by Yvonne Woon
“So you’re into maps.”
“That’s what I’m here for. I do multidimensional navigation. Buildings, natural landscapes, underground walkways. Everything but streets, basically. The layers are crowdsourced, so anyone can add to them by tracking their location on their phone. There are different levels with maps to secret places that you can only access if you add enough of your own mapping to unlock that level.”
“Kind of like Squirrel?” I said, thinking of an app I’d downloaded a few months before that had just started getting popular at school.
“Oh, you’ve heard of it?” Amina looked happily surprised.
It took a moment for me register what she’d said. “Wait, you made Squirrel?” I studied Amina in awe. “Of course I’ve heard of it. All the upperclassmen used it to map the best places to drink and hook up.”
Amina groaned. “Does every app have to devolve into a dating app?”
I shrugged. “It’s what the people want.”
“I use it to time-travel.”
“What do you mean?”
“Once, I found this little reading room in the public library in Brooklyn. It used to be an apartment for the library groundskeepers, but they got rid of groundskeepers decades ago. If you pulled out all the books on one wall, you could still see the old green and pink floral wallpaper. It still had the outline of where a rotary phone hung, and you could see the pencil markings where they measured how tall their kids were. When I sat there and read, it felt like I was slipping back in time, sitting in this old secret apartment on the third floor of the library.”
I could picture myself sitting in that little room with her, touching the floral wallpaper. I wondered if there were any maps leading to places like that here when something in my pocket vibrated. Amina pulled out her Vault just as I pulled out mine. A message appeared on the screen.
Please join me for dinner at 6:00 p.m. in the atrium. LL
Amina must have received the same message I had, because she looked up at me and said, “Lars Lang.”
Five
The atrium was a bright, vaulted room in the back of the main building. It looked out over a pool and had three long dining tables already set for dinner. Strings of lights hung above them like stars.
The room was bustling when we arrived. Other fellows were standing around, holding drinks while caterers walked around with plates of hors d’oeuvres. They were dressed like little adults, the girls in professional blouses and the boys in blazers. Amina and I exchanged looks. Neither of us were dressed up.
“Maybe no one will notice,” Amina whispered.
We edged toward the drinks table when the boy whose drone I’d broke approached us.
Up close, he looked even more polished than he had before. He might have been cute had he not looked so cocky, like a prep-school boy who’d been told no for the first time in his life. He had trim brown hair and an arrogant tilt to his posture, as though he was used to people doing things for him. He flashed an insidious smile.
Two of his friends stood behind him, one built like a boxer with heavy shoulders and a thick neck, the other tall, slender, and handsome, like a politician’s son.
“Let me guess,” the drone owner said, looking between me and Amina. “A shopping app,” he said to Amina. “And crafting tutorials,” he said to me.
My face grew hot.
The boxer snickered, but the politician’s son looked uncomfortable. “Come on, AJ,” he said to the drone owner. “Leave them alone. It was just an accident.”
AJ held up his hand. “No, wait,” he said, eyeing Amina’s clothes with ridicule, as though she wasn’t fashionable enough to do a shopping app. “I bet she’s doing a nonprofit to feed the homeless or something.”
I felt her tense next to me.
“You don’t have to be a jerk,” the politician’s son mumbled, but AJ brushed him off and turned to me.
“And she’s got to be doing a translation app,” AJ said with a smirk.
Was he implying that I looked like I couldn’t speak English? I clenched my fists and tried to will my body to stop sweating. That was the last thing I needed, to sweat through my shirt in embarrassment.
A few of the other fellows had turned to us and were whispering.
I must have looked upset, because AJ gave me a smug smile. “Looks like I got it right.”
“Actually, she’s doing multidimensional navigation,” I said to him. “And I’m doing artificial intelligence.”
His smile faded.
“Now it’s my turn,” I said. “The easy guess would be surveillance, but that would be giving you too much credit. I’m going to go with something really basic like a package delivery service.”
“Or maybe a cryptocurrency that lets him buy things with his parents’ money,” Amina said.
AJ narrowed his eyes. He had the kind of quiet, seething anger that powerful people had before they did something terrible. “I make my own money.”
“Sure you do,” Amina said.
AJ turned to me. “I’m sending you an invoice for the drone you destroyed.”
“If you don’t know how to fix your own drone, you shouldn’t be here,” I said. “Unless, of course, your parents got you in.”
“I got here on my own merit,” he said. I didn’t like how he was looking at me, like I was less than nothing, like I deserved something terrible.
I swallowed, summoning my resolve. “Then prove it.”
By then, people around us had started to notice that something was happening and had grown quiet. I felt their eyes on me. This wasn’t the first impression I’d intended to give.
“Come on, man, leave it alone,” the politician’s son said to AJ. His eyes darted to me, as if to apologize.
I lowered my voice and turned to Amina. “Let’s go.”
We claimed two seats at the end of the second table just as the lights dimmed.
