Chapter Eighteen
By the time Khoi and I reach Stata, there’s already a sizable crowd gathered on the first floor.
Our rankings are posted on a piece of paper taped to the wall. It’s weird. For a tech program, Alpha Fellows is still stuck in the twentieth century. I wouldn’t be surprised if they ask us to submit our final projects on floppy disks.
It’s impossible to get through the crush, so we wait near the back. I’m tempted to elbow my way to the front, but Khoi seems unbothered. “Let’s just wait. It’s not like the results are going to change within the next few minutes.”
Easy for him to say. He definitely slayed it. Meanwhile, my heart is in my ears. What if I failed? What if I did so poorly it makes Khoi rethink working with me? No, what if my scores were so trash they boot me from the program?
“They have a flair for the dramatic,” somebody nearby grumbles. “What’s wrong with sending out a text blast?”
Someone else shrieks loud enough that it echoes through the lobby. I can’t tell if it’s a happy shriek or a horrified shriek. A girl staggers away, shoulders heaving with sobs. My stomach roils.
Obi comes up to us and throws an arm around Khoi’s shoulder. “Astor, you bastard.”
Khoi seems bewildered. “Huh?”
“You didn’t see, man? You got number one!”
“You’re serious?”
“As serious as the brightest star in the night sky.” Obi’s mouth twitches. “Get it? Sirius?”
I’m too keyed up to even muster a pity laugh at the pun. Somehow the news about Khoi getting first makes me feel worse, not better, even though I should be doing mental cartwheels. This is amazing for our chances at winning.
But if I didn’t do okayish, it’ll be obvious I’m dragging the team down.
Khoi glances at me. “What about Char?”
“Oh, uh… didn’t check. But I’m sure you did well too,” Obi adds quickly.
The crowd has thinned, so I take the opportunity to push through to the front.
I start reading names from the bottom-up.
With relief, I see that I’m not dead last. The first name I recognize is Aisha Chadha, ranked #92, which makes sense given that she bailed halfway through the exam.
Haru Watanabe landed at #71—impressive for someone whose bloodstream is mostly THC.
And then it’s me. Charise (Char) Tang, #24.
I exhale.
Number twenty-four. That’s top quartile, just barely.
Sure, it isn’t earth-shattering. Nothing to write home about (hypothetically—the idea of penning a letter to Michael or Olive about this is freaking hilarious).
But it’s respectable. Decent. It means I could still come through with the win as long as I commit to the grind.
Out of curiosity, I peep the rest of the rankings. The only girl who did better than me is Jenni Wheeler, #21. The top twenty names is a total sausage fest. There’s Obi Udechukwu, #10. Diego Rodriguez, the competitive programming TikToker, is #4.
And Khoi Anh (Astor), of course, at #1. Huh. I wonder if Anh is a middle name or a last name. He hasn’t mentioned it before. I already knew he was Vietnamese, of course.
There’s an asterisk next to his name noting that he also got a perfect score. Of course.
As fawning kids swarm him, I hang back in the shadows.
There’s no rational reason to be anything other than hyped for him. I shouldn’t be shook. I should feel lucky that he even wants to work with me.
I don’t know why it feels like a metal claw has reached into my chest and squeezed tight.
I need to do something. Something to prove that I’m contributing to the team too. But what? Khoi has the money, and clearly the brains. I guess I can be the funny one. The personality hire.
I remember Stella on the yacht babbling about how she got a recommendation letter from one of those rich guys. Maybe I could find a mentor too.
A name floats up. The obvious name. The big one.
Usually, I’d hesitate. It’s stupid. He’s not going to respond. I shouldn’t even bother.
But I did well on the first checkpoint. I’m working with Khoi. And I’m tired of letting the world tell me I don’t deserve anything good for myself. I’m tired of believing it.
I lean against the wall and unlock my phone.
Ten minutes later, I send an email to Edvin Nilsen.
