“What are you doing?” Sequoia asks, glancing up at me. It’s only now I realize I’m just standing here staring at her, with my tray still in my hands.
I quickly take a seat. I guess I should get started on the studying, too. I kind of hoped I could explore the student union a little more but that would probably be weird, given that I’m supposed to have been coming here for more than three years.
With eagerness bubbling inside me, I open my bag. It’s honestly the first time I’ve even looked in here. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when my eyes land on my very own navy blue Windsor Academy laptop, but I am.
I gasp as I pull it out and run my fingertips across the smooth surface. The school logo is stamped right into the top left corner and my name is engraved in the center. This is the coolest thing ever! I can’t stop touching it.
But I freeze when I realize Sequoia is gaping at me again. I flash a hurried smile and pretend to be wiping off a smudge. “Got it,” I say brightly.
I open the laptop and power it on, feeling my heart race faster with each passing second that it takes to boot up. I drum my fingers anxiously on the table until the desktop finally appears. Then, before I can even get a good look at the screen, I’m suddenly bombarded by a stream of notifications.
Ding!
Ding!
Ding!
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
The sound is so loud, students from neighboring tables turn to stare at me. I search frantically for a mute button, but the pop-ups are coming so fast and furious, I can’t seem to do anything but sit paralyzed and watch them fill up my screen.
Read chapters 4–6 for AP history
Write paper on technology in the Civil War (20+ pages … single spaced!)
Read 50 pages of Treasure Island
Study for AP chem quiz
Are these homework assignments?
Sequoia glances at my screen and her eyes widen in panic. Her reaction instantly makes me feel better. At least I’m not the only person alarmed by this attack. It’s probably some kind of computer glitch.
But then she says, “Jeez, Crusher. What did you do last night? Watch TV?”
“Uh,” I stammer, trying my best to close the pop-up windows. But it’s like trying to play a game of Whack-a-Mole. For every notification that I close, another three pop up in its place.
“Did you not study at all?” Sequoia asks.
“Uh,” I repeat, trying to come up with a believable excuse. “I wasn’t feeling well. You know, after the whole stair-falling thing.”
Actually, now that I mention it, my head is starting to hurt again. I rub the back of my scalp. The bump is still there, although thankfully it’s getting smaller.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
Sequoia, finally losing her patience, reaches over and presses a combination of keys, silencing the beeping machine.
But the notifications keep coming. It takes me a while, but I finally manage to track them all to a program called the Windsor Achiever.
That’s right! I think with sudden realization. That’s the app I read about on the school’s website. It’s supposed to store everything I need for school.
I open the program and click through the various tabs, marveling at how impressive it is. It’s like the most robust organizational app ever.
There’s a Task tab with all of my homework assignments (twenty-two are currently marked in red as “overdue”), a Textbook tab with access to my digital textbooks, a Schedule tab that lists my classes, times, and room numbers (that will come in handy today), and even a Clubs & Activities tab that lists every extracurricular I’m currently enrolled in. And there’s a lot. Investment Club, French Club, Young Entrepreneurs Club, Model U.N., National Honor Society, National Economics Challenge (what on earth is that?), Astronomy Club, and Robotics Club?
As in like robots?
Seriously?
Other Me has been quite a busy bee.
And finally, there’s a tab at the end labeled Rankings. I curiously click on it and have to cover my mouth to block another involuntary gasp. It’s our class ranking! The entire senior class arranged in order of highest to lowest GPA.
And at the very top, with a significant lead, is my name.
A huge grin spreads across my face.
It’s almost too good to be true! Other Me did all the work and now I’m going to reap the rewards. No wonder they call her Crusher. With all of those clubs and that GPA, there’s really no other way to describe it.
I’m crushing it in this life.
“What?” Sequoia asks, obviously having noticed my ridiculous grin. She leans over to get a glimpse at my screen and lets out a harrumph. “Please don’t remind me. Stupid French midterm. Stupid Steven Lamar.”
I see her lip start to quiver again and I quickly angle the screen away.
“Don’t ask me how he pulled that 98 percent out of nowhere,” Sequoia goes on, seemingly holding herself together. “I have theories but I won’t sink that low.”
I skim the list, seeing Sequoia Farris ranked at number 6. I scroll to the bottom but stop when I notice that there are only ninety-nine names listed.
I could have sworn each class at Windsor had one hundred students. Didn’t Dean Lewis tell me just yesterday that there are one hundred spots in the senior class and they were all taken? That’s why I couldn’t enroll. Because no one ever drops out. There’s rarely ever an open spot at Windsor.
So why are there only ninety-nine names here?
I’m about to ask Sequoia this very question when she leans over again and points to the little red 22 hovering over my Task tab. “You better get cracking on that if you want to keep that number-one spot.”
I blink out of what feels like a trance. She’s right. I really should stop futzing around with this awesome app and get to work. I click on the Task view and scroll through the long list of overdue assignments. It seems to go on forever.
There’s no way I can do all of these things before first period starts in—I click the Schedule tab—an hour! It’s virtually impossible. Hermione Granger with her Time Turner couldn’t even finish this in time.
Relax. Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.
