by Yvonne Woon
The other days we had Foundations of Management with Ms. Perez, followed by User Experience & Design with Mr. Lajani. The time in between was filled with English and history, which we had to learn since we were still technically in high school.
All the while, Mast sat a few desks away, the back of his neck furrowing as he looked up at the whiteboard. I was acutely aware of his presence, which bothered me. We hadn’t talked since our last encounter, which I was still indignant about, though I couldn’t tell if I was upset with him or just too proud to admit that maybe he’d been right.
I tried to put him out of my mind. I didn’t like him, I reminded myself. He was charming, yes, but he was also arrogant and emboldened by his charm. It was annoying how easily everything came to him, how teachers loved him, how his code was always so elegant and ordered, as though his mind was organized like an online database, everything in its right place and ready to be accessed with just a simple query. I hated that every time I thought he was mocking me, he was actually being sincere and kind, and I hated how brazen he was, how he assumed he knew the intricate workings of my mind, as though he could see things about me that I couldn’t. But mostly I hated that he was usually right. How was it that this stranger could see me so clearly, could know me almost as well as I knew myself?
All this I knew to be true, and yet, perplexingly, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Someone like you, he’d said, as though I were a person unbothered by the opinion of others, as though I were untouchable. I liked that version of me, the version he seemed to see.
Mast turned to me, as though he knew I had been looking at him. His eyes met mine and held my gaze for the briefest moment, as though he knew what I was thinking. In a panic, I looked away and pretended to take notes.
“Why can’t I stop staring at him,” Seema whispered while Mr. Lajani diagrammed how a website design would need to be altered to work on different platforms.
“What?” I said, startled that Seema had somehow gained access to my thoughts, only to realize that she was talking about Mr. Lajani, a perplexingly beautiful man with glasses and an olive complexion.
“There’s got to be something wrong with him,” Amina said.
“He looks like a watch model,” Seema said.
“Standing in front of the Swiss Alps, staring pensively into the distance with a hand draped on his cheek,” Amina continued.
“I would buy anything he tried to sell me,” Seema whispered.
“I could watch him sketch UX drawings all day,” Amina said.
“He’s wearing a wedding ring,” Kate said, rolling her eyes.
Amina shrugged. “Doesn’t mean we can’t look.”
“I wonder who she is,” Seema said. “She probably speaks at least four languages and owns a lot of silk dresses.”
While they ogled him, I tried to keep up with his lecture. None of the other fellows seemed concerned with the speed at which everything was happening, which made me even more worried that I didn’t belong. Sure, they were working hard, but not in the frenzied, swimming-against-the-current way that I was. They chatted in class, unconcerned that they were missing important bits of information. They ate long lunches and took walks outside. They flew their drones in the lawns and played video games and checked out Foundry cars to drive by the properties of famous tech CEOs and fantasize about living there.
I tried my best to hide that I was struggling. When my mom called, I assured her everything was fine. Classes were great, I told her. I was meeting so many interesting people and learning so much. When I stayed up late to finish my assignments, I watched the lawn outside, which was speckled with little rectangles of light from the other dorm rooms. As they flicked off, one by one, I turned mine off, too, so no one would know I was awake, still working. Sometimes, when I was feeling particularly lonely, I would gaze across at the boys’ dormitory and wonder which little yellow window belonged to Mast, but quickly banished the thought from my mind.
I was up late working on my programming problem set when a message came in.
NEW MESSAGE FROM U/OBJECTPERMANENCE:
This is ground control calling to check in on the universe’s most impressive black hole. How’s it going? Have you engulfed the school yet with your incredible gravity?
Though I was in a crummy mood, I couldn’t help but smile.
SENT MESSAGE FROM U/ARRAYOFLIGHT:
Black hole expanding, absorbing light, bending time and space. Would recommend not coming any closer in case you get sucked in.
NEW MESSAGE FROM U/OBJECTPERMANENCE:
What if I want to be sucked in?
I felt suddenly shy, as though he could see me through the screen.
SENT MESSAGE FROM U/ARRAYOFLIGHT:
Okay, but no pictures or reporting. I want to make sure you want to be sucked in for my black hole personality and not just so you can be the first person to document what it’s like being on the inside of an interstellar event.
NEW MESSAGE FROM U/OBJECTPERMANENCE:
Deal. So things aren’t going any better?
I could be honest and admit that things were going terribly, but the thought of telling him about school made me feel worse. Part of why I loved talking to ObjectPermanence was because he was an escape. I liked the person I became when I talked to him.
SENT MESSAGE FROM U/ARRAYOFLIGHT:
Not really. Honestly, sometimes I wish I could just go home.
NEW MESSAGE FROM U/OBJECTPERMANENCE:
You told me when you first got in that you’ve wanted to go to this school since you were a little kid and that you knew it wasn’t going to be easy but that you were excited for the challenge. Maybe this is what not-being-easy feels like.
I’d forgotten I’d said that, and it was painful to be reminded of how hopeful I’d once been.
