Screen Queens

by Lori Goldstein

  “You never said how your app’s going,” Delia said. “Did you settle on a name yet?”

  “EatSafe,” he said.

  Eric’s team was developing an app that tracked and rated restaurants on their ability to handle food allergies. They were hoping to incorporate a feature that facilitated easy communication between restaurants and patrons, since those cooking at home adapted recipes and used workarounds every day.

  “EatSafe,” Delia said. “That’s good.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded.

  “Awesome—and thanks. Marty seems like he’ll be great when it comes time for hustling, but he’s a bit all over the place with his ideas. And Emma’s cool, and I don’t mean to rag or anything, but I’m not really sure of her skills. She knows HTML, and she’s got some great sketch art she’s put to music. She writes her own lyrics and everything, but even she said she’s not really a designer.”

  One thing Delia didn’t have to worry about was the skill of her teammates—she knew she was the weak link.

  “Though her Pulse is going through the roof, so there’s that. Gotta help us when it comes time to beta test.”

  “Will it?” Delia hadn’t thought of that. None of her team was anywhere close to Crushing It, not even Lucy.

  “I hope so. I really want this to work. Yelp’s a great model for us, but ours has to go further, plus be safe for kids to use, because it’s when they’re on their own that they’re most at risk.”

  “And the idea came from your sister?”

  “Yeah, she’s allergic to peanuts. Like even breathing in the dust can be a problem.”

  Delia remembered the bags of peanuts she didn’t eat on the airplane and was glad she’d been too nervous to open them. “That must be hard.”

  “Her teachers are great about it, but she had a serious scare a couple of years ago. She was out with her friend’s family, and she and the mom alerted the server. But the guy in the kitchen was a sub for the usual chef and didn’t know what was in the sauces he was heating up. A tablespoon of peanut butter in a gallon of sauce. That’s enough. If she didn’t have her EpiPen . . .”

  Eric’s voice faltered at the end, and all Delia could think was if Cassie or her parents were in that situation, there was no way she’d be coding an app like Lit.

  “So I’m here, and I’m doing my best for her, you know?” Delia nodded, and Eric continued. “My grandma was so proud when I showed her the acceptance email. She said, ‘dreamers dream, doers do.’”

  Delia smiled, but her mind clung to Eric’s “doing my best”—the thing she was doing and realizing wasn’t enough. She was dragging her team down, no matter what Lucy said. She had no hope of helping them with her Pulse ranking, and she was even failing at the code. Had she actually thought she could be some superstar and get a job out here? She should be home, actually helping her parents, not here. She was a little fish in this big pond and she knew it—everyone knew it. She was certain that she was the one everyone at ValleyStart was talking about.

  She hadn’t realized she’d increased her speed until a red light stopped her and she saw that Eric was half a block behind her.

  “Damn, Delia,” he said. “Though what better way to finish than with a sprint.” He pointed across the street. “We’re here.”

  The light turned green, and once again he took her hand.

  Soft and smooth like Lucy’s comforter, which Delia had secretly napped under once—okay, twice. As they crossed the street, Delia seemed to let go of everything but the feel of his hand and . . . Oh no, the street’s not wide enough and don’t let go and . . . he let go.

  They kept moving, but now through a park that seemed to appear out of nowhere in the middle of an area that had become increasingly residential, with three-story homes nestled in among more squat ones made of concrete. Though it was dark, Delia’s fears of being alone in the city were less than she’d imagined, thanks to the abundance of streetlights, the groups of people walking along the paths, but, mostly, thanks to Eric.

  The comfort of the grass and trees now mixed in gave the neighborhood a charm she’d have almost said was worth the climb. Then Eric stopped walking and turned around. She did the same.

  “Oh, wow,” Delia whispered.

