by Yvonne Woon
Twelve
I woke up to the sun streaming through the windows. Everything felt perfect. My pillows were remarkably fluffy given that I had slept on them all night, the bed was deliciously comfortable, and the covers were the perfect temperature—both cool and warm at the same time, a rare state of existence that seemed to defy the laws of thermodynamics. The cup of water on my bedside table was a revelation, refreshing and crisp like a spring morning and perhaps the greatest cup of water I’d ever tasted. Outside, I could see the leaves swaying gently in the morning breeze and beyond them, the sky, so brilliantly blue it looked digitally enhanced. I lived in California. It was the first time I’d really felt it.
My head throbbed—a vestige of the party—and I took an Advil, sank into the sheets, and allowed myself to think about another scientific conundrum: Mast. It was true, I didn’t like him. But it was also true that I liked him. Very much. Too much. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel the soft cotton of his shirt as I leaned toward him, the warmth of his hand on my neck as he kissed me gently like I was something of immense value.
Shortly after, a drone had flown down the hallway, taking an aerial video of the party and we’d jumped apart. Then Amina had spotted us from the adjacent room and had shouted “Pizza!”
“Is that your code word or something?” Mast had asked me.
I’d laughed nervously, wondering how much Amina had seen. “Yeah,” I’d said. “It means she wants pizza.”
“I’ve been looking for you forever,” Amina had said, approaching us. Then she’d narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What are you guys doing back here?”
“We just ran into each other while I was looking for the bathroom—” I’d said at the same time that Mast had said, “We’ve been introducing our AIs—”
“Huh,” Amina had said, squinting at us before turning to me. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah,” I’d said.
“I guess I’ll see you around?” Mast had said.
“Yeah. I’ll see you in class.”
“Class. Right.”
The pizza, like everything else that night, had been delicious, though Amina had disagreed and insisted it was subpar. “Right. The pizza is delicious and nothing happened between you and Mast.”
“Exactly.”
“You’ve clearly never been to New York and had a real pizza.”
“There’s real pizza in Worcester.”
“No there isn’t. There’s circular bread product topped with red product and milk product. It’s not the same.”
“You’ve never been to Worcester. You don’t know that.”
“I know two things: that this pizza isn’t good and that you think it’s good, and those are the only data points I need to make my conclusion.” She’d paused then. “Since you’re dying to know, I had a pretty good night, too. I talked to Ravi, who’s actually really cool. We ended up exploring the house and finding this virtual reality room upstairs that was entirely padded and soundproof, so of course we had to try it out, which was amazing until I got carsick from the goggles.”
“Sorry,” I’d said, feeling guilty that I hadn’t asked.
“You’re not going to tell me what happened with Mast, are you?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I’d insisted, unsure of why I didn’t want to tell her. Maybe because I wasn’t exactly sure what had happened myself. “We ran into each other, we talked for a little bit. It was nothing really.”
“Mm-hmm. Enjoy that pizza.”
I rolled out of bed, savoring the quiet of the morning. It was Saturday. Mast had kissed me at a party and Mitzy Erst had taken my photo. The sun was glinting through the leaves and songbirds were singing in the trees, their chirps so classically bird-like that they sounded like a recording. I had no classes. No plans. No responsibilities. I had assignments to do, but they could wait. For the first time in a long while, my day was off to a good start.
I got dressed and wondered if I would ever see Mitzy again. She’d said she didn’t need to know my name, but what did that mean? She’d been pretty drunk; I wondered if she’d even remember me, or if I would end up being just another random face in her camera roll.
The dorm was eerily quiet when I stepped into the hallway. I checked my phone. It was ten thirty, which was later than I normally woke up. Everyone had to be at the dining hall.
Outside, Marcus and Arthur were throwing a Frisbee outside the boys’ dormitory. When they saw me, they stopped. Also odd. Then something especially bizarre happened. They waved at me.
