Screen Queens

by Lori Goldstein

  Not for long.

  Maddie was a perfectionist. Obvious despite her silence. Apparently she’d used up all her words to condemn Lucy at the start of the day for forcing her to scrap the designs she’d sketched last night. The only word she had left was “no.”

  “No,” when Lucy suggested a tiara icon for “dressy.”

  “No,” when Lucy suggested a bicycle icon for “no parking.”

  “No,” when Lucy suggested a faucet icon for “watered-down drinks.”

  No, no, no, no, no.

  “Yes!” Gavin shouted, smacking the hands of his teammates for the sixteenth time. Sixteen in eight hours.

  And all her team had managed to smack was one another. At least that was what it felt like.

  “Delia,” Lucy said. “Are you really sure you should be using Python?”

  “Do you think I shouldn’t?”

  “Um, yeah, isn’t that what I said six hours ago?”

  “And four, and three, and oh, ten minutes ago,” Maddie said. “Speed isn’t everything.”

  “It’s a hackathon. Hack. Hack implies speed.”

  “Really? I thought it was your middle name.”

  Lucy’s jaw clenched just as Ryan circled to their table.

  “Girls, how we doing?” he said.

  “Perfect,” Lucy said in a voice too shrill. She ran her hand through her hair, cringing when it came away sticky and purple. Hour seven was when the jelly donut fiasco had occurred. She’d told Delia it was fine.

  It wasn’t.

  “Have you seen that dude Gavin’s app? He’s using Swift. Even I learned something today.” He mouthed, “just kidding,” and flashed a grin. “His teammates sure hit the lottery.”

  Lucy would have never imagined wanting to be paired with Gavin. Until now.

  “Delia’s using Python,” Maddie said.

  “I told her not to,” Lucy said.

  “I told you not to tell her what to do,” Maddie said.

  “Somebody has to push the schedule forward. We only have five weeks.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  By the time Lucy realized Ryan was inching backward, he was almost out of reach. And then Delia popped up and spun her computer around. “Look!” she cried.

  “Lit” flew onto the screen, light bulbs flicking on around the word like an old Hollywood dressing room mirror. All three girls stared as each bulb fizzled out, along with Lucy’s hope of a Pulse internship.

  “This is all your fault,” Maddie hissed.

  “Me?” Lucy said. “I told her not to use Python.”

  “Along with a million other instructions. You’re micromanaging us both, while you sit there and do what? Paint your nails?”

  Lucy’s face flamed. She’d fixed one chipped nail. One. “At least I care about what we’re doing.”

  “Yeah, your passion for ‘hottie havens’ is inspiring.”

  “Stop,” came Delia’s barely audible plea, but Lucy and Maddie continued spitting blame at each other until finally Delia slammed her laptop shut, clutched it to her chest, and bolted out of the room.

  Everyone was staring at them. Snickering came from Gavin’s direction. But the only thing that threatened to steal Stanford from Lucy was the pitying look on Ryan’s face.

  She plastered on a smile, smoothed her hair, and said, “So, Ryan. Can I ask . . . do you have any pets?”

  EIGHT

  RIDESHARING TENSION • The discomfort experienced by carpoolers who feel an obligation to chat with fellow riders

  MADDIE PARKED HERSELF AT breakfast with a plate of zucchini-flour pancakes, which seemed as ill-conceived as her decision to come here. She’d steered clear of the cereal station, but it didn’t make her miss Danny any less.

  Delia was already under the scratchy comforter when Maddie and Lucy had returned to the dorm last night.

  After Delia had peeled out of the hackathon, Lucy’s face paled and she flattened her hands on the table. Maddie shut her laptop and opened her bag, figuring Lucy’s own sprint from the room was imminent. And then she saw Lucy’s hands ball up tight.

  Lucy had marched to the snack center, loaded her arms with iced coffees and kale chips, and then carefully arranged them on the table beside her. She pulled out her laptop and said, “Should we try Swift, then?”

