by Yvonne Woon
“She’s smart,” Kate said. “But I don’t see how she’s going to convince funders to back her as a CEO when she barely has the social skills to get through a normal conversation, let alone talk to investors and create a good corporate culture.”
Could I talk to investors? I had no idea what a good corporate culture looked like, nor did I have any clue about how to go about interviewing or, heaven forbid, firing someone.
AJ was there for a cryptocurrency, too—“I knew it!” Amina interrupted—though his was called Allowance, and let parents attach a set of stipulations to the money they bestowed. Eventually he hoped to expand it and disrupt the banking and legal industry surrounding financial contracts. It was a good idea, Kate conceded, but most cryptocurrencies weren’t actually used as currency, which made them a wild card. Plus, his idea hinged on parents using cryptocurrency instead of just giving their kids cash, which would be a hard sell.
Kate seemed to enjoy picking everyone apart, and though I was glad for the information, I noticed that she was guarded about the details of her life. She peppered Amina and me with questions about our start-ups, showering us with compliments. She prompted Seema to tell us about her app, MakeOver, which let you post clothing and accessory options that other users could swipe through to vote on an outfit. By the end of breakfast, she knew about my mother and our apartment and Gina; about the issues I’d been having with Wiser and how I’d thought her up while my mother was working late. She’d even managed to get me to tell the story about the red hat.
I hadn’t planned on sharing so much. She came on subtle, asking innocent questions and listening intently as though I was the most important person in the room. She was humble about her own work. “Oh, my start-up?” she’d said. “It pales in comparison to yours.” Then came the flattery. Artificial intelligence was so trendy right now, Kate told me. Everyone wanted in. And Wiser sounded incredible. Such an advanced tool and so amazing that I was able to create it with basically no formal training. But the thing about AI was that it was all in the execution, she’d said. How was I planning on monetizing it? What was my pitch to VC firms?
I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t thought about pitching yet. We’d only just arrived.
Kate lingered on me, her gaze thoughtful. “Good,” she said. “So I don’t have to worry about you beating me . . . yet.”
I let out a nervous laugh. Something about the way she was studying me made me regret betraying so much. All I knew about Kate was that she grew up in Pasadena and that she was working on an app called Split, which helped kids manage the logistics of divorce. I wondered if the person I should really be worried about was her.
“I’m kidding,” Kate said. “Society is always trying to pit girls against each other, when really it’s the guys we need to be worried about. They’re the ones in power, paying us less, stealing our ideas, and taking our promotions. We have to lift each other up.”
Amina looked unimpressed. She’d barely answered Kate’s questions and had quickly lost Kate’s interest. Mapping, after all, was important, Kate had said, but there were only so many map applications that you could expect a person to use.
“And then of course there’s Ben,” Kate said. “He’s doing artificial intelligence, too.”
I felt her studying me, gauging my reaction.
“Oh, but you already know him,” she said. “You were talking to him last night.”
Had she been watching me?
“You know. Dark hair, loves comic books, looks kind of like a nerdy anime character.”
“You’re just saying that because he’s half Japanese,” Seema said.
Kate ignored her. “Cute in a dorky way, if that’s your thing. He makes corny jokes and gets way too excited about classic sci-fi movies.”
“Mast, yeah.”
“Oh, right. I always forget he goes by that. At the tech fairs they always use your proper name, for name tags and announcements and stuff.”
“What does Mast even mean?” Seema said.
“Something having to do with the way people mispronounce his last name,” Kate said. “Anyway, I know it doesn’t look like it, but he’s one of the smartest people here. Speak of the devil.”
I turned to see Mast saunter into the dining hall.
While Kate continued to go over everyone else’s start-up idea, I pushed my food aside.
“Where are you going?” Amina whispered as I stood up.
“I’ll be right back.”
Mast was fiddling with the juice machine when I approached him.
“That was very cute of you,” I said to him.
He smiled when he saw me. “I am cute, aren’t I?”
Unfortunately, he was. He was wearing a different comic book T-shirt that day, this time with no jacket, which showed off his arms. They were smooth and tan and surprisingly toned. I tried not to look at them. I’d approached him to give him a piece of my mind, not be distracted by the scar on his wrist or the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled or the way he was looking at me, like I was the only person in the room.
“Artificial intelligence?” I said, mocking his fake innocent voice from the other night.
Mast rolled his eyes. “That’s not how I sound.”
“My name is Mast,” I said. “I don’t know anything about artificial intelligence. I’m just dorky and cute and I’m going to flatter you with compliments so I can get information and steal your secrets.”
Mast fumbled with his words. “That’s not what I did. I was just being friendly and asking questions. You didn’t ask me what I did. You didn’t ask me any questions at all, which honestly seems a little self-centered.”
I gaped at him, incredulous. “You gave me a fake name.”
“Mast is my name. It’s what everyone calls me.”
