Chapter 7. In Which I Am Going to Drown a Hand Model’s Head in 81,409,000 Liters of Water
Rainbow blasts my vision. Metallic tables surrounded by rainbow-printed cushions. Food stalls with rainbow awnings. Most striking are the rainbow garland and string lights that hang above a whole dining section to form a makeshift ceiling.
A sign over the entrance reads: FOOD LABORATORY.
Really, it’s just a normal outdoor food court. Just covered in rainbow colors.
I scan the crowds. This morning, when I returned to my cabin after announcements, everyone else agreed we’d meet here at eleven to start our required study session for tomorrow’s test.
But they’re nowhere.
Out of the students who are here for early lunch, factions have formed.
By a stall labeled as the PERIODIC TABLE OF CONDIMENTS, two girls I saw standing together during announcements wear frilly plaid skirts and poplin blouses that fall between princess core and school uniform.
Whether they hail from royalty or Hollywood, I’m not sure.
Four boys have on the most simplified, patternless, boring cream-and-black clothing I’ve ever seen.
They must come from the business end of the niche family spectrum.
I’m not sure where my pleated trousers and cardigan—deep turquoise to suit my color palette—belong amid it all.
Regardless of how they dress, they’re divided by gender. Girls sit toward the Lake River side. Boys sit by the sidewalk.
The cafeteria at Stuy High operates this way, too. I should be used to this unspoken system, but the insecurity that plagued me when I started being labeled as a boy comes rushing back. On paper, I belong on the boys’ side. But to this day, all my friends are girls.
Well, friends is a stretch. Between Prince List and my studies, I don’t see them outside of school, so more like acquaintances.
Shelby Chu, our class secretary. Elizabeth McPhail, who ranks second on our class grades list, right behind me.
Kaavya Chandra, our student council treasurer.
But they’re who I eat lunch with. Internally, the girls’ side feels more familiar. More comfortable.
Without them here, I’m not sure where the world, which is always watching, expects me to belong. And Mom and Dad’s rules can’t help with that.
Stalling, I check my new watch. Ten minutes early.
Which is late by my standards. Of course my cabinmates, who refused to wake up this morning, and who prefer discussing the hottest people on this island, are more late. Of course my mentor, who’s supposed to supervise, is, too.
With a huff, I sit at the nearest open table in the middle of the food court.
Then I set up my study materials: a brand-new notebook taken from Dad’s office, an array of my favorite branded pens and pencils, and sticky notes for easy organization.
By the time a pair of shadowy figures cast over my table, it’s four minutes past our agreed-upon meeting time.
Christiana and Jade, standing side by side. Both wear sweatshirts to fight off the persistent chill of the island air, and steam billows from the plastic cups in their hands.
“Hi,” I say, even though their lateness still leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “We were supposed to meet at eleven, correct?”
“We got held up at the cabins,” Jade says, loudly chewing a piece of gum. She blows a bubble and smacks it between her black-stained lips.
A bit of the gum lands on my cheek. I wipe it off.
“We ran into Luca Melendez,” Christiana says, considerably friendlier. Today, her dark pixie cut is adorned with chunky, colorful clips that look pulled straight out of the nineties. “And we were able to see him. Up close.”
My soul withers. How did these people pass brAIN’s acceptance requirements? Do they care even a little about our upcoming test?
“Okay,” I say.
“Can you believe he’s here?” Christiana asks.
“Nope,” I say.
“Esmeralda Boro already tried to ask him on a lunch date to the orchard,” Jade says. “It was a no. Obviously. He said he’s ‘too busy working out’ then.”
“Jason tried, too,” Christiana says. “He asked to join Luca at the gym. But when they got there, Luca just went and did his own thing.”
I should’ve hypothesized this. As an infuriatingly hot, charming hockey player who also happens to be the most intelligent student in the nation—maybe of all time—Luca would be heavily crushed on here.
In all my years of scrutinizing him from afar, I’ve taken note of contestants approaching him with obvious romantic intentions.
In retrospect, I’ve never seen him reciprocate.
I’ve never witnessed a partner cheer for him in the audience, either.
Not that I was looking for his partner. I was simply following the steps of the scientific method to analyze the overall strength of my opponent. With that comes gathering as much data as possible.