SENT MESSAGE FROM U/ARRAYOFLIGHT:
Maybe. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we went to school together. Maybe we’re at school together right now and we don’t even know it. Maybe I pass you in the hallway every day.
NEW MESSAGE FROM U/OBJECTPERMANENCE:
I don’t know if you’d like me if you met me in person.
SENT MESSAGE FROM U/ARRAYOFLIGHT:
How could I not?
NEW MESSAGE FROM U/OBJECTPERMANENCE:
I don’t know. I’m different with you. I’m a better version of myself. Either way, it would be devastating.
SENT MESSAGE FROM U/ARRAYOFLIGHT:
What would be?
NEW MESSAGE FROM U/OBJECTPERMANENCE:
Finding out that you were here all along.
My breath caught in my throat. I should have been overjoyed, but I couldn’t help but feel sad. I wanted so badly for it to be true, to swap my real life for my online one, to be able to look into ObjectPermanence’s eyes, to feel his fingers graze mine, to hear his voice say the words he was typing. But I knew it could never happen. The whole reason we could talk to each other the way we did was because we were anonymous, because we would never see each other in real life.
I wanted to enumerate all the ways that he made me feel more alive, more like myself, but I didn’t. I couldn’t allow myself to imagine something that wouldn’t come true.
SENT MESSAGE FROM U/ARRAYOFLIGHT:
I’m better when I’m talking to you, too.
We said goodnight, and I closed my laptop and stared at the wall, wondering how I had come so far and yet was still trying to wish myself into an alternate life.
“Wiser,” I said, waking my phone. “Tell me about California.”
That was the saddest realization. I was finally in California, but things had somehow stayed the same. There was no magical transformation. No perfect mentor or premade group of friends. It didn’t matter where I was; I was still alone. I was still me.
Ten
“Hello. Earth to Xia.”
I was sitting at breakfast, hacking at a waffle and wondering if the dining hall was always this loud and bright and if I could s
omehow raise my stock by installing programmable shades on the cathedral windows. “What?”
Amina was looking at me as though she was expecting an answer. “Are you okay? All you’re doing is saying Yeah to everything I say.”
“That’s because I agree,” I said.
“You agree with ‘What do you think Arun did to boost his stock by a point?’”
I winced. “Yes? Sorry. I didn’t sleep that well last night.”
We were sitting with Kate and Seema, who had stopped talking and seemed to be listening closely to what I was saying. Kowalski had given us a particularly annoying assignment, and I’d spent the last three days working on it only to have it fail every single time, and I couldn’t figure out why. Still, I didn’t want them to know I was having a hard time. “Allergies,” I explained. “Wait, Arun’s stock is up, too?”
Somehow, while I’d been struggling just to get my assignments to work properly, Mast, Amina, and Deborah had risen to the top of the class, with stock valued at fifteen, while everyone else had bumped theirs at least a point. I was the only one still below ten. The only slight improvement to my situation was that the focus had shifted away from me and onto Deborah, who had become the new target for anonymous gossip—an attempt to lower her stock—though every time I read something about her online, I felt as sick to my stomach as I did that day I ran into her in the bathroom.
I pulled at the collar of my shirt. We were all dressed up in professional clothes to go on our first corporate visit. It was the first day I’d strayed from my normal turtleneck and black pants, and was instead wearing a white collared shirt and gray trousers that my mom had bought me at a discount store for interviews. Around us, everyone had started filing outside, where a fleet of Foundry SUVs were already waiting for us. I climbed into one with Amina, Kate, and Seema, and tried to look alert as we drove up into the hills.
Vilbo was one of the biggest social networking sites in the world. Its campus was built into the side of a hill in the shape of a V and had the lush feel of a futuristic spacecraft that had crashed in paradise and had been swallowed by flora.
Ms. Perez had arranged for us to get a tour. Afterward, we would mingle with executives and pitch our start-ups. Though it was supposed to be casual, everyone was treating it like a funding competition. Kate had looked up the executives in the company and had pared them down to a short list of people who she thought would be there, along with any hobbies and professional interests she could find online.
She and Seema were debating whether they should focus on the female or male executives, while a member of the corporate communications team met us and began the tour. Seema thought female, because they would be more inclined to help other women, but Kate argued male, because women were naturally competitive with each other and men were more inclined to pay attention to young women, even if we were underage.
I was too busy feeling intimidated to participate in their conversation. Though I’d practiced a short pitch and a few sample questions with Wiser, I hadn’t prepared nearly as much as the others and had clearly misunderstood the importance of this networking hour.
At the front of the group, the tour guide was telling us about the gym and salon and spa, the rock-climbing wall and the fleet of electric bikes that were a courtesy to all employees. I wondered if I could just sneak out, hop on a bike, and ride back to my dorm room. Would anyone notice I was gone?
