Chapter 3
YARA
“So, I’m trying to decide between Berkeley or MIT.”
Jack Elliott, one of the high schoolers who attends my evening robotics class, hops off his desk and slings his backpack over his shoulders.
“What do you think, Ms. Alves? My dad is pushing for me to go to Berkeley, like he did. My mom thinks I should wait and see what offers I get from my safety schools. But I kind of like the idea of moving across the country. Getting a new perspective, and all that.”
I set the circuit board I’m holding into the storage container. Meeting Jack’s expectant gaze, I reply carefully, “Well, it’s a big decision. But you don’t have to decide yet, right?”
Jack nods. “MIT is non-binding early action, and Berkeley just has regular admissions. So, yes. But I don’t want to wait. I just want to decide now, so I don’t have to worry about it for the rest of senior year.”
“Have you heard from admissions yet?”
“Nope.” He adjusts the straps of his backpack on his skinny shoulders.
“I should hear from MIT in mid-December. Berkeley will be early spring. Same with my safeties. But—” He lowers his voice, though there’s no one else left in the room.
“The admissions guy for MIT said he was sure I’d be accepted.
Same with Berkeley. So…” He gives me a sheepish smile. “Not a bad problem to have, I know.”
Jack’s one of my most talented students, so I’m not surprised to hear his news.
And it makes me feel good, knowing I played some small part in his future success.
The robot he made in class during spring semester not only won a state-wide award, but garnered the interest of several top-notch colleges, Berkeley and MIT, included.
“It’s definitely not a bad problem to have,” I agree. “And I’m so happy for you. Before I know it, I’ll be seeing your name on the news for inventing the next ground-breaking robot.”
“Or winning BattleBots,” Jack adds. His smile grows brighter. “MIT has a combat robotics club. I would definitely join it if I go there.” He pauses. “But you went to Berkeley, right? And the stuff you build is amazing. So maybe Berkeley is the way to go.”
I stifle a smile. I remember being in high school, full of nervous anticipation about the whole college decision. My parents were so supportive, taking me to visit any college I wanted, and they reassured me that wherever I chose, they would make it happen.
Pain slivers into my heart; dulled from age, but never completely gone.
They were so proud of me. “Our resident genius,” my dad used to brag. “Just wait ’til you see what she invents. Our Yara is going to change the world.”
Would they be proud of me now?
I used to think so, back when I was a Green Beret. Even though I wasn’t following the career path I’d planned, I imagined my mom and dad looking down at me and saying to each other, That’s our Yara. Proving she really can do anything.
But I couldn’t. Not in the end.
A lump swells in my throat. It’s come more frequently over the last two weeks, ever since my failed mission in Tacoma. Even though Ace and the other Blade and Arrow guys were really nice about how it all went down, I still feel foolish and weak whenever I think about it.
It wasn’t bad enough that I totally freaked out over a tray falling on the floor. Or that I blew my whole plan to pieces and in the process, let that gross predator touch me. No, I had to top off the whole craptastic sundae by melting down in front of five men I respect.
Ugh.
“What do you think, Ms. Alves?” Jack gives me a curious look that makes me wonder how long I’ve been standing here, marinating in my maudlin thoughts.
Pull yourself together, I tell myself sternly. Enough of this wallowing. Things could be a heck of a lot worse than this.
I busy myself with the remainder of the circuit boards while I compose my thoughts.
“I think whatever decision you make will be a good one,” I finally settle on.
“The college you attend is only a small part of your future success. If you have the intelligence and the drive, you’ll do amazing things wherever you go. ”
Jack stares at me for a long moment. His eyebrows arch up. “That sounds like a non-answer if I’ve ever heard one.”
Laughing, I reply, “Busted. But seriously, you can’t make a bad decision. If you want my advice, make a pro-con list for each school. Talk to people who go there. And don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”
“That’s what my guidance counselor told me,” Jack says. “I’ll make a bunch of pro-con lists this weekend. And I’ll let you know what I decide next class.”
From his pocket, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out to look at the screen. “Oops. It’s my mom. She’s waiting outside. I’d better run.” Before I can respond, he’s already heading for the door. “See you next week, Ms. Alves. Have a great weekend!”
I smile after him, feeling some of the tension I’ve been carrying ease.
