20. The Gal You’d Want in an Emergency
THE GAL YOU’D WANT IN AN EMERGENCY
BEFORE
In the two days before we leave for worlds, Brody is so moody it’s distracting.
Instead of his normal jokes, he snaps at Lucas and me, irritated by every little thing.
(“Why are the birds so fucking loud today?” to “This pizza does not have extra cheese,” and “Why the fuck can’t I find this fencepost error? ”)
“Is someone feeling unexcited about Singapore?” We’re about to start our last practice session before meeting early tomorrow morning so we can Uber together to LAX.
Brody is squeezing his eyes and rubbing at his temples while his leg bounces up and down, only the last of which is normal Brody behavior.
Even hungover, Brody’s usually in an okay mood.
And I can’t remember him ever admitting to feeling unwell.
“I’m fucking peachy. The rest of the Lloydies are headed to Tahoe in the morning, but I get to fly almost eighteen hours so I can do a nearly weeklong job fair and competition in one of the most light-polluted cities in the world. Whee.”
It’s so unusually, uncharacteristically bitter that Lucas and I exchange a look.
We thought it was a good thing for worlds to be scheduled at the same time as Caltech’s spring break.
It meant there would be no classes to miss, no tests or projects to make up, and also more opportunity to focus on practicing.
Neither Lucas nor I had considered that for Brody, for whom class attendance is optional at best, missing out on vacationing with his dormmates was the true cost.
“I’m sure we can find something fun to do in Singapore—”
Brody holds up a hand to forestall the rest of my words. His voice is gruff, another sign I should have paid attention to.
“Sorry, don’t mind me.” He passes a hand over his forehead. “No idea why I’m pissy. Just ignore me. I know you both have family things to take care of. I’ll shut up and be a good boy and practice. Promise.”
My father, of course, would be disappointed in the signs I missed.
But in my defense, there really were so many things to do before I could leave for a week.
Lucas and I had both picked up extra shifts to justify the time off.
For me, there was the weeklong meal prep and the fact that I’d accidentally scheduled Wren’s annual well-check during a time when I wouldn’t be able to take her, and my mother was particularly bitchy about it all when I asked her to bring my younger sister.
(“Don’t I normally handle things with your younger sisters?
” she asked, even though the obvious answer was no.
Usually, she abdicated all the parenting to me, all the time.) There was the fact that I’d be missing Harper’s best friend’s birthday party and had forgotten to buy a gift, neglected to arrange rides to and from the SkyPark located two cities away.
To top it all off, there was my father’s short, clipped voicemail asking whether I’d be embarrassing him at worlds, and if Aurora had finally begun demonstrating academic aptitude.
We pull up the practice contest, and even though Brody’s a little slower than usual, it goes well enough that I put Brody’s mood out of my mind.
Last time, Brody ordered the Uber. This morning, Brody looks as though he’s just finished a workout, except without any of his normal post-gym glow.
I finish finalizing the Uber, which should arrive right around when Lucas does. He texted a minute ago, telling me he was running out now, that Leno had a stomach bug and he’d stayed to help clean up.
“You don’t look right.”
“Thanks, Red. You, on the other hand, are as gorgeous and subtle as ever.” But even Brody’s voice is off. There’s the tiniest wheeze to it, as if he’s in actual pain.
“Does something hurt?” I lay a gentle hand on Brody’s shoulder before moving it to his forehead, which is definitely clammy.
Lucas arrives then, a line of worry already creasing his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
I point toward Brody, who folds himself onto the ground, holding his stomach.
“Leno had a stomach bug . . .”
Brody lets out a small whisper of a groan, clearly trying to keep it together.
I look at my phone, which tells me the Uber is a minute away, and think quickly.
“I should take Brody to the nearest urgent care.” I’m already taking out the folder of papers I’d prepared. “Even if we miss this flight, I’m sure there’s another one we can get on.”
Lucas is looking panicked, but given Brody’s normal bluster, the fact that he’s not fighting me on this, is merely putting his head in his hands and groaning a little, tells me it’s the right option.
