Screen Queens

by Lori Goldstein

  “Sweet . . . and bring a list of the incubator teams. I want to keep tabs. See what it does for their Pulse.”

  Seriously? But Maddie nodded.

  As the counselors started collecting the campers and leading them to their parents’ cars, Sadie asked Maddie, “So you gonna win or what?”

  “You care if I do?”

  “Do porcupines tap dance?” Sadie held up her hand. “Don’t answer that.”

  “Can we settle on a ‘we’ll see’?”

  “Ugh, you sound like my mom.” Sadie turned and sashayed to the door.

  Maddie watched the back of Sadie’s red-haired head disappear from sight, realizing how much fun she’d had and hoping someone back on the East Coast was feeling the same after being lucky enough to spend the afternoon with Danny.

  Delia wrapped up with her student, promising to give his counselors links to websites for him to learn more, and Lucy stood among her admirers—most of them as tall if not taller than she was. But Lucy would never fade into the background.

  They gravitated toward one another, each of their wide smiles growing more tentative as they studied one another’s faces, trying to discern what each was thinking. Pulse and Ryan Thompson and the internship hadn’t budged from the bottom of Maddie’s priority list, and yet . . . Lucy and Delia, their passion and talents, they were rising. Maddie wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but one thing kept repeating on a loop in her mind: win ValleyStart.

  NINE

  TEAMVESTING • When an investor offers a startup financing because of a belief in the team more than the actual idea

  DELIA HAD SPENT HOURS talking about coding. The only other time she’d done that was when she was ten and she and Cassie had watched The Shining even after Cassie’s mom had said it was too scary for them. She’d been right.

  Cassie had begged Delia to tell her a story so she could fall asleep, but Delia didn’t know any stories. But she knew programming. Despite Cassie groaning from boredom, sleep only came with the morning light. Yet that night inspired her to create Delia’s Den. The first iterations, the ones she shared with the boy in the day camp, featured a character eerily similar to the wild-eyed Jack Nicholson that had scared the crap out of her and Cassie in The Shining.

  “Those kids were pretty great,” Delia said as she and her teammates (were they still?) walked from the edge of campus back to the dorm. They passed the semicircular two-story gym and the dozen women and handful of guys balancing on one foot in front of it—either an outdoor yoga class or flamingo training.

  “So were those programs,” Lucy said. “My summer camp had the best—”

  “Naturally,” Maddie said, but followed it with a head nod that encouraged Lucy and a wink that made Delia stifle a laugh.

  “And still those were way better than the ones we had at their age,” Lucy continued. “Don’t you think, Delia?”

  “I, uh, guess,” Delia said, pressing her hand to her neck and feeling the coolness of the circuit board pendant against her skin.

  “Which ones did your instructors use?”

  “I’m mostly self-taught, actually.”

  “Really?” Lucy said.

  “Really?” Maddie said.

  Delia shoved her hands in her pockets and focused on the ground, wondering if she could get a counselor’s job instead of heating up Hot Pockets if she gave up on ValleyStart.

  Going home and telling her parents she’d failed, here, the one place she could possibly succeed, would end with her folded into their arms, listening as they said how proud they were of her for trying, knowing she’d never feel the same about herself.

  Especially after the sacrifices they’d made for her these past couple of years—from her dad’s long drives to Chicago to forgoing theater improvements like the new lighting board to her mom taking on everything from catering to costume repair to save more for Delia’s college fund. Delia helped as much as she could.

  But seeing those kids, helping those kids, for once Delia didn’t feel ashamed of who she was and what she could do. All the while, she’d snuck glances at Maddie and Lucy, who seemed to be enjoying themselves as much as she was. When they were all volunteering, they’d seemed almost like equals.

  Delia couldn’t believe she’d actually thought they could be a team, that she’d found girls who were like her, that they could all be part of the same club.