  She punched letters on the keyboard, and Maddie learned two things: that this Lucy chick could code, and that so far the only thing they had in common was a stubborn streak. They may have had the worst app, but they had an app by the end of the hackathon.

  They were there when Ryan Thompson announced Gavin Cox and his teammates as the winners. They were there when Gavin Cox stood on the table, pumped his fists in the air, and shouted, “Boom!” And they were there when the team attempted to crush Red Bull cans with their chest bumps. One can must have been mostly full, and when Gavin Cox received a shower of sticky liquid, Maddie and Lucy both cracked up—the first time they were in sync all night.

  BFFs and Maddie went together as well as her dad’s bean soup and her mom’s Irish soda bread. This was simply a professional partnership. Except so far it was anything but.

  Maddie had lain in bed, exhausted but wide-awake—from jet lag and the thoughts running through her head. She’d listened to the faint sounds of a guitar echoing from somewhere down the hall, figuring it was that Emma girl Lucy had been creeping on during the hackathon. She’d checked the flights to Boston and had almost booked one. But then she pictured herself alone with her parents and without Danny.

  Maddie would stay, but not like this.

  “I think we should see Ms. Kapoor,” she said after Lucy and Delia took seats across from her at the breakfast table. “She’s my mentor and—”

  “And we need mentoring,” Delia said.

  “Doubt that’ll be enough,” Maddie said. “Face it, we’re just not compatible. I think we should consider splitting up. Maybe there are other teams looking to make a change, or maybe we can work alone.”

  Delia’s face showed her shock, but Lucy simply finished chewing her bite of scrambled tofu.

  “Fine by me,” she said. “I was going to propose the same thing.”

  Delia lowered her eyes and pushed her bacon around her plate.

  They ate in silence.

  When they got up to leave, Maddie noticed Delia’s plate was as full as when she’d sat down.

  * * *

  * * *

  An awkward silence hung in the air as they stood in front of Nishi. They’d arrived early to the class on functionality that she was leading that morning.

  “There’s precedent,” Nishi finally said. “Team members leave for all sorts of reasons—job offers, emergencies, illness. We’ve had two-person and solo teams in the past. We don’t like to, but really the disadvantage is yours, so if you all agree . . .”

  Maddie and Lucy said “yes” at the same time. Delia, still, was silent.

  Nishi studied them. “Tensions were high yesterday, certainly. I firmly believe competition yields excellent results, but so does collaboration. And that can take time to develop. So all I ask is that you think about this decision a little longer. Because I’m a big fan of firsts.”

  Lucy tapped her notebook, which she was clutching against her chest. “You were the first Indian American woman to receive nearly all of your Series A funding before leaving YC.”

  “Translation?” Maddie wouldn’t be intimidated by this pretentious startup world, with its own language that kept outsiders out.

  Nishi smiled. “YC, Y Combinator. What ValleyStart strives to prepare you for. And Series A . . .”

  “First round of significant venture capital funding,” Lucy said condescendingly.

  “Cash,” Nishi said. “And lots of it. Firsts gain attention—sometimes good, sometimes bad. And you young women would be t
he first all-female team to win ValleyStart.”

  Win ValleyStart? This was a box to check. A line on Maddie’s résumé. Nothing more.

  Nishi pulled a brochure out of her blue-and-white quilted bag. “My company—”

  “Write Me,” Lucy said. “Pen pals for the next generation, connecting people around the world, encouraging the sharing of cultures, religions, and ideas to broaden horizons and smiles.”

  “Word for word from my mission statement,” Nishi said. “Which makes me realize something’s missing: kids—connecting kids, especially. That’s what I was doing on my last trip to India, visiting schools and pairing them with ones around the world. A classroom in Delhi sent me this as a thank-you after I mentioned I might need treatment for my obsession with Indian fabrics.” She held out the end of her coral scarf and gestured to her bag. “Working with kids is my passion and why my company sponsors a free tech day camp for middle schoolers at the old science center on campus. It’s now a rec space.” She gave Maddie the brochure. “All the counselors are volunteers, and their tech skills vary. Do me a favor and help out today, together. If you still want to break up the band after, I’ll facilitate it for you. Deal?”