“So much for no one noticing our outfits,” Amina said.
People from the other table were glancing in my direction and whispering. “Now everyone’s going to know me as the girl who caused a scene at the reception.”
“All publicity is good publicity?” Amina offered.
“Do you think he’s really going to make me pay for the drone?”
“No way,” Amina said. “Not after that. He’ll be too embarrassed.”
“His parents are rich anyway,” said a girl sitting across from us. “He doesn’t need the money.”
She was slender and handsome, with blond eyelashes and a naked confidence that looked well-bred, as though she was sitting for her portrait.
“You know him?” I asked.
“We know each other from the prize circuit.”
“What’s the prize circuit?” Amina asked.
“You know, all those tech fairs and competitions they have for young innovators. A bunch of us have been going to them for years.”
So that was why everyone seemed to know each other.
“I’m Kate,” the girl said. She nodded to the girl on her right who had long black hair and buck teeth that somehow made her look even prettier. “This is Seema.
“I wouldn’t worry about AJ,” Kate continued. “Everyone knows he’s a jerk. He’s just upset because no one ever calls him out on it. That’s why everyone’s looking at you. They’re relieved.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed her but was glad to hear that at least some of my classmates knew that I hadn’t instigated the fight. “I’m Xia,” I said.
Kate smiled. She had perfect teeth. “It’s nice to meet you.”
A murmur rose over the room, and people started looking toward the door. Through the crowd, I could see Lars Lang stroll into the room. He was blond and scruffy, and carried himself like an overgrown teenager.
A few adults whom I presumed were teachers milled by the catering table, chatting. Lars approached them and shook their hands.
“I can’t believe it’s actually him,” Seema whispered.
I couldn’t either. Even though he was a household name, I liked to consider myself an early fan. I’d played his games long before they were popular and had been collecting articles about him for years. He was different than other tech giants. In interviews, he was funny and friendly and seemed half genius, half magician. The advice he always gave to kids starting to code was to think of what’s missing in your life and build it. Every time I’d read that, I’d felt he was speaking directly to me.
“He’s shorter than I imagined,” Kate said.
“He seems more approachable,” Amina said.
Lars stood at the front of the room and clinked a fork against his glass. The room fell quiet.
“Welcome to the Foundry,” he said. “My name is Lars, and though most of you know me as a founder and a CEO, I’d prefer that you think of me as your primary investor for the next year.
“We received over one hundred thousand applications this fall, and from that pool, we chose twenty. Just twenty. I’ve chosen you because of your ideas, your execution, and your imagination. You’re the innovators of your time, and I’ve brought you here to create the future. That’s your job.
“By the end of the year, only one of you will be named this year’s Founder. That person will receive our full backing to launch their company, complete with press, access, and a million dollars in seed funding.
“Unlike most schools, which assess students on grades, we measure you by your stock price. Every fellow in the room is starting off with the same stock value of ten dollars, which you can track on your Vault. As in life, your stock price will rise or fall depending on a complex set of variables synthesized by our unique assessment algorithm, which sets your stock price in real time based on factors such as your grades and participation, your performance at networking events and project demonstrations, your business proposals, the quality and progression of your product, your personality and ability to be seen as a leader, and the general belief in your product by your teachers and peers.
“That being said, there is no equation for the perfect start-up. You can ace all your classes and still lose. You can rank smack in the middle of your class and still win. What matters is how you use the knowledge you have. We offer classes in programming and design and business development. I recommend that you go, but you don’t have to as long as you complete your assignments and pass each class. We hold networking events and panels with experts and venture capitalists. You don’t have to go to those either. There’s no instruction manual for life, and likewise, there’s no instruction manual here. Frankly, I don’t care what you do all day, only that by the end of the year you’ve passed all your classes and have a product.”
He was about to continue when a girl’s voice interrupted him.
“What do you think my mom’s doing?” the voice said.
Lars looked half amused, half annoyed.
How rude, I thought, to talk while Lars Lang was giving his welcome speech.
“Do you think she’s lonely?” The voice sounded distant, like a recording. Everyone was looking around for the source, but no one at either table was speaking. I squinted. Why did the voice sound so familiar?
“Wiser, what if I’m the dumbest person here?” the voice said.
I stiffened. Why was she saying Wiser?
My own voice replied from somewhere in the room. “What if no one likes me?”
No. It couldn’t be.
“Everyone else probably knows twelve coding languages and has three patents. I’ve never even taken an advanced programming class.”
How was it possible? Frantic, I searched my bag for my phone, but it was silent, and yet my voice was still speaking from somewhere in the room, repeating all of the mortifying questions I’d asked Wiser while I was unpacking when I thought no one was listening.
Kate and Seema glanced at me. Amina gave me a questioning look. I shook my head, baffled. At the front of the room, two teachers searched for the source of the sound.
“I thought I would fit in here because I’d be around people who liked to code, but I already feel like I’m out of place,” my voice continued.