  She’d never been part of anyone’s club but her parents and Cassie’s. Her town was small, her schools even smaller. Her computer was her second best friend, and her classmates knew it. Everyone liked Cassie and would never have said out loud that Delia couldn’t tag along—at least out loud in Delia’s presence.

  “That’s amazing, Delia,” Lucy said.

  Delia stopped walking. “What?”

  “I said . . .” Lucy looped her arm through Delia’s. “That’s amazing. That you taught yourself. You’re a true unicorn.”

  Maddie snorted. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “It is,” Delia said shyly. “A unicorn’s a . . .”

  “Programmer or startup that is too incredible to actually exist.” Lucy’s tone had a bit of awe in it.

  “A unicorn?” Maddie mimed a long pointy horn on her head. “Pink and blue and swirly?”

  “Whatever color you want it to be,” Lucy said. “And horns might only be for the male unicorns.”

  “Hmm,” Delia said. “Yeah, I’m not really sure.”

  “Are we seriously debating the anatomical correctness of a magical creature that doesn’t exist?”

  Lucy looked at Delia and smiled. “I guess.”

  “I guess,” Delia repeated.

  A lightness in the breeze wafted over them as they crossed beneath an arbor covered in a purple flowering vine and continued on the path that would lead them back to the dorms. Delia had the strongest urge to text Cassie, like she should be here with her, with them.

  After a while in silence, Maddie said, “Really? Self-taught, Delia?”

  Delia nodded. “And . . .” She sucked in a breath and felt Lucy tighten the hold on her forearm. “I-I know what we’re up against, all these kids who had so much more than me, who started at these types of summer camps like Lucy, so I’ll understand if you want to still split up, it’s just . . . did you see how few girls were in that day camp?”

  “Yeah,” Maddie said. “I did.”

  “Me too,” Lucy said.

  “First all-girls team . . .” Delia started.

  “To win,” Lucy said.

  “Sounds pretty unicorn-y to me.” Maddie’s face was unreadable, and then her freckles lifted as she grinned. Delia was pretty sure it was the first time she’d seen her smile around Lucy.

  “Going on record that I want that horn though,” Maddie added. “Better to ram up Gavin Cox’s—”

  “Aha, yes, no need for visuals,” Lucy said. “But I for one think that’s a brilliant idea.”

  They all laughed, and Delia realized how much weight she’d been carrying, about their team, about staying in the program, about not getting to go to work anymore. Because she just loved heating up Hot Pockets.

  Uh-huh.

  It had nothing to do with a certain boy.

  Nothing at all.

  They spent the rest of the walk talking about their ideas for Lit. Lucy even let Delia speak some of the time. Though when Delia questioned if they really needed a “sticky floor” rating, Lucy chuckled.

  “Delia, I think you need to see—and feel—the inside of a club.”

  “Like research? For work?” Maddie said.

  “And play.” Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Fortunately, Ryan Thompson and I think alike. Next weekend’s field trip? Who’s in for a recon bonding night?”

  TEN

  THE DAVE RATIO • The gender imbalance in startups and tech, where the number
of Daves is often greater than or equal to the number of women

  THE MUSCLES IN LUCY’S arms quivered, but she gripped the handle tighter. It had been nearly an hour, and she wasn’t giving up now.

  “Hold on,” Lucy said as she tugged the hair straightener through Delia’s surprisingly resilient curls. “We’re nearly there.”

  “I appreciate this, I do,” Delia said, recrossing her legs for the zillionth time. “It’s just . . . that was a lot of matcha. Delicious-you were right about the tea-but just . . . a lot.”

  “The grande colossal. Your body’s flying so high on antioxidants it’s devouring free radicals like Maddie eats zucchini-flour pancakes.”

  “Who would have thought?” Delia said.

  “I know,” Lucy said. “Every morning this week.”

  “She even saved some for lunch.”

  “Huh. Maybe this California sunshine is finally starting to thaw our dear Madeline.”

  Delia simply crossed her legs—again.