  * * *

  * * *

  Maddie got one glimpse of the day camp’s redbrick building, and her shoulders relaxed. Stucco and cement and concrete may fare better in earthquakes (strictly a guess), but buildings should be made of the more aesthetically pleasing brick, like they were back home.

  No one said much on the walk over, and as soon as they spoke with the head counselor, Delia and Lucy set out in different directions. Maddie leaned against the wall and checked her texts. Danny had sent a thumbs-up and a canoe emoji earlier but nothing else all day. He must be busy, having fun. Good. Great.

  She scrolled through her email, pissed at herself for the pangs of jealousy that accompanied her relief.

  “That’s it, I’m out!” someone cried.

  Maddie looked up. One of the day campers, a young girl with red hair, a shade darker than Danny’s, flopped across the table beside a desktop computer. She hid her face with a box of cereal—dinosaur-shaped cereal. A hint of a smile tugged at Maddie’s lips. She pocketed her phone and crossed the room.

  “Dramatic much?” she said as she stood over the girl.

  “Yes, in fact, I am.”

  Maddie laughed, sat beside her, and moved the cereal box. “I’m Maddie.”

  “And I’m done. D-u-n, done.”

  Maddie had barely parted her lips when the girl held up her hand. “I know, I know. But I’m too exhausted for four letters.”

  She slowly turned her head to Maddie. “But you can call me Sadie,” the girl finally said. She grinned and sat up straight. “Sassy Sadie, if you want. That’s my Pulse handle.”

  She knew she’d heard right, but still Maddie had to ask, “You have a Pulse account?”

  “D-u-h,” she spelled. “For three years.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eleven.”

  Eleven. “What’s an eleven-year-old need a Pulse account for?”

  Sadie eyebrows shot up. “What doesn’t an eleven-year-old need a Pulse account for? I mean, do eleven-year-olds not wear clothing, drink cherry soda, and read amazing books about Gumberoo?”

  Maddie shifted in her seat.

  “Oh no, no, no. If you tell me you haven’t read the Gumberoo books, I’ll spit splinters right now.”

  Sadie’s cheeks puffed and her eyes grew so wide that Maddie nodded, fearing the girl might otherwise spontaneously combust.

  Maddie had not only read the series about the mythical, splinter-spitting, bear-like creatures—hairless save for their bushy eyebrows and the bristles on their chin—that had more weeks on the bestseller list than any middle-grade fantasy in history, she’d split the last apple tart with the author across the dinner table at her house.

  The agency founded by Maddie’s dad, an MBA, and her mom, an attorney, owed its existence to Gumberoo. The author, Esmé Theot, was their first and still most profitable client. She was the reason Maddie lived in a single-family, Revolutionary War–era home in Cambridge and had attended top-notch private schools. But she was also the reason Maddie grew up without many friends.

  Maddie’s tendency to disappear into her sketches started early. When she was younger, she’d ask to have “playdates” at the Harvard Art Museums. Her circle of friends had always been small. And honestly Maddie preferred it that way—one or two close friends were enough. But as each book in the Gumberoo series sold better than the last, sparking movie deals and a rabid fandom, the circle around Maddie widened.

  Though unfamiliar, the invitations to birthday parties and movie nights and sleepovers gave Maddie the attention she was missing at home as her parents became as in demand as their famous author.

  So what if her new friends asked for free swag at the lunch table or to tag along to book talks and signings? It was fun, and friends had fun together. And then, one day, in the girls’ restroom, Maddie overheard the two Kimmys—the alphas of the popular clique—talking.

  “We keep this up, we’ll be at the premiere,” brown-haired Kimmy had said.

  “It’s not as bad as I thought,” blonde-haired Kimmy replied. “I mean, she’s as boring as a goldfish, but at least she doesn’t talk all that much.”

  “True. But I was hoping to get her to do my math homework. Sucks she’s just as bad as I am. That’s like false advertising, you know?”