No one at the Foundry waved at me. I was the worst in the class, a person to be pitied. People only liked that I was there because I made them feel better about themselves—someone had to have the lowest stock, and in that way, I was providing a public service—and they definitely didn’t go out of their way to associate with me, for fear that my bad luck was contagious. I waved back, trying to remain calm, but couldn’t stop my mind from racing to the worst-case scenario. What did they know?
The dining hall seemed to grow quiet when I walked inside, but maybe it was in my head. I filled a bowl with milk and cereal and tried to convince myself that everything was fine, when I noticed that people were looking at me and whispering. A lump formed in my throat.
Kate and Seema were sitting at a table with AJ and his friends, Kate’s knees touching Mike’s as she played with his fingers. I guessed they were back together now. When she saw me, she stopped talking and studied me as though I was newly interesting to her.
A few seats away, AJ looked at me, then whispered something to Drew. I waited for him to shout some snide remark, but instead he said nothing. Also strange.
Amina was sitting with Deborah and Ravi. I nodded to them, holding Deborah’s gaze for a moment.
“Hey,” I said to her.
“Hey,” she said.
I was still grateful that she hadn’t told anyone about that afternoon in the bathroom, and hoped she knew it. While she and Ravi resumed debating the virtues of open map versus open-world video games, I searched the room for Mast but didn’t see him. Ravi probably knew where he was, but I couldn’t ask him.
“I was beginning to think you actually did leave,” Amina said to me as I sat down next to her.
“What do you mean?” I said to Amina.
“Yesterday?” Amina said. “Before the party, when you told me”—she lowered her voice—“that you were thinking of leaving.”
“Oh, that. Nope. Still here.” I glanced around me. “What’s going on? I feel like everyone’s staring at me.”
“Check your Vault,” Amina said with a grin.
I began to panic. What had I done to make my stock go down even further? I took mental inventory of the events of the party. Had I done anything embarrassing? Said anything stupid?
But when I checked my Vault, I gasped. My stock had gone up to fifteen.
I blinked, making sure I hadn’t hallucinated the 1, but it was still there, which meant that I was tied for the highest in the class with Deborah, Amina, and Mast.
“Impossible,” I said. “It has to be a mistake.”
“The algorithm doesn’t make mistakes,” Ravi said.
“Welcome to the upper echelon,” Deborah said sarcastically. “It feels exactly the same as it does when you’re in the lower echelon, except people fuck with you more.”
“Ray of sunshine,” Ravi said.
Amina held up her phone. “Here’s your explanation.”
It was open to the Façade app, where my face smiled back next to Mitzy’s. It was the selfie she’d taken of us at the party. I was surprised by how glamorous I looked, staring coyly at the camera, a mysterious half smile on my face like I was keeping a secret. Mitzy stood beside me with a sultry gaze. Her long hair seemed to absorb the light, and her head was tilted toward mine like we were old friends. Around us, the dim, grainy light of the party gave the photo a candid feel, like she was revealing a behind-the-scenes look at her life.
Beneath us, her c
aption read: It isn’t every day that you meet someone with an idea that will truly change the world. Meet Xia Chan, the next big thing in AI. If you want to know what she’s made, you’ll have to ask her, because my lips are sealed. But know this: She’s on her way up. Don’t blink or she might pass you by.
I didn’t realize I was smiling until Amina rolled her eyes.
“Okay, I can see I’m being replaced, which is fine, but you don’t have to rub it in by grinning about it so much.”
“You’re not being replaced,” I said. “I have plenty of room in my life for two geniuses.”
Amina pointed her fork at me. “I see your attempt to deflect the fact that you didn’t tell me you and Mitzy were besties by flattering me, and it’s working. You’re forgiven.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But I did tell you that I met her at the party.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say she was your new cheerleader.”
“She’s not my cheerleader.”
Deborah raised an eyebrow. “She looks like one.”
I studied the photo, wanting to stretch out the electrified feeling it gave me, when I noticed the comments rolling in.