  In the past week, Lucy had begun to understand the differences in Delia’s silences. There was the head down, immersed in code silence Lucy wouldn’t dare interrupt. The texting with a certain coder who was a hottie haven all unto himself silence. And this, the nonconfrontational confrontational silence.

  “Sorry,” Lucy said. “I love Madeline, you know that.”

  Delia silence.

  “Fine. Maddie. But Lit—”

  “Is behind. We’re lagging behind where the other teams are.” Delia hugged her arms against her chest, knocking her necklace to the side. “It’s my fault. That real-time reaction is our core, and all week I’ve been following what should work, it’s just . . .”

  “I know.” Lucy centered Delia’s computer chip. “And I’m confident you’ll get us there.”

  She patted Delia’s shoulder, but truthfully, she was concerned about their progress. Delia cared too much about the other teams, and Maddie didn’t seem to care enough about theirs. While Lucy didn’t exactly regret their decision to stick together, she did feel the burden of being the glue.

  “I was more talking about Maddie. Pieces of Lit do look stellar . . .” Lucy tipped her head toward the designs for the Lit logo and site icons wallpapering the back of their door. “But they’re scattered.” Like everything of hers, Lucy restrained herself from adding, despite the tees, jeans, computer cords, charging cables, and who knew what else—dirty or clean, alive or dead—piled on the floor and lining the wall of Maddie’s bunk like a body pillow. “And she hasn’t entirely abandoned communicating with me via grunting. Sometimes, doesn’t it feel like . . . like she’s only half here?”

  Delia remained silent. But she nodded. Then, she put her hand around Lucy’s wrist and yanked.

  “Sorry,” Delia said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Lucy sighed, rested the straightener on the edge of the desk, and sat down on her feathery comforter. Maddie’s distance worried Lucy. Because Lit needed all three of them to not just be here but to be here, to eat, sleep, dream, walk, run, think, breathe here here, every minute of every day. It was the only way to win.

  On the desk, her phone lit up with a text.

  ValleyStart: Week 2, we are in. Go ahead and grin. But don’t forget: the beta test approaches like a shark fin!

  Every day ValleyStart sent a pithy rhyme—whether to psych them up or out, Lucy still wasn’t sure.

  She doubted any of her ValleyStart competitors needed the beta test reminder. Though it wouldn’t arrive until the fourth week of the program, it loomed over every class and lecture, every brainstorming session, every mentor meeting. And every program deadline—like the one coming at the end of the week: submitting their in-progress apps for review. They’d only have a few days to implement the feedback before the beta test, and they had to do it right. The team with the most successful beta test had an eighty-five percent chance of winning on Demo Day. Eighty-five.

  The beta test was the domino that would set off all the rest and end with Lucy strolling under the palm trees at Stanford. It would be here before Emma Santos mastered the song she was singing—singing again. The same one she’d been practicing since the day they all arrived. Her voice spilled through the door, and Lucy once again wondered how she had the time.

  Then again, she’d been straightening Delia’s hair for the past hour. All the while looking at the necklace Delia always wore, same as Maddie and her four-leaf clover—gifts from their parents. Lucy had one too.

  She opened the desk drawer and reached for her jewelry case. Inside was the silver Star of David her mother had given her for her bat mitzvah when she was thirteen. It had originally been her mom’s, given to her for her own ceremony. Lucy hadn’t worn it in years.

  She left it where it was and instead hooked a black choker around her neck. She then stroked the felt of her red pennant for luck, picked up her phone, and logged in to Stanford’s online applicant portal, checking on her request for a second interview. Now that she’d actually met Ryan Thompson, if she happened to get the chance to slip his name into the convo, all the better.

  No response, still.

  Lucy entered the date and time of the check-in into her notebook right below the last one, two days ago, the same day Lucy had heard from her mom.

  Any news from Stanford?

  That was the only text her mom had sent since Lucy first arrived at ValleyStart. That maybe there’d have been more had Lucy responded was irrelevant.

  “Still analog, huh, li’l Lucy?”

  Her spine stiffened. Freaking Gavin Cox.