  Maddie had been only a little older than Sadie. Unable to discern if the tightness in her chest was more from the stereotype or being used. She didn’t tell anyone. She’d wiped tears she vowed never to let fall again and retreated into herself, her art, her family, knowing they were the only ones she could trust. Until her parents took that away from her too. They’d promised to be better, to not let differences over how to run the business, be it client relations or expansion or travel, spill into their home life. And yet still the hostility spread like a virus, poisoning them all.

  “Look!” Sadie shoved her phone into Maddie’s face. “Pulse 10! Double duh. Of course she’s a 10, she’s Esmé Theot. But it’s not like she needs all that stuff.”

  Maddie shook off the ache unfortunately now entwined with Gumberoo and said, “What stuff?”

  “You did come from ValleyStart, didn’t ya?”

  Maddie nodded.

  “And you’re asking me about Pulse?” Sadie squinted. “You messing with me?” Clutching her phone, Sadie asked, “Handle?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I decided the only pulse I need is the one that keeps my heart ticking,” Maddie joked the way she would with Danny.

  “Don’t let Ryan Thompson hear you say that.” Sadie jumped. “Oh my God, you’ve met him, haven’t you?”

  “Unfortunately” almost slipped from Maddie’s lips.

  “He’s, like, soooo hot,” Sadie said.

  “Eleven-year-olds shouldn’t know who’s hot.”

  “Eleven-year-olds have eyes, Maddie. So, yeah, he’s hot just like all the Level 10s. Because triple duh, of course he’s Crushing It! Here, look.”

  Sadie handed Maddie her phone and showed her how to flip through all the Level 10s. A black woman sporting a fancy watch in the front row at Wimbledon, a dark-haired white guy pointing to a TV the size of a car, a blonde woman smiling and holding a first-class airline ticket, another woman at a runway show, one more turning on a fancy stove, more and more and more, each 10 more beautiful than the last.

  “Aren’t they amazing?” Sadie whispered. “My goal is two years.”

  “For what?”

  “To be a 10! That’s why I’m here, so I can get some SEO tips and skyrocket to the top.” Maddie stared blankly, causing Sadie to explain, “Search engine optimization, you know, incr
ease my Web traffic.”

  “I know all about SEO. It’s just, you’re eleven. Shouldn’t you be hunting for pterodactyls or—”

  “I’m eleven, not five. Future’s online for the taking, Maddie. Now, want to help me with this interface or not?”

  Maddie sighed and hit the space bar on the keyboard in front of them, returning to the world she knew, the world she understood, the world that made sense.

  She walked Sadie through the components of a graphical user interface and set her up to try implementing a drop-down menu on her own. As Sadie worked, Maddie sat back, searching for pterodactyls in the cereal box, listening to Delia quietly explaining the pros and cons of the different programming languages to a black boy two tables over—the most words Delia had spoken since she’d met her. She was showing him a coding game on her phone, guiding him through the basics of how to play. Even though she was talking to a middle schooler, Delia wasn’t talking down, and Maddie was impressed with her knowledge and enthusiasm. All the way on the other side of the room, Lucy rattled on about demographics and marketability, citing stats on the readership of her Teen Vogue articles as an example. Maddie turned to see her commanding a crowd of kids, getting a glimpse of what she’d bring to Demo Day.

  By the time they’d finished their session, Sadie was prepared for the next step in the learning-to-code program: getting a pixelated mini porcupine tap dancing. She was about to toss herself over the table in despair, when Maddie stopped her.

  “If you need help, you could just ask.”

  “Then . . . ask, ask, ask.”

  Maddie liked this kid. “You come every day?”

  “So long as my annoying brother remembers he’s supposed to take me. He’s home from college and hasn’t played soccer or Minecraft with me once. All he does is stream Netflix and text his girlfriend. Mom’s a super-important employment lawyer at a big software marketing company. She’s busy. Still, she wants to be the one to take me, but I told her my brother could get off his duff.”

  Maddie had spent her whole life making sure Danny knew he always came first. The bravado failing to cover the sadness in Sadie’s eyes was the reason why. “Then I’ll be back.”