“I heard he’s never dated anybody, so that makes sense,” Jade says.
From her tote bag, she pulls out woven tan yarn between two stones instead of a notebook.
At the end is a chunk of teardrop-shaped blue glass with three concentric circles within.
It looks like an eyeball. “He’s unattainable. It sucks.”
Luca has never dated anyone.
Why? He could have anyone he wants.
I kick the question out of my head. Who cares?
“Guess Camilla or Sheridan is going to be my designated CC instead,” Jade goes on. “Or Garrett?” She eyeballs me. “Who’s your CC?”
“My CC…,” I repeat cluelessly.
“Camp crush. I bet you’re tons of people’s CC.”
An awkwardness consumes my innermost depths. Mom and Dad would be thrilled, though, considering the whole shaping-my-looks-to-attract-customers thing.
“We all represent a type of academics here, right?” I ask, trying to change the subject to a productive one. I turn to Christiana. “What’s yours again?”
“I’m Expert Biomedical Science,” Christiana says. “My research is focused on sea lions that have seizures.”
“Oh. That’s specific.”
“My dad is the CEO and cofounder of SaCella. It’s a biotech firm that uses machine learning to identify antibody treatments for diseases. I was sort of thrown into it.”
“I’m Expert Social Science,” Jade chimes in.
Expert. That’s the second time they’ve said that.
“Is that what we call ourselves?” I ask. “‘Expert’?”
“Yes,” Christiana says. “You’re the expert in whatever topic brAIN said you’d represent.”
Another figure approaches our table—the blond boy who’s still a mystery in the name department. I at least recognize those thin white gloves he wore yesterday. I kick myself for being more focused on Luca’s presence than my cabinmates. Maybe if I hadn’t been so distracted, I’d know his name.
The nameless boy silently joins us. He pulls out a notebook that’s reminiscent of a medieval manuscript with its brown leather cover and tie fastener.
Christiana points at the blond boy. “And Benedict is our Expert Behavioral Science.”
I nod again, committing the name Benedict to memory. “I’d be Expert Physical Science, then. And I’m Rory, by the way. Rory Prince. I can’t remember if Felix mentioned that—”
“Prince?”
The boy—Benedict—is studying me now. His low baritone is what the future leader of a country should have—bold, practiced, and clear. At least, if he is the royal of our cabin. What’s more, his eyes are squinted with judgment, like he can see through every mistake and lie I’ve ever told.
“Pardon?” I say.
“Prince as in Prince List?”
Excitement trills within me over finally being recognized—at least, until the reality sets in that being recognized as the Prince Kid could also mean being recognized as the kid who chucked a smoothie at Luca.
I could lie, but Felix must have access to the truth, and Benedict could go fact-check this with him.
“Y-yes,” I admit.
“Unbelievable.” He crosses his arms. “I thought you looked familiar.”
I force out a laugh, but only because I have never been this uncomfortable in my life. Laughter is the most valuable and affordable way to buy time, according to my media training. “It was a misunderstanding! Not what you think.”
“What are you blathering on about? Are you suggesting that I am a fool?”
“No—?”
The boy abruptly points at me. His three ruby rings, shoved overtop his gloves, glisten in the string lights overhead. “As a Darlingtonshire, I refuse to work with you.”
The Darlingtonshires.
My media training drains out of my brain, my mouth twisting into a wriggling worm.
Thanks to Mom’s religious complaining sessions about the Darlingtonshires’ Posh Prep at the dinner table, I’ve stored a vault of knowledge on our direct competitor.
The married founders, Anastasia and Hugo Darlingtonshire, are Broadway stars originally from England.
They accumulated enough money to try out education as a—I quote, from what Mom claims Anastasia told her at a networking event last year—fun little side gig.
With their fancy branding, they started snatching our clients at double the price for the same product.
Mom claims they have two sons they keep private—the older is a top NASCAR driver, and the younger is a pretentious hand model.
I eye the thin gloves on Benedict’s hands.
He’s not royalty. He’s something much worse.
Admittedly, assuming Benedict was royalty because of his gloves and flouncy blouses was a bit presumptuous. One of the other two in our circle must be the royal instead. I’m tempted to ask, but I can’t risk derailing us further.