“Your name is Ben. You’re just another Ben.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I bet you hide behind a weird name because it makes you seem different, when you’re really just like everyone else. You didn’t want to tell me your real name because I might have recognized it from the list of fellows as someone who was also working on AI, and I would have known that you weren’t just asking me innocent questions.”
“Mast is a nickname. I grew up with it.”
“I thought you were being nice to me.”
“I was being nice to you. You had a bad night.”
“Well, thanks for doing me a favor,” I said sarcastically.
“It wasn’t a favor. I thought Wiser sounded interesting, though if we’re being honest, I do think you could work out a few kinks in your design. Don’t you think it might turn into a feedback loop if all she’s reading is your past data?”
“No. She’s a lot more complicated than that, and anyway, she’s still a work in progress, so she’s not supposed to be perfect, not that I asked for your opinion.”
“You think I’m cute though,” Mast teased.
My face went red. “I didn’t say that.”
“Sure you did. You said I’m dorky and cute.”
“I thought that before you tried to extract information from me.”
“But you thought it,” Mast said with a grin. “So if you didn’t know I was doing AI, what did you think I was here for?”
“Something safe and boring. Maybe sports.”
He winced. “Sports? Is that an official category?” He lowered his voice to make it sound like a television announcer. “Sports tech. For males.”
It was a shame he was such a jerk, otherwise he would have been cute and funny.
“I’m going to interpret that as meaning that I look fit and socially well-adjusted.”
I rolled my eyes.
“This is the point at which you’re supposed to make me feel better and say, Yes, I agree,” Mast said.
“Right, yes. Fit and social. Exactly what I was thinking.”
“The world has never heard such a glowing endorsement,” he said. “But I’ll take it.”
<
br /> “So what’s your AI called? Ben?”
“Very funny,” he said. “He’s called Olli.”
“Olli?”
Mast looked self-conscious. “He gives you suggestions on music and movies and clothes like he’s an older brother or sister.”
“And Olli refers to . . . ?”
“OL and LI,” Mast said as if it were obvious. “You know how in HTML, where OL is the parent list and each LI item is the child on the list.”
“So it’s a siblings reference,” I murmured.
Mast looked pleased. “Exactly.”
Admittedly, it was a cute name, though its etymology wasn’t completely obvious.
“So what, it analyzes publicly available data for things that are popular in the age bracket five years ahead of you, then makes recommendations?”
My quick dissection seemed to surprise him. “It’s a lot more sophisticated than that, but yes, that’s the oversimplified version. The algorithm also differentiates between mainstream appeal and indie appeal and takes into account vintage recommendations based on what era is currently trending.”
“And what, you have user input, so you can say if you like a recommendation or not?”
Mast looked nervous. “Yeah.”
I considered saying the first thought that came to my head but bit my tongue.
“What? You think your design is better?”
“No. Yours is fine.”
“You’re not a good liar. I can tell you have something you want to say. Just spit it out.”
“It’s just that you’re clearly an older sibling, aren’t you?”
Mast narrowed his eyes. “Why do you think that?”
“Well, if you were a younger sibling, you’d know that it doesn’t really make sense to include user input because older siblings don’t take into account your preferences. They just tell you what’s cool and what’s not, and they don’t care about what you want. Right?”
Mast looked troubled. This problem clearly hadn’t occurred to him before. “I need user input because that’s the way Olli learns.”
“Okay. It’s your app.”
I could tell I had struck a nerve. “So you’re a younger sibling?” he asked.
“No. I’m unique.”
“You mean you’re an only child. Of course you are. That’s why you thought it was a good idea to loop your old decisions into new ones. Because you’ve only ever been alone, and it shows.”
Though supposedly he was joking, his words felt like a slap in the face. I must have looked upset because his face immediately softened.
“That came out harsher than I meant it to.”
I swallowed, unsure of what to say. “I should probably get back,” I said, inching away from him. See you around,” I said softly and retreated to my table.
Eight
I tried to forget what Mast had said, but it stayed with me through breakfast and on our walk to the main hall. I had always been alone, and Wiser was both my solution and my excuse. I didn’t need to go out and talk to people if I had her.
“Are you okay?” Amina asked.
I looked up, grateful for the reminder that she was there. “Yeah.”
All of our classes met in a stucco mansion that everyone called the Villa. It was a sun-drenched building surrounded by breezeways coiled with climbing vines.
Our first class was Advanced Programming for Start-ups, a class created by the Foundry to give us an overview of the advanced coding we’d need to launch a whole host of start-ups. The teacher was a famous professor. I’d never heard of him before getting into the Foundry, but then again, I hadn’t really heard of anyone.
“He’s supposed to be incredible,” Kate said to us. “He has at least twenty patents.”
“For what?” Amina asked.
Kate shrugged. “Who knows. But he’s got to be rich. He used to teach at Stanford.”
“My dad was his student in the nineties,” Seema said.
“He taught there for decades,” Kate continued. “He basically started their computer science program and was always being wooed by tech companies.”
“Rumor has it he turned down a twelve percent share in AcroWare and Parsel,” Seema said.
