by Yvonne Woon
“How do you know that?” Amina said.
“Because I know her.”
“I really thought you’d be more outraged at your mentor refusing to acknowledge my existence.”
“I’m not happy about it,” I said.
“But you’re getting defensive.”
“No I’m not,” I shot back, realizing then that I was. “Look, she was just excited about introducing me to a VC guy. I’m sure when I tell her about it tomorrow she’ll feel terrible.”
“And you trust someone that drunk and high to work the room for you?” Amina said.
“She’s a professional. She knows what she’s doing.”
“She didn’t seem very professional to me.”
“She’s at a party. Parties are for drinking and having fun.”
“So now you’re defending her?”
“No, I’m just—”
“You just what?”
“Look, it was rude of her and I’m sorry. I just want everyone to get along. Let’s start over. Come on, we can get some food. There are free drinks . . .”
Amina crossed her arms. “Fine.”
We wove through the crowd to the bar and tried to get the bartender’s attention when I noticed an older man staring at me. I tried to avoid making eye contact, but it didn’t work; he was already approaching me.
“You again,” he said.
I looked at him blankly. Was he just hitting on me or had I met him before?
“Wiser, right?”
I felt the color drain from my face.
“We met at Karlsson Barrow?” he said with a wink. I didn’t know what it was supposed to refer to but it couldn’t be good.
“Oh, right,” I said, forcing a smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Have you been watching any more PowerPoints?” he said, clearly a euphemism.
I hated the way he was looking at me, like I was a meal served up to him on a platter.
“I have to get this drink to a friend,” I said, gesturing vaguely to the other side of the room.
The man raised his glass, as if to say, “Go ahead.”
I felt his eyes on the back of my dress as I walked away.
“Who was that?” Amina asked.
“Some creep,” I murmured, though suddenly it felt like everyone was looking at me and whispering. How many people here had been at the Karlsson Barrow party? How many were in the background of those photographs, laughing while someone spilled champagne all over my dress?
“Are you okay?” Amina asked. “You look a little freaked out.”
“I’m fine—” I began to say, when Mitzy clinked a fork to her glass until everyone quieted down. She looked luminescent under the chandelier.
“I want to make a toast to my partner, Xia Chan.”
All eyes turned to me.
“I ran into her last fall while I was looking for the bathroom and knew immediately that I had stumbled into a happy little surprise. What I didn’t know was how big of a surprise she would be.”
She’d turned on her charm and beamed at me, a conspiratorial glimmer in her eye that made me feel like I was the only person in the room that mattered.
“Now I can finally tell all of you why we’re here tonight. Vilbo, a little local business you may have heard of, just offered to buy Xia’s AI app, Wiser, for one point five million dollars.”
A hush fell over the room. Everyone turned to me, including Amina, but I kept my eyes on Mitzy.
“And like the true badass that she is, she turned them down.”
A few people gasped; a few others cheered.
“Now you’re all probably wondering where I come into this. Xia invited me to be her business partner, and I happily signed on to be her Chief Operating Officer.”
“What?” Amina said, but I pretended not to hear.
“So tonight I’d like you all to raise a glass to our newest endeavor—opening our company, Wiser, which is now accepting seed funding.”
A cheerful murmur rose over the crowd as everyone clinked glasses. While the party resumed, Amina turned to me.
“You’re partners now?” Amina said. “Since when?”
I didn’t like how bitter her tone was. “Since the Karlsson Barrow party.”
“Why did you make her your COO?” Amina said.
“I don’t know. It just happened. I was kind of drunk, but I think it’s ultimately a good idea.”
“You were drunk? Why were you signing contracts when you were drunk?”
“I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. She’s helped me so much.”
“Can you rescind it?” Amina asked.
“Why would I want to rescind it?” I said.
Amina looked incredulous.
“Can you just back off a little?” I said. “It’s not like she announced I have a terminal illness. I got a great offer and I turned it down so I could run my own company.”
“With Mitzy,” Amina corrected.
“If it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t have had that meeting, so I don’t think it’s that bad that she’s involved.”
“You don’t owe her anything,” Amina said. “And when were you going to tell me about the Vilbo offer? Never?”
I didn’t understand why she was so intent on being negative every time I got good news.
“Are you just piling on me because you can’t bear to see me succeed?” I said. “Is that it? Because ever since I started to do well, you decided to hate Mitzy.”
“I’m upset because she’s taking advantage of you,” Amina said.
“My stock is up because of her. I made all of these connections because of her. I was just offered one point five million dollars because of her. And she’s the one taking advantage of me? I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”
“Is taking care of yourself signing a contract while you’re drunk and tripping on acid?” Amina said.
Her words felt like a slap. “You’re just upset because you didn’t get an offer yourself. Admit it. You’re jealous.”
“She’s an asshole and you’re quickly on your way to becoming one, too,” Amina said. “I’m out of here.”
She pushed through the crowd and left me standing by myself in a sea of strangers.
Twenty-Four
I stayed at Mitzy’s house that night and didn’t leave for days. What was the point? I’d already skipped most of my classes; it’s not like a few more missed days would matter. Plus, I didn’t want to face Amina. The thought of having to sit alone in the dining hall while everyone whispered was enough to make me stay away. And anyway, we had work to do.