>Who is this girl?
>I looked her up. She’s at the Foundry
>What is that shirt she’s wearing? She looks like a wannabe founder
>What kind of name is Xia?
>I think it’s Chinese
>Ugh too many Chinese people coming here and taking our awards
>You do realize she was born here. It says so in her bio
>She’d be hot if she put on a little makeup
>And changed her outfit
>What’s her company????
>Check the Foundry website. She’s there to work on a bot called Wiser
>It’s not a bot, it’s an AI
>Whatever, same difference
>Totally different [eyeroll]
>She’s hot . . . for an Asian girl
>I would never date an Asian girl
>They have nice skin
>Umm this isn’t a dating app. Why are you commenting on how she looks?
>This^ Mitzy’s sharing a picture of someone who she thinks is doing important work
>This is why there aren’t enough women in leadership roles
>I’d date them both. I like a little sushi with my vanilla cake
>Sushi’s from Japan, not China, and also you’re a jerk
I felt suddenly self-conscious. Should I change my outfit? Did I need to wear makeup? I’d always known I looked different, but I never thought people would see a picture of me with Mitzy Erst and only be able to think about whether or not I was datable because I was Chinese.
Amina must’ve seen the comments, too, because her face dropped. “Don’t listen to them. They’re trolls on the internet. They’re just jealous.”
“Is my outfit that bad?” I asked her.
“No,” Amina said, though I could sense her hesitation. “It’s a black turtleneck. It’s classic.”
Ravi winced in disagreement. “It’s a little played out. Plus, aren’t you sweating in it?”
“Played out?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Amina said, giving Ravi a look. “He’s just a gamer.”
“Hey, I’ve been dressing my avatars for years,” Ravi said.
“I like it,” Deborah said. “Streamline the morning routine, free up processing power. Same thing every day—black turtleneck, black pants. The last thing we should be spending our brain power on is clothes.”
I sighed. “Noted. New outfit, more makeup, less Asian.”
“Good luck with that last part,” Amina said, then glanced behind me. “Incoming.”
I turned to see Kate, who had gotten up to refill her glass of iced tea and was now approaching our table.
“Hey,” she said to us, running a hand through her hair. “Crazy party last night, right?”
She had a dewy look to her, her cheeks glowing, her hair pulled back into a perfect loose ponytail as though she had just come back from picking wildflowers in the south of France. Everyone else in the dining hall looked like they’d gotten drunk at a party, passed out on their dorm room floor with their clothes still on, and had woken up nauseated before dragging themselves to the dining hall to eat some kind of carb before they threw up. And then there was Kate, in her linen pants and pale yellow top, smelling like lavender and picking at a fruit plate.
“Oh, I saw that photo of you,” Kate said casually, like it was no big deal. “I didn’t know you knew Mitzy.”
“We’re just acquaintances.”
“How did you two meet?”
“I bumped into her at the party.”
“The party last night?” Kate said, confused. “You met her for the first time yesterday, and she’s already posting pictures of you?”
“She must have made an impression,” Amina said.
“We hit it off,” I said.
“Huh,” Kate said, and gave me a thin smile. “That’s really great. I’m happy for you.”
The three of us watched her return to her table. When she was out of earshot, Ravi turned to us. “Well, that wasn’t weird at all.”
“That’s really great?” Amina said. “I’m happy for you? You could almost see her eye twitch while saying it.”
“She’s a spider,” Ravi said.
“One of those clear ones that blends into carpets,” Amina said. “They’re always the most terrifying.”
Deborah frowned. “This comparison isn’t really fair to spiders. They’re an essential part of the ecosystem.”
“So what’s Mitzy like?” Ravi asked.