  Directly across from them was a row of tall Victorian houses with pitched roofs and scalloped trim across the front like loops of icing. Up a flight of stairs from the street, fairy-tale-like arched doorways adorned each house. Along the sidewalk stood short trees with cotton ball puffs of greenery atop a single, thin trunk. Lights glowed in some of the windows, casting yellow hues on the exteriors, each painted a different color, from baby blue to deep red to pink and more. And beyond the row of homes, brightly lit squares shined out of windows and from tops of skyscrapers soaring into the dark of the night, the skyline of the city stretching before them.

  “That climb was so worth it.” Delia stepped forward, as if she could get close enough to not just see what was before her but become a part of it.

  Eric moved behind her, holding his phone in front of them both. The image on his screen was of the same houses in the daytime, and the rainbow of colors brightened the photo even more than the sun.

  “Painted ladies, they’re called,” he said. “One of the must-see sights in the city.”

  “One of?” Delia said. “What could be better than this?”

  Eric’s hand brushed her shoulder as he pocketed his phone, and a spark of electricity suggested the answer to her question.

  Just as she was about to turn to face him, a bus came roaring down the street, a voice calling from the window even louder than the roar of the engine.

  “A-a-nd, there she is,” Lucy called, waving her phone. “Looks like we found my friend.”

  THIRTEEN

  FAST TRACK TO UNICORN STATUS • Startups or individuals seen as so smart and on point that they’re on their way to instant success; high rate of false positives

  THIS WAS LUCY’S WEEK.

  Sure, she could handle some amount of code. She knew enough to be entry level (okay, more than) at most organizations. But this was her domain.

  “Can anyone tell me three elements of a business plan?” Nishi asked.

  Please.

  Lucy’s hand shot up. “Executive summary, business description, products and services, marketing strategy, management team, funding requirements, financial forecast.”

  Beside her, Lucy sensed Delia fidgeting. She caught her eye, and Delia mouthed, “market analysis.” Lucy couldn’t believe she forgot. She tipped her head to defer to Delia, but instead of giving the answer, Delia shrank lower in her seat.

  Lucy shrugged and announced it herself.

  “Spot on. Even if it was more than three,” Nishi said.

  “Aw, leave the little lamb alone, Ms. K,” Gavin called from the back of the room. “Can’t expect a pretty face and a head for numbers.”

  From beside Delia, Eric spun around. “In some cases, neither.”

  Gavin snorted. “See what happens, boys? A chick on your team makes you soft. Oh, well, not everywhere, right, Shaw?”

  Emma sucked in a breath.

  “You entitled piece of—” Fists balled, Eric shoved back his chair. Delia set her hand on his forearm, and he turned to her, sat back down, and clamped his mouth shut.

  Well, would you look at that.

  Nishi locked eyes with Gavin. “I won’t tolerate this in my room, and neither will this program, Mr. Cox. You’re not in high school anymore, and we don’t operate on a warning system. If today’s guest lecture didn’t make this an excellent teaching moment, you’d be out the door already.” His lips parted, and Nishi added, “And yes, I know who your father is. I turned down his funding offer for the second company I founded. I’m on my third, so that was probably an okay decision, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Cox?”

/>   Gavin crossed his arms against his chest.

  “Now, benefits of crowdfunding versus those dear VCs like Mr. Cox Senior?”

  Lucy’s hand shot up.

  “Anyone other than Lucy?”

  No one spoke, and Lucy sat up straighter in her chair.

  This was her week.

  * * *

  * * *

  Lucy paused outside the entrance to the auditorium to check her Pulse.

  ♥♥♥♥

  Thudding. No movement. Even after all those likes on the club pic. And there was Emma.

  ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

  Crushing It. Level 10. Up from her 7 at the club.

  How is that possible?

  She logged in to the Stanford portal. Nothing.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  The ding of an arriving text sent her into her messages.

  ValleyStart: At the close of your second week, we assess the strong and the weak, the tortoise and the hare, the apps proceeding with vigor and care. Take a look, see where you stand, then grab your code with both hands! Lest you forget, Week 4 kicks off with the beta test!

