4. Either Way, I’m In
EITHER WAY, I’M IN
BEFORE
There are a variety of excuses I could make about my poor performance in the third (and final) live contest.
First, I was sleep deprived: two nights ago, the assigned roommate I’ve barely spoken to brought another one-night stand back to our room, and no amount of trying to stuff my ears worked.
Second, and more importantly: Harper went to the ER with a 104.
5-degree fever. Though they released my little sister twelve hours later, my mother was hysterical.
She left messages for my father (which he didn’t bother replying to) before redirecting her emotional diarrhea at me, crying about how difficult her life was, that I continued to be our family’s to seoi gaa, the harbinger of ill will.
I took deep breaths (breathe in for one, two, three, four, hold and then release for one, two, three, four) before pouring my mother a glass of wine we couldn’t afford.
Because a tipsy, sleepy mother is easier to manage, and I can only handle so many crises at once.
Then, I spent the next few hours trying to get everyone settled.
I started by lying, reassuring the already-anxious-at-nine-years-of-age Aurora that the ER bill wouldn’t break us (even though if our father “forgets” another month’s allowance, it absolutely will put us in the red).
Then, to prove how completely okay everything was (even though it wasn’t), even though I knew how close I’d be cutting it, I spent precious time cooking the girls’ favorite congee while singing along to Disney songs.
Because I couldn’t leave until enough time had passed, until I’d double- and triple-checked Harper’s fever.
I was very near collapse by the time I left my nine-, three-, and two-year-old sisters with my barely sober mother and a neighbor I already owed too many favors to.
Though I promised to come straight back after the competition, there was a definite wobble in Aurora’s voice when she told me she was almost ten now and could handle things while I was away.
Because of course she can’t handle it.
And even if she can, she shouldn’t have to. At nine, Aurora should be playing with dolls or skateboards or whatever it is kids that age are supposed to do.
The fact that Aurora felt as though she had to console me is another reminder that I’m failing her, failing all of them.
I managed a fitful twenty-five-minute nap on the Metro A Line, but showed up unshowered and not at all in the right state of mind for the third round.
To cap off the shit day, I finished in a very low-rated, four-way tie for fifth.
Arjun, Lucas, Xinzhe, and even bro-dude Brody all placed ahead of me, by wider margins than any of the previous online or in-person contests.
“Fluke,” Arjun announces, looking right at me. He doesn’t bother to keep his voice down.
I tell myself to walk away.
I remind myself that even if Arjun’s got the world’s tiniest dick wrapped around the most fragile male ego I’ve encountered, he’s the leader of Team A and that showing any kind of emotion will likely brand me as the emotional one.
Still, I can’t quite bear to stay silent.
“I got close to you twice, as a freshman. I’ve ranked consistently in all the previous online and in-person contests. ”
My voice is steady, but internally I’m spiraling. For a guy like Arjun to take me seriously, consistently placing in the top five is not enough. I need to be decisively, indisputably better.
Arjun looks away and I stare at my laptop, trying not to think about how many hours I’ve devoted to this through the past weeks and months.
All those summer nights of staying up after putting the girls to bed, the long hours trawling through Stack Overflow and doing mock contests after finishing at Pizza Palace.
I’m almost nauseous as the knot of disappointment and anger threatens to consume me.
There are other competitions, ones with smaller cash prizes.
Logically, I knew I shouldn’t gamble so much on this one competition—but no other contest comes with so much money, so much of the prestige my father values.
I thought it worth the risk, that if I got on Team A, I could have won both prize money and potentially regained my father’s favor.
By the time I pack up, my fingers are tingling from emotion and exhaustion; Christopher has barely finished speaking when I leave. He’s just repeating what we all already know: We’re officially allowed to start recruiting one another now. Teams are to be finalized within the week.
“Arrange yourselves however you like, but I’ll be assigning the official rankings: Team A, B, and . . . whatever.”
Arjun stands up and starts gathering people to him, clearly eager to expound on his thoughts of the composition of what he thinks all six teams should be.
I’m quiet as I leave.
I need to check on Harper’s fever and relieve my neighbor. More importantly, there’s nothing to be gained from listening to Arjun pontificate now that I know he’s not picking me. While I could try to scrape together a secondary team, I don’t see any combination that beats Arjun, Lucas, and Xinzhe.