I just have to take it one thing at a time. I quickly scan the list of tasks. A few reading assignments, a few papers to write, a calculus problem set to finish, a chemistry quiz to study for. And what are these weird tasks?
EN-1118-DQ
CH-1121-MD
FR-1122-AK
What do they even mean? They’re obviously written in some kind of shorthand that Other Me uses to save time, but to me, it’s like an alien language. How can I do the assignment if I don’t know what the assignment is? And it’s not like I can ask Sequoia. She already thinks I left my mind on the steps of Royce Hall.
Well, I’m sure I’ll figure it out as soon as I get to one of my classes and the teacher is like, “Okay, everyone turn in your EN-1118-DQs!” For now, I’m going to have to skip it.
I continue scanning the list, looking for something to tackle that seems relatively simple, but I’m interrupted by a shrill voice coming from behind me. “Oh my gosh! Crusher! Are you okay? I heard what happened yesterday. I was so worried!”
I turn around to see a short girl with a cute blond bob and a headband. She’s holding a paper coffee cup and staring at me wide-eyed like I’m a newly unveiled exhibit at the museum.
“She’s fine,” Sequoia answers for me, sounding a little protective. “Just a small bump to the head. Nothing to concern yourself with.”
The girl exhales dramatically. I don’t even know her but I can tell it’s fake. “Thank goodness. I thought maybe you had brain damage or something.”
Is it just my imagination or did she sound a bit hopeful when she said that?
I glance out of the corner of my eye just in time to see Sequoia roll her eyes. “Her brain is fine. And she’s still number one in the class so…”
She lets this hang in the air, along with a
thick awkwardness that makes me squirm.
“Okay, good,” the girl says with another overly theatrical sigh. “After what happened to Lucinda, I couldn’t bear to think…” But then she looks at Sequoia and her voice trails off.
I follow her gaze, noticing the tears brimming in Sequoia’s eyes. And her lips are pressed so tightly together they seem to disappear completely.
“Well,” the girl chirps, sounding anxious. “I gotta go. See you in chem!”
She scurries away and I glance back at Sequoia, wondering if I should scoot my chair over and comfort her. But then, a moment later, she sniffles and goes back to work, that switch flicking just as suddenly as it did in the parking lot.
“God,” she says, typing into her laptop. “She is such a vulture. One mention of you falling down the stairs and she’s already planning her valedictorian speech.”
I stutter out a laugh. But that’s not the part of the conversation that’s bothering me. There’s something else going on around here. Something people aren’t talking about. And it’s not my bump to the head.
“After what happened to Lucinda, I couldn’t bear to think…”
Lucinda …
Who is Lucinda?
Making sure Sequoia is fully engaged in her work, I pull my phone out of my bag and click on the SnipPic app. I scroll back to the picture I saw last night—the one where we’re doing those over-the-top swooning poses, pretending our book boyfriends had just proposed. It was taken at this very table. Except it had three people in it. Sequoia, me, and Luce_the_Goose.
Luce_the_Goose.
Luce …
Lucinda …
A chill runs up my spine. What happened to this person? Why isn’t she here? And why does Sequoia react so strangely every time someone mentions her?
I check the time stamp of the picture of the three of us. It was taken on November 9. Exactly one week ago. I scroll down, scrutinizing the photos that were posted before that. The smiling, short-haired Lucinda is in almost all of them. I scroll back up, studying the photos taken after November 9.
Lucinda is not in any of them.
It’s like she simply disappeared.
If I Master Being a Student
After that explosion on my laptop, I know I should be focusing on making a dent in this epic task list, but I’m too distracted by this Lucinda girl and trying to figure out why she stopped appearing in my SnipPic photos. It’s the same with Sequoia’s feed. No trace of Lucinda in the past week. I click on Luce_the_Goose’s profile to try to get some clues, but her photos just stop completely after November 9. She hasn’t posted anything in over a week, which feels odd since before that date she seemed to have posted at least five times a day.
I’m tempted to ask Sequoia about it, but I don’t want to risk setting her off again or looking completely insane. If Lucinda is in all of these pictures on my feed then she’s clearly my friend, which means I should probably know where she is. If I start asking questions, I might find myself right back in Nurse Wilson’s office. Or worse, the hospital.
Needless to say, by the time the chime rings for first period, I’ve made very little progress on my work. The only tasks I’ve managed to tick off the list are “Turn in PE” because I did that yesterday and “Read 50 pages of Treasure Island” because I read that book last year. It was number 17 on the “25 Books to Read Before College” list that I found in seventh grade.
I started studying for my chemistry quiz, which is first period, but I didn’t get very far. Fortunately, I found a study guide that Other Me had stored on her laptop and I was able to review some of the questions and answers before Sequoia and I set off for class. Thank God Other Me is as organized and meticulous as I am.
Other than that, though, I’m pretty much screwed today. I’m hoping if I just explain to the teachers what happened yesterday—the head-bumping part obviously, not the traveling-between-universes part—they’ll take pity on me and give me some extensions.
According to the schedule in my Windsor Achiever app, which I’ve discovered is also on my phone, I have AP chemistry, followed by a study period (which the school calls Student Mastery Hour), then AP American history, lunch, AP French, then another Student Mastery Hour, then AP calculus and AP English.