  The intensity of the program had ramped up these past few days, as teams focused on improving functionality before the deadline to submit their in-progress apps for review. Believing competition yielded better results, just as Nishi had said, ValleyStart planned to rank the apps. And the results were in.

  Lucy squeezed her phone. Her team was tenth. Ten. Out of twenty.

  What?

  The middle of the pack. Average.

  What? What?

  Lucy was many things, but average was not one of them. She scanned the full list. Gavin’s team was tied for first.

  What? What? What?

  No. No, no, no. They’d fix it. She’d fix it. This was going to be her week. She flipped her ringer to silent and dug her notebook and favorite polka-dotted pen out of her tote, desperately trying to ignore the thud, thud, thud, thud in her temples; it was like her heartbeat was mocking her.

  She pressed her hand against the carved wood of the door leading into the auditorium, crinkling the edge of the A DISCUSSION: WOMEN IN TECH sign attached to it.

  A groan Lucy hated that she recognized came from behind her, and she gritted her teeth.

  “Women in tech. And I have to go to this, why?” Gavin grumbled. “Luce, do me a favor and tell them about my big—”

  “Mouth? Attitude? Chauvinistic tendencies? We all got it, Gavin, no worries.” Lucy sped through the doorway, knowing there wouldn’t be room enough for her, Gavin, and his ego when he checked his ranking.

  She hurried down the gently sloped aisle, catching sight of Delia on the other side of the crescent-shaped room, next to Eric. Lucy waved, but Delia was talking with such excitement and intensity that she didn’t even see. The girl was downright peppy. A state Lucy had yet to witness.

  Maybe this was the problem. Eric and Delia were spending a lot of time together, had even coordinated their kiosk shifts, which Delia insisted was only so when things were slow, they could work on their programming together. Either Delia was that naïve or somehow thought Lucy was.

  Yet all the time Delia was spending with Eric hadn’t affected his team—it was fourth. Was Delia helping Eric so much that Lit was suffering or was he not helping her enough? Lucy fought the urge to wedge herself between them and instead made a note to talk to Delia about her “give-to-get” ratio.

  She found Maddie up front and took the seat beside her. Before Lucy could speak, Maddie held up her hand. “I saw.”

  Lucy pushed through the clench in her jaw. “I’ve been canvassing my contacts. My editor at Teen Vogue knows a designer at Waze. I’ll set up an interview. Should give us an edge.”

  “Okay,” Maddie said.

  Things had been strained between them since the club last week.

  “Appreciate it,” Maddie added. “And don’t panic. We’ll step it up.”

  But Maddie, to Lucy’s surprise, had been trying. Well, the Maddie version of trying, which involved fewer eye rolls and an increased tolerance for Lucy’s fashion advice.

  And more work on Lit. She’d stayed up late twice in the past week, coordinating with Delia to ensure the larger design elements wouldn’t increase load time. She’d presented three different options for the overall color scheme and, after Lucy steered them toward a darker, ultra-modern palette (obviously), had begun working on some of the more complex elements, like buttons.

  She was good. Great. They all were. Which is why . . . tenth place?

  No freaking way.

  From somewhere above, partially hidden from the audience by the thick, ebony beams that traversed the ceiling, lights shined on the stage. This auditorium was used for lectures like this as well as performances—and Demo Day. Lucy imagined herself looking out at the creamy white walls, her voice echoing off the wood panel insets, her feet flat against the floor. She pictured herself holding the microphone, just as Nishi was doing as she walked to the center of the stage.

  Lucy uncapped her pen, determined not to miss a thing.

  “Everyone, please take a seat. We’re about to get started.” The coral scarf around Nishi’s neck hung perfectly, and yet her hand kept lifting to fiddle with the ends. Nishi Kapoor didn’t fiddle.

  “Yes, well, okay, then.” Nishi cleared her throat. “As an administrator of ValleyStart for the past three years, I can honestly say that we have never had a more impressive panel of speakers.” Fiddle, fiddle, fiddle. “Our guests have generously donated their time to be here, so let’s be considerate listeners and thoughtful in our questions.”

