on her face, she is visibly shattered that she hasn’t gotten a higher rating on the app.
She’s right where we want her. Once she’s done crying about it, she’ll become obsessed with getting a higher rating, always online, driving up our numbers. She might even pay to check her numerical score and how close she is to gold, multiple times a day.
I finish my smoothie and close my laptop. I’ve done enough work for today.
* * *
“The best thing just happened,” I say as I push open the door to Sara’s room.
“What?” two voices ask at the same time.
“Oh, hey Robbie.” I wave to him and he waves back from his perch on the couch. “Damn, are you guys always here coding?” I set my bag on the empty chair next to Sara’s.
“Well, it would help if there weren’t just two of us,” she says, but with less bite in her voice than usual. She looks at me with soft concern, rather than her usual contempt. I’m not quite sure if I like it.