“I don’t think Professor Miller’s bothered to read any of the official emails, but I’ve printed all the registration stuff.
Every team’s been assigned a fifteen-minute window. Everything’s here in the folder.”
“Shouldn’t I go with you?”
I look at Brody again. “Miller’s going to freak if none of us are there, and I don’t know what the rules are if none of us show up on time.
This way, if Brody’s just got a stomach bug, you can register us and we’ll join you in a day or so.
You can go, network. I printed extra copies of your new résumé.
Made some changes. I’ll tell you about it later. ”
Because Lucas doesn’t need to know that my father made me sift through résumés when I was younger, saying that a future CEO needed to know every part of the business.
My father believed that even if I might eventually have a son, I could still act as a support for his eventual heir, meaning I should be cognizant of all the details.
All that matters right now is that the Uber is pulling up and both my teammate and my boyfriend look like they’re about to pass out.
I give Lucas a quick kiss on his now-cold lips and open the door for him. I even take his luggage because it doesn’t look as though Lucas, in his near panic, is capable of much right now. “I printed riddles to distract you. I’ll keep you updated.”
“You’re probably overreacting,” Brody tells me, leaning his head against the side of the door with his eyes closed.
“Probably,” I tell him, while I google his various symptoms.
Most likely, it’s a stomach bug. If Leno’s sick, then Lucas has been carrying it. But I’ve never seen Brody even sniffle. That said, if my mother’s right about the fact that I’m a tuó shuāi jiā, that I really do bring bad luck to everyone I’m close to . . . well.
“Better safe than sorry.” I keep my voice as calm and dispassionate as possible.
Brody opens his eyes for a moment, likely to voice some smartass retort, but instead his eyes open a bit wider before he proceeds to vomit all over me, my phone, and the back seat of the Uber driver’s already battered Toyota Corolla.
The time in the hospital is a blurry, awful mess.
Not just because I have to fight to get Brody seen.
(“It’s a full moon,” the nurse at intake tells me in a simultaneously overcaffeinated yet bored tone.
“Everyone comes out of the woodwork.”) But also because I’m still lugging around Brody’s luggage and mine, and there are just too many questions I don’t know the answers to.
(“What is your boyfriend’s blood type?” and “Does your friend-not-boyfriend have additional health insurance?”) Also, my phone might or might not be permanently damaged.
Aurora dropped my phone, cracking the case, last week.
And because I hadn’t gotten the chance to replace the case yet, my already-barely-hanging-on-as-it-was-smartphone was completely unprotected when Brody decided to vomit his I-think-it’s-orange-juice on it.
It’s another item to put on the list of things I can’t afford to replace.
By the time I get my laptop out and connected to the hospital Wi-Fi, Lucas is already midair, frantically trying to check in on me and Brody from somewhere over the Pacific.
I message him via Discord that I believe they’ll let him compete on his own if I can’t make it out there, that I’m proud of him for getting on the plane and I’ve already tried to get in contact with Professor Miller.
I can feel Lucas’s stress from the string of messages he sends me.
You can’t come now?
That sounds awful. Forget I said that.
Brody needs you.
Because most of Brody’s friends are away on spring break, our options are limited.
I should have come with you, Lucas messages. Now I’m stuck on this aluminum death trap by myself.
I calm him as best I can from the hospital waiting room.
Brody’s appendix bursts while he’s being wheeled into surgery and while his mother is still stuck in traffic.
By the time Beatrice I-didn’t-change-my-last-name Huntington arrives, demanding in her quiet but still authoritative manner that the surgeon give her a full report of what’s happened with her youngest son, Brody’s already in recovery.
Only after Beatrice is satisfied that she’s been thoroughly updated does she kiss the still unconscious Brody on the cheek before engulfing me in a hug of undoubtedly expensive perfume that’s only slightly marred by dried sweat.
Then, she sits me down and cross-examines me, prying out all the details before hugging me again.
“You probably saved his life,” she tells me, squeezing my hand. “I can’t imagine what would have happened if he’d gotten on that plane.”
Beatrice tells me that Brody’s father is flying back from England right now and that I ought to head home for the night.