  She introduced two women, a CEO of her own social media company, who was black and in her early forties, and the other, a principal engineer at a software business, who was white and in her early thirties. And then Nishi yanked so hard on that scarf, it almost dropped to the floor. She adjusted it back into place and cleared her throat again. “And our final guest is a woman who has seen Silicon Valley become Silicon Valley. She has been here long enough to know which garage origin stories are fact and which are myth.”

  Gavin’s “old,” barely masked by his fake cough, made Maddie spin around and growl, “Shut it, dumbass.”

  “Now, please welcome Abigail Katz.”

  Abigail Katz? Lucy’s quick reflexes plastered a smile on her face though her stomach flipped with nerves.

  “Wait,” Maddie whispered. “Is that your mom?”

  An efficient nod.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  Why didn’t she tell me?

  “Surprises are more fun, right?” Lucy clasped her hands together in her lap, feeling more and more eyes on her as her classmates began to make the connection.

  Had her mom even for one singular second considered what this would be like for her? A nasal snort escaped. That would require her remembering where Lucy was, and the only thing her mom had an elephant-like brain for was where Lucy wasn’t.

  “Any news from Stanford?”

  Nishi finished reading the bios of the first two women and settled her eyes on Lucy’s mom. “Ms. Katz—”

  Her mom’s nod mirrored Lucy’s. “Abigail.”

  “Of course, yes, Abigail.” Nishi’s voice wavered, and her hand rose to her scarf. “Okay, I’m going to deviate here for a moment, because this is my first time meeting Ms. Katz—Abigail. And the little girl inside me clearly won’t be satisfied unless I do this. So, here goes.” She looked at the audience, her eyes meeting Lucy’s and holding her gaze, before facing Abigail. “While it wasn’t all that long ago when I could have been out there, in the audience, tech years aren’t like normal years. Things move fast, even faster now. I grew up with a mom who stayed home wrangling my three brothers and me, while my dad was a professor of history. Like many families, including Indian American
ones like mine, family and education were the priorities. But for me that didn’t include anything related to computer science. Then, one day, I was at my cousins’ house when my uncle came through the door with one of the first iMacs, and I just wanted to wrap my arms around it and hug it.”

  Abigail laughed, a sound strangely unfamiliar to Lucy. “It was adorable.”

  “And blue! Computers weren’t blue.”

  “Bondi Blue. Gosh, I can still picture it perfectly.”

  Nishi motioned to the audience. “Phones down, everyone. You can google it after.” She faced Lucy’s mom again. “My uncle was so proud of acquiring one. We all followed him as he walked through the house, ending in my cousin Sanjay’s room. They turned it on, and I barely saw the screen flicker when my mind started racing, wondering how it worked.”

  “Because you could see inside. Genius idea. Made computers approachable.”

  “Coveted. Changed everything. Especially for me.”

  “What did you do first?”

  “That day? Nothing. My cousin Nadia and I were shooed out of the room. We weren’t allowed to touch it. I remember going home and falling into my mother’s arms, crying. She couldn’t understand what I was so upset about. But the next day, when I came home from school, an empty iMac box was on the dining room table. I searched the house, all my brothers’ rooms, the basement, even my parents’ room—and we didn’t go in my parents’ bedroom. But I couldn’t find it anywhere. When I sat down defeated at the kitchen counter, my father was smirking. He asked if I’d checked everywhere, and I said I had. He then said I may as well go start my homework. I trudged into my room and screamed.”

  “He put it in your room.”

  Nishi beamed. “My mother and I were on it so much, my dad had to buy a second for the boys.”

  Abigail nodded and clasped her hands in her lap. “Thank you for sharing that, Nishi. Especially since, while a personal story, I believe it’s representative of the tenuous relationship between girls and computer science then as well as now.” Abigail shifted to better see the audience, her lecture face firmly in place. “Fifty-one percent of professional occupations in the workforce in this country are held by women. That number drops to twenty-five percent when it comes to computing.”