When I see it all written out like that, it’s incredibly daunting, but also incredibly exciting. And I definitely appreciate those built-in study periods. I’m going to need them. Other Me is clearly even more ambitious than I am. She’s like me with better opportunities. And if she can do this, so can I.
AP chemistry is in Bellum Hall, the math and science building. It’s hands down the coolest building I’ve ever walked into. It looks more like a space museum than a school building. And don’t get me started on the AP chemistry classroom itself. I feel like I’m walking onto the set of a forensic crime show! Every lab station has its own iPad! Not to mention the teacher, Mr. Hartland, who used to teach chemistry at Cambridge University. You know, where Stephen Hawking studied. No big deal.
We do have a quiz, so I’m grateful that I crammed in those few minutes of studying before the chime rang. Also Other Me is amazing at taking notes. Everything that was covered in the quiz was in her study guide, so I’m feeling pretty confident about the results.
For the first Student Mastery Hour, I’m dying to check out the Sanderson-Ruiz Library, but Sequoia insists we study in this little alcove on the second floor of Royce Hall so we can be closer to our AP history classroom. There are tons of these little alcoves throughout the school. Windsor calls them study bays. They each have a small couch, two armchairs, a coffee table, and a single-serve coffee machine with an impressive selection of coffee pods.
Sequoia brews herself an Italian dark roast (hasn’t she had enough caffeine today?) and I opt for a green tea, which makes Sequoia’s eyes bug out of her head all over again. We make ourselves comfortable on the couch and I try to focus on my AP history reading, but this headache that started before first period has only gotten worse and now it feels like someone is slowly drilling a hole through my skull. By the time the chime rings again, I’ve barely managed to finish half a chapter.
History is in another amazing classroom. This one is made to look like someone’s living room. Instead of desks, a bunch of sofas and armchairs are set up in a circle. We spend the entire class period debating the Civil War. Yes, debating. Not being quizzed or lectured. The students here actually have opinions about the Civil War. Differing opinions. And they’re very vocal about them.
The teacher, Ms. Clemenson, just sits on the arm of one of the couches, looking amused and mediating when the discussion gets a little too passionate.
By the end of the period, I decide that Walt Disney World has nothing on the Windsor Academy. This is the happiest place on earth.
These are my people.
When lunch rolls around, Sequoia rushes off to an appointment with her college counselor and I check my app to see I’m scheduled to be in Fineman Arts Center, room 117, for an Investment Club meeting. I have no idea what one does in an Investment Club but I’m about to find out.
I make a sandwich from the epic sandwich bar in the Windsor Café, then dash out of the student union to find the Fineman Arts Center. According to all the online campus maps that I’ve memorized, it’s supposed to be right next door, but those maps must not be proportionate because I feel like I’m running forever.
By the time I get to room 117, I’m completely breathless.
“Sorry! Sorry!” I say as I burst through the door. “I know I’m late—” But the words are snatched from my lips when I see that the room is completely empty. Well, almost empty.
There’s one guy. He’s sitting at a large round table, typing at a laptop.
I recognize him immediately and a wave of revulsion passes through me. He’s that guy I met yesterday when I was sitting outside the dean’s office. He looks exactly the same, like he hasn’t showered in weeks and slept in his uniform last night. He peers at me from ov
er the top of his computer and I swear I see a flicker of annoyance flash in his eyes before he goes back to work.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, keeping his head bent toward his screen.
I glance around at the empty room. “Is this the Investment Club?” If it is, it must not be very popular.
He finally stops typing. “No. This is Writer’s Block.”
“Writer’s Block?” I repeat.
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “The literary magazine,” he clarifies, and I don’t miss the condescending way he says literary like I’ve never heard the word before.
I feel a small jolt of excitement. A literary magazine! My app must have had the wrong club listed. But it makes perfect sense that I’d be part of a literary magazine. I am, after all, a writer. “Oh! Right. Sorry. My mistake.” I slide into a chair on the other side of the table and pull out my laptop. “Am I early?”
But the boy watches me with a confused expression that quickly morphs into irritation. “What are you doing?” he asks.
“Uh…” I’m starting to feel uneasy. “I think this is where I’m supposed to be.”
He barks out a laugh. “I highly doubt that.”
His reaction takes me by surprise. “Aren’t I a member of the literary magazine?”
“Is this a joke?”
My stomach swoops. “I don’t think so.”
The boy gawks at me, his eyebrows knitting together like he’s trying to decipher the foreign Martian language coming out of my mouth. “Why would you be on a literary magazine? You have absolutely zero writing experience.”
“That’s not true!” I begin to argue. “I’m the editor in chief of…”
But my voice trails off as the realization punches me right in the gut.
The Southwest Star.
It’s not mine anymore.
That’s why the framed issues had disappeared from above my desk, replaced by the framed acceptance letter from Windsor. I guess since I go to school here, I don’t run the newspaper at Southwest High anymore.
I know that makes sense, I just …
Well, I hadn’t really thought about it until now.
In Some Other Life: A Novel Page 11