Page 72 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

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.

21

IS TATUM HUANG’S EX-FIANCÉE TO BLAME?

PRESENT

We’re steps away from the restaurant when Vera puts a hand to my arm.

“My EpiPen.” She looks at her decorative clutch. “You go on in without me.”

I look toward the bar, where at least half of the afternoon party is already gathered with drinks in front of them, leaning in and laughing together.

“I’ll come upstairs with you.” It’s not a generous offer. I’d much rather go in with Vera as a partial shield than face that group alone.

“Nut allergies,” Vera explains while we ride the elevator up to what’s clearly the mostly family wing of the reservation block. In her room, which is a slightly smaller version of the suite I have, she digs in first her purse and then her beach bag. “Let me check my bathroom things. This might take a moment.”

I’ve barely stepped onto Vera’s balcony, which overlooks a more craggily part of the beach and a spectacular sunset, when I hear them: Brody’s unmistakable timbre and someone who has to be Vi.

“You didn’t tell me it’d be green.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I can try to talk Breezy into working on it when she arrives, but even the best hairdresser isn’t going to be able to make green hair look classy.” There’s a muffled sound before she continues. “It’s not only my image here. You’re running for Congress. You really want that in the pictures we’ll be releasing?”

I edge to the side, but a gust of wind means I miss whatever Brody says in response.

“I don’t care how you fix it, as long as you fix it.”

I hear the unmistakable click of footsteps followed by Brody saying, “Fuuuuuuuck” in a tone I’m well versed in, and then a glass door slams shut.

I almost jump out of the lounge chair when Vera touches my shoulder.

I don’t have to ask how much she heard because I can see the gentle pity in her eyes.

“I meant to dye it before coming.” It was on the list. But I was behind fixing Maya’s dissertation, got sidetracked looking up how psychological diagnoses have changed between DSMs while cross-checking some of her finer points. There was the lunch with Aurora and looking into how difficult it might be to ask for joint custody. “I can have everything delivered here.” I bite my lip and wonder if I should be explaining more directly to Vi. If I should be grateful she’ll lend me the services of whoever Breezy is.

Vera shakes her head. “That’s their normal dynamic. If they weren’t fighting over your hair, they’d be squabbling about why the centerpieces aren’t more symmetrical.”

I look out at the sunset, which is still objectively beautiful, burnt orange streaks and bright blades of yellow mixed in with deep reds as the sun dips down. As I watch, I catch a glimpse of the rare green flash that you see sometimes, if you’re lucky enough to catch a Pacific sunrise or sunset.

“Atmospheric refraction,” I say.

“Yes, dear.” Vera laughs. “Though when I talk about it in class, I’m more likely to lecture about green sunsets as they relate to pirate folklore. It’s more romantic than trying to explain the phenomenon in scientific terms.”