There were seven restaurants, the guide continued, two of which were four stars. All of the food was free, of course, and most of the produce was grown in vertical gardens that lined the atrium like velvet wallpaper. There were themed work rooms that were decorated to approximate different places in the world. An internet café in China, a coffee shop in California, a library in London. They’d even re-created the original college dorm room where Vilbo had been founded, down to the worn-out carpet and the stains on the couches. They called it the Back to Your Roots Room because people liked to go there to think when they were stuck. It helped them remember that the best ideas came from humble beginnings.
Maybe instead of sneaking out I could just live here. I could sleep in one of the work rooms, live on free food, shower in the spa, and walk around looking official in the daytime. I wouldn’t need to pitch my product. The campus could just absorb me.
“You’re looking professional,” Mast said from behind me. He had cleaned himself up and was wearing a casual blue suit with sneakers. Admittedly, he looked good.
“Are you being sarcastic?” I asked.
“No, I’m serious. You look nice.”
I studied him, still suspicious that he was mocking me. “I see you ditched your comic book shirt.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I have it on underneath. It’s part of my strategy, in case it comes out that one of the executives likes comic books. Then I can casually rip off my shirt and show him we’re kindred spirits.”
“What if it’s a she?”
“Good point. In that case, I won’t rip off my shirt because that would be inappropriate, and instead I’ll just show her my PowerPoint presentation.”
“You made a PowerPoint presentation?”
“Yeah, you didn’t?”
I swallowed. I wanted to go to the free salon and ask them to give me a mysterious blond bob. I would don a pair of Vilbo sunglasses and a Vilbo-branded T-shirt and slip out the back door in my disguise, ready to start my new life. “No, I didn’t realize that—”
“I’m just kidding. Wow, that was painful to watch. Of course I didn’t make a PowerPoint presentation. I have my pitch and my charm and my lucky shirt. That’s it.”
I let out a breath, relieved that he was joking. “You’re a jerk.”
“I didn’t think you’d actually believe me,” Mast said, grinning. “How would I even show someone a presentation while networking? Project it onto a cocktail napkin and use a little toothpick as a pointer?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “Maybe you have some kind of holographic projection device. People here have all sorts of things that I’ve never heard of before.”
He leaned toward me as though he were going to whisper in my ear. He smelled crisp like laundry, like a sunny, Sunday morning. “The problem with you is that you spend too much time thinking about other people.”
I prickled at his response. “That’s not true.”
Mast raised his eyebrow. He was so close that I could almost feel the air compressing between us, like we were magnetized.
“You think you know me but you don’t.”
“Then why are you getting so mad?”
“I’m not mad. I’m just—” I guess I was mad. Why was I letting him get to me?
“You think everyone here is better than you. You think they have more money, more gadgets, more experience, more connections.”
“Because they do.”
Mast looked at me as though he saw something that I didn’t see in myself. “Yeah, but you have something no one else has.”
My face was hot. I wanted to get away from this person who seemed to have access to the worst thoughts I had about myself. “What’s that?”
Mast studied me, disappointed that I didn’t know. “Grit.”
Ms. Perez thanked our tour guide and told us we were going to sit for a brief presentation, then the networking hour would begin.
I tried to pay attention but felt unsettled. It bothered me that he felt he knew more about me than I did about myself, when we had met just a few weeks before. And worse, I worried he was right.
They ushered us into an auditorium, the same one we’d all seen in photographs. I sat next to Amina, who’d saved me a seat near the front.
“Can you believe we’re here?” she whispered. “This is where every major product launch took place. It looks just like it does in the videos. It’s like seeing Oprah’s oak tree in real life. It’s like spotting a celebrity animal on the street. It’s like meeting Stevie Wonder and discovering that his voice sounds exactly the way it does on his albums
.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to summon the excitement I would have otherwise felt had it not been for Mast. Had he been joking when he’d said I had grit? What did that even mean?
“Are you okay?” Amina said.
“Just nervous.”
The lights dimmed and a man walked onto the stage. The screen behind him brightened, bearing the Vilbo logo. He introduced himself as the head of marketing and communications and began telling us about Vilbo’s start-up story.
Even in the dark, I could feel Mast’s presence behind me, but I refused to turn and look. What did he know, anyway? He was a stranger. He didn’t know me; he was just pretending.
I tried to pay attention to the presentation. Something about an anti-bullying initiative. Something about installing free internet access for people in rural areas. I clapped when everyone else did. I tried to tell myself that I belonged here. That I was just as good as everyone else. If I repeated it enough, maybe I would believe it.
When the presentation was over, the lights brightened and we were led into a sunlit atrium where a dozen or so executives were chatting while kitchen staff arranged a table with drinks and hors d’oeuvres.
I paused at the threshold with Amina while everyone else poured in. Kate and Seema immediately approached two of the female executives and introduced themselves. AJ, Andy, and Mike had cornered three of the older executives, and everyone else had dispersed, chatting and laughing and shaking hands.
“It’s like they’ve been networking their whole lives,” I said.
“They have been,” Amina said.
“It’ll be fine, right?” I said. “Networking is just having the same conversation with a lot of different people over and over.”
“Right,” Amina said. “Good luck.”
“You too.”