When Khoi and I sit down for dinner, I immediately sense that the vibes are off. Kids are whispering, glancing over. I look down to check if there’s something on my shirt. No, it’s just a Snorlax graphic.
Khoi doesn’t seem to notice anything. “Okay, so I started this Notion page for our project. I’ll add you.”
I nod. I don’t mention emailing Edvin Nilsen.
Now that the adrenaline has faded, I feel ridiculous for doing that.
Why would this tech billionaire help me with my summer camp project?
Sure, it’s a summer camp he started. But he’s more of a figurehead than actually involved. He hasn’t visited even once.
When I go up to refill my water glass, somebody taps me on the shoulder. It’s Haru. “Oregon,” he mumbles.
“Okay, can we come up with a different nickname for me?”
He shrugs, because Haru’s entire existence is one big shrug. “Something with Khoi. They were talking to me about it. Showed me some article.”
“Who is they?” Is? Are? Grammar is weird.
“Dunno. Kid with the dumb hat. Wears it to cover his bald spot.”
I thank Haru and head straight to Lucas’s table.
He’s sitting with a few guys whose names I don’t know for sure—I think one of them is Aiden or Jayden or Okayden. Stella isn’t around.
They’re talking loud and brash. Somebody should’ve taught them the concept of “inside voices.” I’m ten feet away when I hear them say the name Khoi.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Lucas exchanges a smirk with another boy. “Haven’t you heard? Your boyfriend’s dad is a grifter. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. And what the hell are you talking about?”
With too much glee, someone hands me their phone, which is open to an old article from The New York Times.
QUANG ANH SENTENCED TO EIGHT YEARS IN PRISON
Quang Anh was sentenced on Friday to eight years in prison. The disgraced founder of Pegasus Cryptocurrency who was convicted of stealing millions of dollars from customers, Anh was found guilty of fraud and money laundering last month.
Mr. Anh remained stoic as the sentence was read. His wife, Linda, burst into tears as his eleven-year-old son, Khoi, stared at the floor.
I drop the phone onto the table. “What’s the point of showing me this?”
Sure, I’ve wondered why Khoi lives with his aunt and uncle. But I never asked. I mean, I get what it’s like to have a complicated family that you can’t explain.
“When the test results got posted, I saw that his legal name is Khoi Anh, so I decided to do some googling. It seems kind of sus that he’s trying to hide his identity.”
“By using a different last name? If he wants to distance himself from his past, fine. Why are you dredging all of this up now?”
“Char? Everything good?” Khoi is at my shoulder. Ugh, did Haru talk to him too?
“Yeah, fine.” I want to protect him. I don’t want him to see any of this. Maybe it’s not too late to—
“So, Astor, how’d you cheat on the exam?” Lucas drawls. “Or should I say Anh?”
Khoi’s gaze falls on the unlocked phone screen, which still has the article open. His face clouds over. Silently, he pivots on his heel and walks away.
“That video game he made, Imposter Syndrome,” somebody says. “You think he used his daddy’s money for that?”
Lucas leans back, hands behind his head. “These types always have offshore bank accounts. They probably have millions’ worth of Bitcoin stowed away somewhere in the Cayman Islands.”
My blood boils. “You’re pathetic,” I spit out. “What, you couldn’t beat him on the test so you decide to bully him to make yourself feel better? Guess what! He’s still number one.”
They’re all silent until Lucas says, “Get off your moral high horse. You sucked him off so he’d team up with you?”
“Excuse me?” Not that it’s any of their business, but my expertise in that department is purely theoretical, with no real-world experience.
“You don’t think the rest of us noticed you going into his dorm room every day after class?”
“Don’t be disgusting. Khoi has a girlfriend. We’re just friends. He was helping me out.”
“Must be nice to be a girl and be able to get that kind of help.”
Wow. He’s no different from Michael. I can fly thousands of miles and never escape the misogynistic viciousness that comes from a lifetime of entitlement and resentment.
So I respond to Lucas the same way I responded to my stepfather. The only way I know how to cope. I leave.