wasn’t good enough.”
“Second!” Dad exclaims in a way that makes me wish I hadn’t told him. “That’s great, Em! Why don’t we still go to dinner to celebrate?” Dad’s voice takes on a hopeful lilt. “Your choice.”
“Do you mind if we do it another time?” I feel bad, knowing he came home early for once, for me. But I don’t have the energy to go sit in a restaurant and talk right now, even if it is just with Dad. “It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted, and I kind of just want to have a bowl of cereal and get into bed and wallow.”
Dad stands up, goes to the cabinet and pulls out a bowl. Then he heads to the pantry. “Cinnamon Toast Crunch or my very heart-healthy bran?” he asks. “Never mind, silly question.” He pulls the Cinnamon Toast Crunch out and pours a huge bowl, fills it with milk and brings it over to me with a spoon.
I move the cereal around with my spoon, not hungry at all, but Dad is staring at me, and I take a few small bites just to mollify him.
“You know,” Dad says. “Whatever happened with your friends, I’m sure it’s not as bad you think. And you’re almost done with high school. Next year you’ll be off at college, in the big leagues, Em.” I roll my eyes. Dad and his baseball metaphors. “Everything will be better for you there,” he adds.
He says it with such confidence that I almost believe him that college will be something else, something amazing, a place where I can be a math nerd and where my terrible social skills won’t be a problem at all. Sitting here now, feeling completely broken, it’s hard to even fathom that there’s any such place that exists, much less how far away I might have to travel from Dad to find it. “I don’t want to leave you alone next year,” I finally say in response.
“I’m gonna miss you, too, kiddo.” Dad reaches across the table and rubs my back again. “But I’m going to be just fine here alone. And you’re finally going to have a place to soar. I’m so excited for you, honey. I really can’t wait to watch you fly.”
But what if I don’t want to fly? What if I’m not ready? If I can’t even keep things together here in Highbury, with coding club, how am I ever going to keep it together at college?
Chapter 32
Sometimes I dream in code.
When I work on it a lot for a project, or right before bed, my subconscious is still there, filled with lines of code, and my dreams are laced with numbers and sequences. I often wake up with the new ability to solve a problem that was bothering me in the code the night before, my mind having worked it out somehow while I slept.
But the night after states, all the code I dream of makes me sad, and I keep waking up all night, restless and bothered, hour after hour. There are no more problems to solve, no solutions. It doesn’t matter now what the app does, or how well it works, or if there are bugs, or if the code is flawless. The competition is over. We’ve lost.
I finally get out of bed around noon the next morning, feeling anxious and still exhausted. I go get my calculus homework, hoping it’ll make me feel better. Numbers always soothe and calm me, and if I can get my mind off the stupid code, I can move on, figure out a new problem. But I can’t concentrate on these numbers, either. Every time I try to focus and work out an equation, I keep seeing the look on Sam’s face when I yelled at him, like he was wounded. And the sound of Jane’s voice as she said recycling. And Hannah asking me why I had to be so mean. And George, and that way he was looking at me in the car yesterday, the way he slammed the door, and couldn’t get away from me fast enough. My eyes start to prick with tears again. I put my calculus book down.
If math won’t help, maybe piano will? I walk over to my keyboard, and run my fingers across the keys, playing my way through the minor triads, patterned and dark, fitting for my mood. But my hands are shaking, my heart beating way too fast in my chest.
Everything is ruined, everything