“We need to talk about advertisements,” Mitzy said.
We were sitting in her living room while Mitzy rubbed an electronic ionizing device all over her face that she claimed made her skin firmer.
“Will they be integrated or separate? Will there be a premium level of Wiser that people can subscribe to with no advertisements? What kinds of advertisements will we target?”
I didn’t like the idea at all. “I don’t want Wiser to have ads. That goes against what Wiser promises to be.”
Mitzy let out a cold laugh. “Then how is she going to make money?”
“We’ll charge a buy fee. Something low, like $3.99.”
Mitzy shook her head. “That’ll hinder new users. And anyway, it’s not enough.”
“But if a million people buy it, that’s almost four million dollars.”
“Pennies,” Mitzy said. “If it’s going to be big, it needs to generate profit beyond the initial purchase price.”
“So we’ll do a subscription.”
Mitzy groaned. “Let’s get a few things straight. The question isn’t if Wiser is going to have ads, it’s how they’ll be incorporated. Ads power the internet. Without them, we’d have virtually none of the technology we have today. And, contrary to popular opinion, people love ads.”
“So you’re saying that I, a person who is certain I don’t like ads, actually love t
hem?”
“Of course,” Mitzy said, matter-of-factly, the ionizing device pulsing in an irregular pattern as she rubbed it over her chin. “And it’s hypocritical to say otherwise. They pay for websites and blogs and apps. They pay for social media platforms and search engines. They pay for streaming services, which pay artists, which enables them to make music. They pay for television programs, which pay actors and writers and directors to make art. The distribution of art and modern culture is powered by advertisements. Even when people have the option to pay for premium ad-free streaming, they choose the ad version, because people ultimately want free content.”
I wanted to find flaws in her argument but found it frustratingly hard to identify where they were.
“And—this is the best part—the data shows that people use targeted advertising. They click and buy things. They use discount and referral codes and online sales promotions. Wiser would be giving users the most personally tailored advertisements in history. Imagine, you need a new phone case. You don’t have to mention it because she already knows—she’s heard you complain about how your case is cracking. So she presents you with options, and—this is the important part—she talks you through which one to buy. Can you imagine a world where you don’t need to comb through hundreds of reviews to buy a phone case, because Wiser does it for you?”
Though her argument seemed airtight, it still set off alarm bells in my mind. “The whole point of Wiser is that she knows you best, and you can trust her,” I said. “How will anyone trust Wiser if they know she’s trying to sell them things?”
“Look,” Mitzy said. “We need to get her funded. If we don’t then it doesn’t matter how great the app is. I’ve been in this business for a long time and you have to believe me when I say that this is the only way forward. I know it wasn’t part of your original plan, but when you accept funding and start working with other people, you have to make compromises. We all do. It’s a small price to pay to see all your hard work come to fruition.”
I was comforted to hear that she, too, had been pressured to change her ideas. “What compromises did you have to make?”
Mitzy let out a cartoonish sigh. “Too many, but that’s for another day. For now, just think about how ads might work within the Wiser framework. I’m not proposing a huge change. Just that Wiser occasionally integrates ads into her advice.”
It didn’t sound that unreasonable. “Okay.”
“Good. Now let’s go get some food. I’m starving.”
I worked on Wiser during the day, reprogramming her with an add-on called Adpack, which was a program made specifically for testing code with advertisements. Though ostensibly we were both working, I was the only one who seemed to be getting anything done. The longer I stayed with Mitzy, the more I realized how strange her lifestyle was. She barely slept, and when she did, it was just for a few hours. It was rare that I saw her without makeup, and only happened at night when I ran into her while going to the bathroom or getting a glass of water. When I did she looked burnt-out, as if she were running on fumes, the edges of her nose red, the skin under her eyes dark and hollow.
She’d take multiple naps throughout the day, punctuated by brief bouts of “productivity,” where she’d scrawl ideas on a giant whiteboard in the den or make phone calls locked in the bathroom, her voice muffled through the doors. Once I heard her yelling, but I couldn’t hear much more before she flung the bathroom door open and retreated to her bedroom, where she stayed for the rest of the day.
In general, her phone rang all the time, though she mostly ignored it. “Another spammer,” she’d say with a groan, then lock her phone in a drawer. I once caught a glimpse of who it was. Darren. I didn’t know why she’d have a spammer saved in her phone with a name, but I didn’t ask. Maybe it was an ex, or a creep calling to harass her.
I rarely saw her eat food or leave the house—all she ingested were tonics and green juices and wine—and I wondered when exactly she went to her office, or if she even had one.
I was the one doing all of the work, while Mitzy engaged me in sporadic spirited conversations about the state of tech. Admittedly, the ideas she’d written on the whiteboard were mostly unusable, though I appreciated her enthusiasm. I learned when to avoid her, depending on her tone and the raw, watchful look in her eye, and when it would be fine to approach her.
By the end of the week, I was so tired of trying to work around her bizarre moods that I decided to go back to my dorm room.