That’s one of the reasons I like teaching the enrichment course at the college.
It brings a levity I don’t see in my job in the emerging technologies department at DynaTech, and I love how the students don’t hesitate to call me out when they think I’m pulling typical adult shit, as they like to say.
It reminds me a bit of how things used to be with my old team, the ODA5211, or A-Team. What we were dealing with was a lot more serious—often enough, life or death—but we always found the time to make each other laugh.
As I turn my attention to reorganizing the battery packs, my old teammates come to mind. They’re never far from it, really, though I don’t always allow myself to think about them.
I should text Saint, I tell myself. And Kai and Ford. It’s been how long since I checked in? A couple months? More? And with the holidays coming up, I should be more on top of things.
Tapping my smartwatch, I tell it, “Remind me tomorrow at six PM to text the old team.”
Or, a silent voice reminds me sadly, the team members who are still around.
The memories that have come more and more frequently ever since Tacoma close in.
Wells’ face flashes before me, covered in blood and the life already fading from his eyes.
And then Malik. Badly beaten but still so brave, shouting to me as he was dragged away, “Stay strong, Tink. It’s going to be okay.”
But it wasn’t okay, was it?
That stupid lump lodges in my throat again.
No, I tell myself. Not now. Not when a student could come back at any moment, searching for a lost phone or with a near-forgotten question. Not when I can hear the rattle of the mop bucket in the hallway, signaling the arrival of the evening cleaning crew.
Forcing my thoughts back to the present, I busy myself cleaning up the rest of the equipment we used for the drones the students are building for their final project.
The process of re-organizing all the small parts and tools is soothing in its repetition, and after a couple of minutes of it, I’ve managed to corral the memories and lock them away again.
Once I have everything cleaned up, I give the classroom a final once-over to make sure there’s nothing I forgot. Satisfied that it all looks good, I grab my bag from the counter and sling it over my arm, then head for the door.
As I walk down the hallway, one of the custodians—Hank, who used to serve in the Army and works the night shift two times a week to help pay for his son’s college expenses—gives me a friendly wave. “Have a great night, Yara,” he calls. “Don’t work too hard.”
“Same to you,” I reply with a smile. “And enjoy your weekend.”
Hank lifts his chin as I pass. “You, too.”
Seeing Hank reminds me that I want to do something for the cleaning staff for the holidays, so once I’m out of hearing range, I tap my smartwatch to leave another note for myself.
“Remind me on Saturday at noon to get gift cards for Hank, Ellis, Francis, and Dominique,” I say. “And regular cards, too.”
Granted, it’s only the beginning of November, so I have time to spare. But I prefer to get all my shopping done early, so I don’t have to think about it closer to the holidays, when I’m feeling down and missing all the people I used to spend them with.
Maybe I should take Annaliese up on her invitation to spend Christmas with her in Boston instead of staying home alone like I did last year and the one before.
Or I could visit Ford and his family for the holiday, like he suggested.
“You’re always welcome, Tink,” he told me the last time we spoke.
“Christmas, Thanksgiving, any time.” I even have an open invitation to join the Shadow team for their celebrations—potluck Thanksgiving and their Christmas Eve Secret Santa gift exchange.
I know I’m welcome to any of them. It’s just…
It’s not the same.
It’s not celebrating Christmas with my parents.
It’s not celebrating with my old team.
And if I’m really honest with myself, I haven’t accepted my friends’ offers to spend the holidays with them because I’m afraid it’ll make the loss hurt even more.
As I push through the doors to outside, the biting cold makes my eyes sting. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself it is.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out in a heavy puff as I order myself to get it together. Focus on the positive, rather than depressing thoughts and reminders of memories I’d rather stay forgotten.
Like Jack, for example—headed off to be a shining star in robotics. The rest of my students, who have bright futures ahead of them, as well. My current project, which is coming along even better than I’d hoped it would. And—
A soft ding from my coat pocket signals an incoming text. Pausing at the top of the steps, still well-lit by the halogen bulbs glowing above, I pull my phone out to look at it.
It’s Ace.
Hey, just checking in. How’s everything going? Built anything interesting lately?
Before I can respond, another message comes in.
I started watching season four of BattleBots. I see what you mean about some of the wedges being too close to the ground.