1: Future Zuckerbergs
“Lucy, what the hell are you doing? We’re leaving in five.”
Camila stood in the doorway with one hand on her hip.
“Fuck. Is it really that late? I’m fixing a bug,” I blurted, already snapping my laptop shut and shoving chargers, cables, and energy bars into my backpack as Camila watched me in her short silver glitter dress like I’d completely lost my mind.
I pulled a black hoodie over my white T-shirt and denim shorts, ignoring her expression.
“Wait, you’re going like that?”
I frowned as I tied my long black hair into a ponytail. “Like what?”
Camila ran a hand through her freshly cut black bob. “You look like you’re about to rob a gas station.”
“I’m going to a hackathon.” I chuckled.
I hurried past her in the doorway. Standing next to Camila always made me feel like a walking coat rack. She was petite and curvy, while I was all long limbs and angles. Other than the fact that we were both Asian, we couldn’t have looked more different.
“A what?” She called after me.
“It’s a coding event where teams build apps and compete all night. Like a marathon, but with code.”
I grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl, stuffed two Red Bulls into my backpack, zipped it shut, and swung it over my shoulder without breaking stride.
Camila and her friend stared at me like I was some kind of feral creature. They exchanged a glance before Emily laughed.
“Wait... are you, like, a nerd?”
“I’m majoring in computer science.”
Emily looked me up and down through long false lashes.
“But you don’t look like someone who hacks.”
I almost laughed.
“What’s that supposed to look like?”
Emily didn’t answer, but Camila groaned dramatically.
“You promised to be my wingwoman tonight, and Eric Vale might even be there.”
I took another bite of my banana.
“I’ll make it up to you, okay? But there are going to be recruiters from actual tech companies tonight. I have to go.”
The second Camila mentioned Eric Vale, Emily’s eyes lit up.
“Wait, seriously? The quarterback from Pitt?”
Camila grinned.
“That’s what I heard.”
Emily tossed her long blonde curls over one shoulder.
“Oh my God... he is so hot.”
I snorted.
“You guys do realize he’s just some rich man-whore, right?”
Emily stared me straight in the eye.
“Lucy, if you don’t like Eric Vale, something is seriously wrong with you.”
I zipped up my bag, pulled it over my shoulder, and rolled my eyes.
Camila exchanged a look with Emily and smirked as I walked out, their laughter following me into the hallway.
I wanted to party like them, to forget about deadlines and assignments for a night, but I wanted this more, and I was already late.
At hackathons, being late meant bad seating, bad teammates, or no team at all. Thankfully, the hackathon was in the university gym, just a short walk from our apartment.
By the time I arrived, the gym was packed with students from all over the country, mostly guys hunched over laptops, tangled in chargers and extension cords.
The air smelled of testosterone, Red Bull, sweat, coffee, and overheated electronics, like a locker room filled with laptops.
I pulled my hood down as I stepped inside.
Further in, Ben from my computer science class was sitting with a group near the middle of the room. I started making my way through the crowd, stepping over backpacks.
Then a chair rolled in front of me. I stopped just in time to keep from crashing into it.
The guy sitting in it looked like a rich kid playing tech genius—athletic build, expensive watch, perfect smile. The guy who played lacrosse but secretly wanted to be the next Zuckerberg.
He leaned back, arms crossed, his eyes wandering over me before he let out a low whistle. “Damn.”
“Excuse me,” I said. “Can I get through?”
He didn’t move his chair an inch. “I was just trying to figure out what someone who looks like you is doing at a hackathon.”
His friends burst out laughing.
I turned, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove his chair—when my eyes landed on someone else.
Pitt’s star quarterback, Eric Vale.
He sat a few feet away in the middle of a mountain of laptops, chargers, empty Red Bull cans, and glowing monitors.
Unlike the others, he wasn’t laughing.
He just sat there in a dark hoodie, one arm draped over the back of his chair, watching.
My skin burned like an overloaded circuit, and for one second, I forgot why I’d even come here.