“When he retired, some people thought he was recruited by the military to work on a secret project,” Kate said.
“But my dad said he would never do anything like that,” Seema said. “He doesn’t trust the government. But he’s deaf in one ear, which some people think is a clear sign that he was working for the military.”
“Most scientists who work for the military don’t see active combat,” Amina pointed out.
Seema frowned. “He could have been testing loud equipment.”
“He came out of retirement to do this job,” Kate said. “I don’t know how they convinced him.”
“They have to be paying him a fortune,” Seema said.
“Maybe he just wanted to,” I said. “Maybe he was bored. Or lonely.”
Kate dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “Don’t be naïve. Everything here is run by money.”
The classroom was filled with boys, all of whom stared at us as we took seats in the front row. Their gaze made me feel like I was on display behind glass. I could almost see their faces pressing against it, assessing my specs and deciding how much I was worth. Amina gave me an uncomfortable glance. She must have felt the same way.
Mast was sitting by the window, chatting with Ravi. He caught my eye and gave me an apologetic look, but I ignored it.
I heard a chuckle and turned to see the Andrews and Mikes snickering. Were they laughing at me?
“Hey, seven,” AJ said.
I frowned. Was he talking to me?
He said something to Micah and they both laughed.
I’d been hearing the word seven all morning. At breakfast, I’d heard it whispered with my name, but I’d brushed it off, assuming it was nothing. Then AJ holding up seven fingers. Now this.
“Why is everyone saying seven?” I asked Amina, who was looking at her phone.
She bit her lip. “Do you have Grapevine?”
I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. Grapevine was the gossip app that Andy Chen had founded. “No, why?”
“Just download it.”
I downloaded Grapevine and searched for the Foundry. A vine curled across my screen. I clicked through its buds.
There are electronic almonds hidden all over the Villa in tribute to its origins as an almond farm.
Every desk has a fingerprint beneath it that lets you turn your tabletop into a touch screen.
One of the fellows was kicked out last year for calling Lars Lang a coward and a fake.
I wondered why someone would call Lars Lang a coward or a fake. Curious, I reached under my desk and slid my hand along its underside, but all I felt was dried gum. I grimaced. This was why I hated Grapevine.
I clicked the next one and felt a knot form in my chest when I saw my name.
Xia Chan asks her AI to talk dirty to her when she falls asleep.
Xia Chan once asked Wiser what it feels like to be kissed.
Xia Chan’s stock dropped to eight.
My face grew hot. The other day while I was unpacking and asking questions to Wiser, I might have asked her what it felt like to be kissed, just to see what she said. And AJ might have recorded it with his drone. Which meant he had to have written the post.
Suddenly it felt like everyone was looking at me and snickering. The only notable person who wasn’t was Mast.
Just to be safe, I pulled my Vault out of my wallet and pressed my finger to it until the papery surface dissolved into a screen.
Five icons appeared, as usual. I clicked the arrow, which brought me to a ticker screen where I could see my stock price, alongside everyone else’s. That’s when I saw it.
Everyone else’s was still ten. Mine had dipped to seven.
I’d been in California for under forty-eight hours—I hadn’t even sat through a single
class yet—and already, I was at the bottom of the class.
“It’s not that bad,” Amina assured me.
I was grateful she didn’t ask me which was one true.
“Hey, Seven,” AJ said to me from a few seats over. “Which one is it?”
I had to give it to him, it was clever, posting one truth, one lie, and one almost lie—eight—which would lead everyone to check my stock and see that it had dropped. He’d posted two truths under the guise of one.
“They’re all lies,” I said, figuring denial was the best tactic.
Next to him, Micah and Drew laughed. Mike didn’t join, but didn’t tell them to stop, either.
Kate gave me a sympathetic look. She must have read it, too.
Amina glared at AJ, then turned to me. “Whoever did it is just worried because they know you’re the real competition.”
“Plus, lots of people haven’t kissed anyone,” Kate whispered. “It’s not like you’re the only one.”
I wanted to clone the environment around me onto my skin so that I blended in with the desks and chairs.
“I bet most of the people here haven’t,” Seema added. “It’s a room full of programmers, after all.”
I wanted to invent an implantable that made me invisible.
“I’ve kissed people,” I insisted. For some reason I glanced at Mast, but to my relief his gaze was still trained on the board.
“Oh,” Kate said, looking innocent. “I just figured that one of them was true.”
“They’re all fake,” I insisted, but worried that my flushed face was betraying me.
I wanted to create a snipping tool that would cut me out of my life and paste me into an outer-dimensional clipboard, where I would live out the rest of my days as a liminal, extraneous being.
“Okay, Seven,” one of the boys said from behind me.
There was no point to my existence. I was a CD-ROM. A floppy disk. A set of encyclopedias. Useless and obsolete and only remembered as an object of ridicule and pity. I sank deeper into my chair.
“At least they don’t think you masturbate to your AI,” Amina offered. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, if that’s what you’re into.”
“That’s not what I’m into,” I said. “And it’s a small consolation.”