  She closed her notebook. “Studies show writing things down increases our memory and allows us to process information on a deeper level.”

  “Huh, you don’t say. Wait, sorry. What was that again?”

  “I said, studies show—”

  He grinned, and Lucy hated that some part of her actually still thought he was cute.

  “So this is the home of the dream team behind Lit.” His big feet clomped into the room, leaving a trail of dirt behind him. “Surprised it’s not covered in rainbows and boy band posters.”

  “That was last week. This week’s theme is feminine hygiene. If you want to join us, we’re making tampon garlands later.”

  “No one ever said you weren’t quick, Katz.”

  Lucy’s eyes flitted from Gavin’s to below his waist and back again. “Unfortunately same holds true for you.”

  “You never complained.”

  “You never listened.”

  “No need. Always another customer waiting to be served.”

  That Gavin was arrogant didn’t mean he was wrong. Gavin’s father was one of the first VCs with a history of betting big and right. With Gavin’s Mercedes convertible, partying prowess, and, yes, dammit, those floppy curls, he did have a line of girls waiting outside his bedroom door.

  She’d never been one of them.

  Until the night her ride to the after-after-homecoming-game party drank too many seltzer wine coolers and accidentally flushed her car keys down the toilet. Lucy had called AAA and sat on the curb to wait, once again regretting the last fender bender (was that her seventh or eighth?) that had put her car in the shop. That’s when she’d heard Gavin talking behind a tree at the side of the house.

  “I know my times were slower than the last meet, Dad, but we still won. By a—”

  Silence.

  “I’m not making an excuse, it’s just—”

  Silence.

  “I know.”

  Silence.

  “Yes, I remember. Pissing in a tin can. Got it.”

  Gavin hung up, reared his arm back, and hurled his phone across the front lawn. Right into Lucy’s tote. She cried out in surprise before exploding in laughter. When Gavin peered around the tree and she pulled his phone out of her bag, his eyes narrowed before he began laughing t
oo.

  “Now if only someone had recorded that and shown my dad,” he said with a sheepish grin, knowing she must have heard the conversation.

  Gavin walked to Lucy, and she handed him his phone, never expecting him to take it and sit down beside her. They were in a couple of classes together, went to most of the same parties, but they weren’t really friends. But, honestly, in their ultra-competitive high school, was anyone truly just “a friend”? See and be seen, give a little, get as much as you could, everyone equally as good to party with as to use to your advantage—the best being when both could happen at once.

  That night had been different.

  From beneath her bunk bed, Lucy grabbed the dustpan she’d “borrowed” from the janitorial closet and swept up after Gavin. “Why are you here?”

  “Can’t a friend stop by?’

  “Yes, a friend can.”

  “Oh, come off it, Lucy, there was never anything real between us. You know that.”

  Lucy knew it.

  She knew who Gavin was.

  But somehow she’d let him in. For weeks—the longest relationship either of them had ever had. Which happened to include the night before her Stanford interview.

  He’d texted, upset about the latest thing his ass of a father had done.

  Gavin’s parents were at Pebble Beach for the weekend—his dad knocking around golf balls and terms like valuation and hockey stick growth and his mom marinating herself in seaweed wraps and aloe martinis. Back at home, Gavin had been checking their travel itinerary after realizing that the credit card he had on their account had expired. He’d noticed his father was signed up for a father-son golf tournament, party of two.

  Gavin was an only child.

  He’d asked her to come over. She went. And she listened as his venting about his father transitioned into something else: the reason the itinerary had affected him so much. He’d been eleven the last—and only—time he’d played in a father-son golf competition with his dad. His first off hit had led to more, fueled by the strain on his father’s face and Gavin’s nerves. Knowing he’d disappointed his father, he was shy and self-conscious at the luncheon afterward. He made excuses and explained to his dad’s friends how he’d work to improve for next year. His dad nodded right along, and then, first chance he got, he dragged Gavin to the men’s locker room.