I thought back to the party, to Mitzy staring back at me from the bathroom mirror, her mascara smudged, her face so beautiful that I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
“A few years ago, my mom took me to a Van Gogh exhibit in Boston,” I said. “I’d always loved his paintings but had never seen them in person, and when we got there, I remember being shocked by how much bigger and brighter and more mesmerizing they were in person. I couldn’t stop looking at them. That’s the first time I really I understood what art was.” I looked up from my tray. “That’s what Mitzy Erst is like.”
We spent the rest of the day doing work in one of the study rooms. We had an assignment for Kowalski that was proving even more difficult than I’d expected, and we had to write a business plan for Ms. Perez and compile a series of pivot tables for Mr. Lajani. I was so far behind that it seemed hopeless, and I reverted to staring out the window, wondering what Mast was doing. Was he purposely making himself scarce because he didn’t want to see me? Is that why he’d skipped breakfast, because he’d realized kissing me was a mistake?
I kept checking my phone, as if he was somehow going to send me a message even though I’d never given him my number. Every time I did it, Amina gave me a questioning look. I tried to act like everything was normal, but in truth, I didn’t like how distracted I felt. It was just one kiss. Why was I letting him get to me?
I was about to put my phone away when it vibrated with a new message. I didn’t recognize the number.
>Still on for tomorrow?
>Who is this?
>Your royal highness.
A grin spread across my face. Mitzy. I typed my answer back.
>Yes.
“So where are you meeting her?” Amina asked me as we walked back to the dorm. It was late afternoon and the sky was an expansive, bright blue.
“This old steakhouse in Portola Valley,” I said. “I looked it up. It has a grandfather vibe. Apparently there’s this famous room in the back—”
“Romy’s Steakhouse?” Amina said, interrupting me. “That’s where you’re meeting her?”
“Yeah. Why, you’ve heard of it?”
“Um, yes. You haven’t?”
Amina exchanged an amused look with Ravi.
“You’re not going to a steakhouse,” Amina explained. “You’re going to the Warbler’s Room.”
“Yeah. That’s the room in the back.”
“It’s not just a room in a restaurant,” Amina said. “It’s a private room where all the big deals are made.”
“Invite only,” Ravi added. “Top secret.”
“No one knows what it’s like inside,” Amina said. “There’s a whole website dedicated to who’s been seen going into the Warbler’s Room.”
“BirdWatchingAtRomys.com,” Ravi said. “It’s surprisingly thorough.”
“You have to map it for me on Squirrel,” Amina said. “I’ve been dying to know what it’s like in there.”
“I don’t know if I should do that,” I said, faltering. “It’s my first meeting with Mitzy—”
“Oh, come on. You can use an anonymous account. No one’s going to find out. And it’s just a map, anyway. It’s not like I’m asking you to take pictures.”
“Isn’t it just one room? What will a map even show?”
“Maybe it’s one room,” Amina said. “Or maybe it’s three. Maybe it’s a hexagonal room with secret doors on all sides, or maybe it’s one long banquet hall. We’ll never know until we see a map.”
“Can’t you just ask Arun what it’s like inside? I’m sure he’s been inside. He’s been everywhere.”
“Even Arun hasn’t been in the back room.”
I bit my lip. “I’ll think about it.”
We were almost back at the dorm when I saw a station wagon pull up to the boys’ dormitory. It idled under an oak tree while Mast got out and slung a backpack over his shoulder. He looked surprised to see me and gave me a half wave.
Amina gave me a knowing look. “I’ll meet you inside,” she said with a wink. “Enjoy your pizza.”
The problem with Mast was that he looked better the longer you stared at him. At first glance, he seemed completely average: pleasant to look at but forgettable, another moderately nerdy boy in Converse sneakers and a well-loved T-shirt. But then you might notice how the sun seemed to gravitate toward his arms, making them look golden in the light, or how his eyes softened when he looked at you, or how his cheeks dimpled slightly like he was trying to hold back a smile. You might notice how he ran his hand through his hair, unable to hide that he was a little nervous, or how he tilted his head slightly when he said your name so he could better admire your face.
