Page 4 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

I clear my throat. “Are they going to release the current rankings?”

“Naw, it’s more Hunger Games this way.” It’s the large man-boy wearing an oversized tank and basketball shorts who answers. On his name tag, he’s written Brody, he/him/bro/dude.

Which tracks.

“The official logic is that it might bias us against one another and not let us see who we might otherwise click with.” This from Eleanor, who reaches over to shake my hand while pointing to her name tag.

I nod. I’d suspected one and read the other, but I had wanted to hear everyone talk.

“Three-minute warning.”

The projector at the front of the classroom flips on (because apparently, Caltech still has projectors), displaying our real names next to our online handles. We all have Codeforces accounts because the Russian website remains the premier practice site. Caltech’s official stance is that our Codeforces rank will not impact team selection, but knowing one another’s usernames will give us a chance to investigate and stalk before deciding who we’d like to team up with.

“Two minutes. Remember, rankings will be updated live, just as they’re displayed at SoCal regionals, nationals, and then worlds. That said, don’t let yourself get distracted. Worry about your own code, and happy debugging.”

People around me start putting on AirPods, and I dig out my own knockoffs.

The website for the Caltech contest refreshes with a one-minute countdown.

Everyone here wants this for their résumés, the prestige, the guaranteed internships.

Me?

I need this.

Winning nationals would mean $15,000, cash. Worlds would be another $15,000 and a nearly guaranteed internship at one of the big fintech companies.

Even split with two teammates, that would be $10,000.

Five months of rent, even if my father forgets to send the checks. Enough left over to pay for after-school activities for Aurora. Music lessons for Wren. New clothes for Harper. Maybe even a tiny bit of redemption for getting my younger sisters and mother into this position.

I cut off my useless train of thoughts.

There’s no time for spiraling. I lean forward as my Linkin Park loop starts and the tryout problems load.

“Damn.”

“Seriously? WTF.”

These are the most repeated responses when the competition ends.

Some of it’s directed at me, surprise that the lowly freshman ranked third, because even though I was a top-five high school programmer, everything resets in college. Caltech has international medalists from India, Russia, and China, meaning no one expected me to do this well.

Still, what’s truly shocked everyone (myself included) is that the guy in first is also an unknown.

“Who are you guys?” It’s Arjun Gupta who voices the question on everyone’s minds. A short, slightly chubby Indian man with curly brown hair, Arjun has spread his name out over two name tag stickers: You know my name. You don’t need my pronouns. Bronze @ Worlds Bitches. As the only Caltech student who’s both eligible and a returning champ, he’d expected to dominate, not be sandwiched between two unknowns.

I point to my name tag. “Lorelai Zhao.” And because I want to make sure everyone understands, that none of them leave thinking I’m some diversity admit who got in because I’m a girl who codes, I remind them, “I’m the freshman.”

Because yes, I know I’m the only first-year within the top eighteen. And while there are certainly more seasoned competitors here, I’m hoping to convince Arjun I have enough potential to be on his Team A.

Arjun narrows his eyes, clearly unimpressed.

“You want an award?” Arjun mimics a slow-clap, stopping to high-five another bro whose name tag I can’t see.

“That’s the goal.” My voice is steady as I maintain eye contact. If I can survive my father’s chaotically sporadic cross-examinations? I can handle two techbro wannabes and their milquetoast attempts at intimidation.

“She used Python to solve one of the problems.” Arjun isn’t even talking to me anymore. Because Python runs slower, contest programmers are often snobbish about its usage.