Page 9 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

4

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?”