I’m most of the way out of the building, trying to figure out if I can pick up extra shifts at the Pizza Palace or if I need to talk to Caltech financial aid again, before Lucas catches up, a very gentle hand on my arm, a brush of air more than an actual touch.
He waits for me to stop and then stares at me, unspeaking.
“Yes?”
There’s a long pause before Lucas clears his throat. “I was wondering if you were okay?”
His tone is gentle, and it’s irrational, but I can feel a well of anger rising in me.
Of all the people who could (or should) have asked me whether I’m okay today—my mother, for example, who could have at least pretended to be worried about the fact that I was missing school to come home and help, or the nurse who might have offered me a graham cracker when she saw me looking longingly at Harper’s snack because I’d been really, stupidly hungry by then—why is Lucas the only person asking?
“Don’t I look okay?” My voice is cold, as if I’m daring him to walk away. I shouldn’t be taking it out on him—logically, I know that.
Lucas shakes his head, seemingly unbothered by my attitude.
He answers me quite literally. “Your eyes are red-rimmed and puffy—” His eyes travel over my face, and I wonder how much of the past two days is on display.
Lucas, however, gives the kindest description possible when he ends with, “You look tired.”
“Do I? Do I look tired? That’s awesome because I actually feel exhausted.
Debilitated. Bankrupt of even the ability to pretend to give a shit.
” I run my hand through my hair before remembering that it’s short now, and there’s very little I can do with my barely chin-length bob.
I close my eyes tightly before continuing.
There’s a not insignificant part of me that recognizes how ridiculous I’m being, and yet it doesn’t stop me from continuing.
“You should try that line at parties. See how far it gets you, because ‘you look tired’ is absolutely what all the girls love to hear.”
He seems unfazed by my outburst. His voice remains calm and measured, soporific.
Ambien in human form.
“I never attend parties, and I’m not thinking of you as a girl.
” He pauses when he sees me roll my eyes.
“Perhaps that didn’t come out correctly.
” He takes his glasses off and cleans them slowly, methodically.
A balmy breeze blows gently at us while he collects himself.
“I apologize. I’m usually more careful about taking my time before speaking, so I can choose my words more carefully.
But you ran out of there so quickly I spoke without thinking. ”
I think of all the times—some of them quite recent—I haven’t guarded my mouth. The way I single-handedly became the last straw to the festering heap that was my parents’ marriage. The way I just allowed myself to berate Lucas for daring to ask me if I was doing okay.
“It’s probably something I should try.” I take a deep breath. I hate admitting when I’m wrong. “Just now, for example, I should have paused before speaking.”
Okay, so it’s not an apology, but Lucas seems to accept it. In fact, the corners of his lips tug upward, an almost-smile. “Sometimes I write out what I’m going to text first, so I don’t screw up.”
“That sounds like far too much effort. If I ever committed to actually thinking before speaking? I’d at least make it fun. Translate everything into emojis and add an upside-down smiley face.”
His eyebrows furrow, and for a moment I’m worried he doesn’t understand that I’m trying to tease him, but then I see the twinkle in his eyes as he leans in. “I don’t think that would make my meaning clearer.”
“Likely not.” I look down at my phone. There are no messages, which is good news. If Harper had gotten worse, someone would’ve called.
“So.” Lucas says the word as though it’s a complete sentence.
He rubs at his lower lip and holds up a finger in the universal Give me a moment sign.
Finally, he begins again. “I’ll start again.
What I meant to say is that I wasn’t thinking of you as a girl when I followed you out, even though you very obviously are, because I was trying to speak to you as a potential teammate.
As such, I’m not intending to be nosy, but I am wondering if perhaps you’re burning out on classes or if there’s another reason for your slightly abnormal showing. Something we could address together.”
“Unless I’m a fluke.” I’m aiming for nonchalance, but as soon as the words leave my mouth I’m worried Lucas will hear the self-doubt, the underlying fear that Arjun and my father are correct: I’m a disappointment. I had potential but didn’t live up to it.
“You’re not a fluke.” Lucas huffs out a laugh as he says it, as though it’s a preposterous idea. And this, more than anything else, helps my brain finally catch up.
“Potential teammate?”
“That’s what I said.”