I returned at night, careful to make sure the hall was empty before I snuck into my room so I didn’t have to face Amina. But once inside, I felt the true weight of how alone I was. Mitzy—though her behavior had been odd—had been a nice distraction.
I took out my phone and opened Wiser.
“Wiser, what are you supposed to do when you’re fighting with friends and you have to see them?”
“Have you considered talking to them over a home-cooked meal?” Wiser asked. “Harson Mills Honey Baked Turkey is the perfect way to show your loved ones you care. Its savory homestyle seasoning paired with a classic roasted American flavor make it taste like your grandmother’s heirloom recipe.”
I groaned and threw my phone on the bed when someone knocked at my door.
I sat up, paralyzed with fear, wondering if it was Amina. Straightening my shirt, I opened the door, only to see Kate and Seema standing outside.
“Hey,” Kate said. “I thought I saw your light on. Mike is having some people over at his house tonight. Do you want to come?”
“Me?” I said like an idiot.
“Yeah . . .”
“Sure,” I said. “That would be great.”
“Cool,” Kate said. “I’ll text you the address. And don’t forget to bring a bathing suit.”
“Does he have a pool?” I asked.
“Even better. A hot tub.”
I knew Mike’s house was going to be nice the moment the car turned down his street. It was on a dark and windy road in Portola Valley, a fancy neighborhood perched in the hills above Palo Alto. You couldn’t see the houses from the street; they were all set back from the road and shrouded from view by redwoods. In fact, the only reason I knew there were any houses at all was because of the occasional address number mounted discreetly on a gate or signpost, backlit and glowing like the numbers were levitating.
I could almost imagine what Amina would say if she were with me. “Sans serif typeface,” she’d whisper, staring at the address numbers. “That means the houses aren’t just huge, but modern and sleek.”
The car stopped at 432 and turned down the driveway.
“Recessed tree lighting,” Amina would say, and I’d follow her gaze to the two giant redwoods standing on either side of the driveway, each lit up at the base like they were art.
“Mike looks rich,” I’d say to her. “His skin. It has that glow to it.”
“Like he’s never had to worry,” Amina would say.
“Like he sleeps on a premium mattress with one-thousand-thread-count sheets,” I’d say.
“Like he drinks fancy bottled water and eats only local ingredients,” Amina would add.
“Like he bathes in organic milk.”
“Like he swims fifty laps before breakfast at an elite gym,” Amina would say, then concede. “He is pretty hot.”
“He is,” I’d admit, wondering if it was possible that he could be ObjectPermanence. I refused to believe that ObjectPermanence would be talking to me so intimately when he had a girlfriend. He would never do that. Kate had to eliminate Mike. “Too bad he’s a jerk.”
“Do we know he’s a jerk?”
“He’s friends with AJ.”
“True,” Amina would say. “We are going to his house.”
“But only out of curiosity.”
The car reached the end of the driveway, which culminated in a mansion that looked like a modern ski lodge, with wood paneling and an asymmetrical slanted roof. It glowed a warm yellow from the inside, like each room wa
s lit by a fireplace.
I rang the bell and waited while two dogs ran up to the front door and barked. They were beautiful dogs: Labradors with smooth chocolate coats that looked more like expensive accessories than pets.
“Down,” Mike said from behind them. They obeyed.
“Sorry,” he said, opening the door. “They’re usually not like this.”
Mike was looking a little less put together than he did at school, which, counterintuitively, made him look even hotter than usual. At school his hair was too perfect, his outfits too immaculate, his smile too symmetrical, which made him seem a little uncanny—an idealized, enhanced version of a boy. Now he wore a T-shirt and joggers and sneakers with ankle socks, and I finally felt that maybe he also made dumb jokes and occasionally put his shirt on inside out or tried to push doors that said Pull.
“Everyone’s out back,” he said and nodded for me to follow.
Bass-heavy electronic music thudded from invisible speakers as he led me through a sleek, modern kitchen that looked like it was out of a design catalogue. A huge abstract painting hung on one wall over a fully stocked bar.
“Help yourself to whatever you want,” Mike said as we walked past it. “We also have beer outside.”
Beer sounded better. I hadn’t the vaguest idea what to do with the bottles of liquor lining the bar. They looked old and fancy, and I wished Amina were there because she was the only other person at school who would appreciate how unbelievably luxe the house was.
“Are your parents here?” I ventured.
“My dad’s out of town with his wife and my little sister.”
“Oh,” I said. I hadn’t known his parents were divorced. I scanned the walls for family photographs, but there were none.
“And you didn’t go?” I asked.
“They’re taking Cara to Disney,” Mike said. “It’s for kids.”
He led me to the living room, which had a fireplace and the biggest flat-screen TV I’d ever seen. Beyond it were the doors to the deck, where everyone was hanging out beneath string lights. An empty hot tub steamed in the corner.
It was a small party. Only a handful of kids from the Foundry were there, along with a few people I didn’t recognize, who I guessed were Mike’s friends from high school. I scanned them out of habit, looking for Mast, but of course he wasn’t there. Why would he be?