“What’s going on?” Christiana asks, glancing between us.
“Our families’ companies sort of have a rivalry,” I say.
“Sort of?” Benedict repeats as if I’ve offended him more.
“Please at least work with Jade and me, Benedict,” Christiana says as quietly as usual, but the look she sends him is firm and loud.
“As the mentors said during announcements, we need to assess our strengths as a team. Specifically, we should decide who should answer certain topics. Who excels at mathematics here?”
Benedict and I both raise our hands.
He rolls his eyes so far back that I only see white for a second. “Please.”
Defensiveness lights a fire within me. “Prince List’s slogan is literally ‘If our child mastered calculus at age five, so can yours.’”
“I don’t need commercial branding to prove my math skills. I received a perfect eight hundred on the math portion of my SATs.”
“So did I. I’ve mastered beyond what’s tested on the SATs. Linear algebra. Differential equations. Even chaos theory.”
Impatience flashes across Benedict’s rude glare. Despite being Expert Behavioral Science, he has no clue how to behave.
I don’t want to work with you, either.
The retort sizzles on my tongue. He’s the one who belongs to a family of actors who swooped up half our customer base for no other reason than to gain a fun little side gig. What have we done to them?
But starting an argument may be risky. If anyone on this island has heard about my video with Luca despite our isolation, it would be him.
While Mom and Dad’s PR team is attempting to scrub that video, the Darlingtonshires are surely putting in considerable effort to ensure that it remains.
From this conversation, it’s clear that Benedict would be thrilled to tell everyone what I did to their beloved Luca.
Either he luckily somehow hasn’t seen the video, or he’s hiding that information in his back pocket like a ticking time bomb.
I summon my approved smile. If I want to keep my secret, then I’ll have to make him happy. “Benedict can handle math,” I say as politely as I can.
Christiana hesitates before jotting that in her journal.
Benedict smirks like he won. I’m tempted to buy a smoothie at a nearby food stall to throw at him, too.
“Okay…,” Christiana says once she’s finished. “Rory will be in charge of physics, I’m assuming?” She sets her sights on me.
I raise my hand to confirm.
A beat later, so does Benedict.
I pop my brow. “You just took mathematics. And I’m literally Expert Physical Science.”
“I can handle two topics,” Benedict says, his smooth voice coated in indifference. “I would rather you not take charge of any topics.”
Out of nowhere, Christiana screeches and jumps out of her seat.
We follow her horrified gaze toward a wolf spider, darting around the tabletop.
“Phobia.” Christiana’s eyes are wide. “Spiders. Have.”
“Jesus Criminy,” Benedict says through a grimace.
“I got it,” Jade says. Instead of grabbing someone’s notebook as a weapon or a much kinder paper napkin, she digs into her sweatshirt pocket.
A white rat scurries out, fat and furry.
Christiana screams again, backing away more.
The rat surveys the area until ultimately following the scent toward the spider. After a few sniffs and tail twitches, it bites the spider’s head clean off.
The table falls quiet.
“Animals find solace in my aura,” Jade says, cutting through the deadened air. The rat crawls up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Unless they’re bugs, which I feed to my pets. I rescued this guy off the road on my way here and took him to get checked out. All healthy. Cabin mascot?”
Christiana stares at the decapitated spider like she’s seconds from fainting. “Nurse,” she mumbles under her breath.
Then she walks away, leaving our study session behind.
“Wait, you can’t,” I call after her. “The mentors said that if we don’t prep, we’ll fail.”
And Luca will win.
Jade’s rat runs over my notebook, away from the table.
“Stop, buddy!” Jade shouts after it.
But it’s like the rat knows it shouldn’t go, like it yearns to rebel, and it leaves the safety of Jade and runs into the hostility of nature. Jade chases the furry vermin through the food court and into the woods beyond.
Then there were two.
From opposite sides of the table, Benedict and I look at each other in silence.
At least, until he clears his throat. He wanders one table over, grabs a paperback from his backpack—How to Win Friends and Influence People—and sits down alone.
Then there was one.
Frustration and worry simmering inside of me, I turn to a fresh page in my notebook. I’ll cram enough for all four of us.