“Are you sure?”
Brody’s mother’s gaze slips down to my shirt and only then do I realize I’ve yet to completely wash out the vomit from earlier. She grips my hand in hers before saying thank you again. “Brody always said you’re the glue of the team. The gal you’d want in an emergency.”
Much, much later, after I’ve showered and crawled into my blessedly empty dorm room, after Lucas has already landed and I’m bleary-eyed with exhaustion, I finally get ahold of Professor Miller, who already landed, but has been catching up with the other coaches.
He’s adamantly opposed to my flying out a day, or even two days, late.
“Even if you were the strongest member, a two-person team is unlikely to stand a real chance. But in my estimation? You’re the weakest link.
Thus, I see no justification for the additional cost of a last-minute international ticket,” Professor Miller tells me.
“You’re better off staying and taking care of your teammate.
Lucas will do the best he can, since he’s already here. ”
A lifetime of biting back what I really think means that I smile at Professor Miller without telling him where to shove his unsolicited and—considering he never shows up to practices and likely only has Arjun’s word for what’s happening—unfounded opinions.
“Thank you for taking the call.”
My smile is a tad overbright, and Professor Miller looks a little confused about my sunny attitude, but he hangs up shortly afterward.
When I visit him the next morning, Brody is considerably less sanguine. He tells me his mother can fly me out.
“She’s ready to name my firstborn child after you. Given that, I doubt she’d flinch at the cost of a last-minute first-class ticket to Singapore.”
I consider it, but . . .
“Professor Miller’s already been announced as the ACM 95 teacher next year.”
“So what? He’s really going to turn away a second team member who shows up?”
Probably not. Except he was so adamant, and even after a night of sleep I’m thoroughly exhausted.
Though I’d like to be there, with Lucas, a small part of me does worry that I won’t contribute, that I’ll be worse off next year.
“He’s Arjun’s advisor. Who knows what Arjun’s told him.
Besides, your parents were saying they have to be back in court, and most of your friends are off on their ski trip. I’ll stay and take care of you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please.” I take a seat next to him, thinking that I’ll be able to take Wren to the doctor now, that I can catch up on the research project I’ve barely started. “You owe me way more than sorry and your firstborn.”
Brody grins and settles back against the pillows. “Think Lucas even needs us?”
“Watch him win the whole thing on his own.”
Turns out I’m right and wrong.
Lucas still isn’t used to the idea of competitions. Without us—and he claims, more specifically without me—he is anxious. So much so that he stays on the phone with me until they take it away from him to place it in a ziplock bag before the competition starts.
“At least beat Harvard,” I tell him. I don’t get a chance to tell him I’m joking, that considering Harvard beat all three of us at nationals, solo-ing against them should be an impossibility.
Joke’s on me, though, because Lucas goes on to place thirtieth, by himself, at worlds.
Harvard Hermès and his cronies place forty-third.
Afterward, Lucas calls me first, and Brody and I FaceTime him from the hospital room.
Really, since there weren’t any complications, Brody should have been released after forty-eight hours.
But because his parents weren’t able to come again, they somehow pressured the hospital into keeping him an extra day for checkups.
“I might have done better if I hadn’t been so obsessed with beating Harvard.
I was so fixated on solving everything they attempted that I missed one of the easier problems completely. ”
“This is called humble-bragging,” Brody says, twirling a spoon in his pudding.
Lucas blushes. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know.” Brody is quick with a smile, even though it’s a bit wan. “Relax. You don’t always have to be such a Boy Scout.”
The bright side of it all? ICPC worlds is normally reported on minimally beyond some college- and local-news level sites, but because Lucas competing on his own is enough of a human-interest story, he’s featured alongside the world champions in several reports.
Lucas gets a few different emails from companies that are interested and lands a last-minute summer internship at Eluva.
The positions should have all been filled months ago because prestigious fintech firms start their interviews in September.
But for someone to have placed thirtieth? By themselves? Against a field of almost two hundred three-person teams who were already theoretically among the best in their respective nations?
I’m surprised there wasn’t a bidding war.