I felt the eyes of everyone in the room on me. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
“Everyone looks so glossy,” my voice said. “They have fancy cars and families that help them unload their stuff. And then there’s me, with no one, talking to a disembodied voice in my phone.”
Any old hole wasn’t enough. I wanted to invent a departiculation machine that would beam me into space, where I would be the first woman to enter a black hole. I would be a national martyr. They would broadcast it on television: a grainy image of me, floating in my spacesuit into a dark gravitational force field, never to be seen again.
“I sometimes wonder if I’m always going to be alone.”
Going to space wasn’t enough. I needed to invent a machine that erased everyone’s memory of me and all traces of my existence.
“I think my face is too round. Do you think it’s too round?” my voice continued.
No. I needed to build a time machine, the first of its kind so I could go back to 2003 and prevent myself from ever being born.
“I always feel like I’m saying the wrong thing or acting the wrong way,” my voice continued. “Do you think I spend all my time coding because I’m scared of being around other people?”
I heard a snicker from the other table. I looked up and saw AJ whispering to his friend, the boxer. I thought back to the drone hovering outside my window. It must have been recording me.
AJ caught my eye and flashed me a smile. Not knowing what else to do, I mouthed to him, Turn it off!
He only shrugged, feigning innocence.
I felt my face turn red. Finally, one of the teachers found a Bluetooth speaker beneath one of the hors d’oeuvres tables and switched it off. The room erupted in murmurs before Lars Lang called on everyone to calm down.
AJ gave me a smug look. Beside him, the boxer snickered. The politician’s son averted his eyes as though he didn’t want to be implicated. He met my gaze briefly, his expression cowardly. I glared at them all.
“If everyone could silence their phones,” Lars said.
I barely heard the rest of the speech. I had been in California for less than twelve hours and had already managed to make an enemy and publicly humiliate myself in front of some of the smartest minds in Silicon Valley. The year was off to a great start.
“What was that?” Amina asked.
“That was me paying for the drone,” I said, aware that Kate and Seema were listening, too.
“Who’s Wiser?” Kate asked. She had the kind of face that made you feel like you owed her an answer.
“My AI,” I said. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“Artificial intelligence?” Kate seemed surprised, though I couldn’t tell why.
I nodded and Kate studied me, her gaze so steady it made me uncomfortable.
“Impressive,” she murmured.
“For what it’s worth, I thought it made you sound interesting,” Amina said.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
Across the room I could see AJ slouching comfortably in his chair while everyone around him tried to earn his attention, as though he were presiding over the table. He caught my eye and I watched as his lips curled into a sickening smile.
I excused myself and walked to the bar to refill my drink.
“We have energy drinks, alkalized water, electrolyte water, or fruit-infused sparkling water,” the bartender said.
“I’d skip the energy drinks,” a voice said from behind me. “They taste like battery juice. Unless, of course, you’re bionic. Then by all means, drink up.”
I turned around to see a boy. He was a dork, but a cute dork. He wore beat-up Converse sneakers and a comic book T-shirt beneath a blazer—a half-hearted attempt at dressing up for the occasion. He had dark brown hair and a mischievous glint in his eyes, like he was in on a joke. There was nothing spectacular about him, and yet somethi
ng about his eyes made him look different from everyone else. They were brown and steady, and looked at me as though I were the most interesting person in the room.
“Are you saying I look robotic?” I asked.
He studied me. “You’re pretty symmetrical. Though if I were going to design a robot, I’d probably make it plainer so it wouldn’t be so distracting.”
I wasn’t sure if he was being sincere or making fun of my recording at dinner. “If you’re talking about what happened during the speech, that wasn’t me. I mean, it was me, but I didn’t play it on purpose. Someone was spying on me and recorded me talking to my phone—”
He let out a gentle laugh. “I wasn’t talking about the recording.”
I blushed and took in his T-shirt, which pictured a man in glasses turning into a superhero. It kind of looked like him. I liked that he was the only other person in the room who wasn’t dressed like he was going to an interview. “So you didn’t get the memo either?”
“Are you insulting my outfit?” he said with a grin.
“I’m complimenting it.” I turned to the bartender. “I’ll take a sparkling water.”
“So you’re not a robot,” the boy said.
I smiled. “No.”
“I’m Mast,” he said.
What kind of name was Mast?
“Xia.”
“Xia,” he repeated. I liked the way he said it, like it was a precious word. “So who’s this Wiser that you were talking to?”
“My AI.”
“Artificial intelligence,” he murmured, impressed. “So it can answer all those questions you asked it?”
“Not yet. It’s something I do to help her learn. I ask her questions to figure out what her weak spots are.” I left out the fact that I also did it to keep myself company.
“How does she work?”
“She analyzes your data and simulates an older version of you to give you advice.”
“So you’re basically the smartest person here.”
I flushed. Was it really possible that he could have heard that entire recording and instead of thinking that I was a lonely dork who had to invent friends, he thought I was smart?
