Page 47 of You Had Me at Hello World
“The day I left for this camp, my stepdad, Michael, told me to never come home,” I say. “I don’t know if he meant it. Maybe it was something he screamed in the heat of the moment. But even if he lets me move back in at the end of Alpha Fellows, I don’t want to live there anymore.” I don’t bother to explain why. It should be obvious.
“In my hometown, Chinook Shore, most people get stuckforever. They live and die there. The median household income is thirty thousand dollars. My best friend is joining the military so she can snag her mom a green card and better health insurance.” I don’t know if he’s understanding any of this. We’re from such different worlds. “Khoi, I need to get out of there. I need to get into a decent college that gives financial aid.”
Another nightmarish thought: What if Michael straight-up refuses to fill out the FAFSA? Could I even still get financial assistance?
“You will,” he insists. “You’re smart. You have solid grades, right?”
“I do, but it’s not enough.” Being here is a constant reminder of that. “I’m not some science fair winner or math prodigy. I don’t have any fancy accomplishments. I need to win, okay? I need that way more than I need a boyfriend.”
“Char, I could help you financially,” he mumbles. “I got a lot from theImposter Syndromeacquisition…”
“Khoi. No.” We’ve known each other for all of two weeks. I can’t be taking his money. That’s absurd. “You’ve already helped enough.”
He takes a deep breath. “Okay. I get it. And I’m sorry your circumstances are so tough. I can’t pretend to know what that’s like.”
Maybe afterward, I want to say. Maybe if we actually win this thing and we both get into MIT or something. Then maybe we could try dating for real. If he’s still into me.
But I don’t say that. I don’t want to get his hopes up. I don’t want to get my own hopes up.
Our sandwiches are sitting there untouched. I guess neither of us had much of an appetite.
Khoi gets up to use the restroom, and I check my phone. It’s Lola’s eighteenth birthday today. I want to call her as soon as she wakes up. It’s ten a.m. here, which means it’s only seven a.m. there. I should wait another hour or two.
There are a few email notifications. Mostly marketing crap, one Nigerian prince asking for my banking info, and a response from Edvin.
hey char good to hear from you. i’m actually in town today, can you meet me at the nexus office @ noon? my personal assistant janelle (cc’d) will coordinate details.
I triple-check the message to make sure I’m not hallucinating. Oh my God. Edvin Nilsen wants to meet. With me. With me!
“Maybe we can pack up our sandwiches?” Khoi says. He’s back. “Let’s find an empty classroom somewhere on campus and brainstorm.”
Oh. Right.
Maybe I should let him know what’s happening. We could pull up as a team. Actually, it’d be kind of weirdnotto invite him.
But the minute he saunters into the Nexus office, Charise Tang will become totally irrelevant. Edvin will start simping forthe wunderkind who built a viral game, just like everyone else.
And to be one hundred percent clear, I’m not mad at Khoi for that. It’s not his fault. But I want this just for myself.
I slide my phone into the pocket of my denim shorts. “Sure.”
There’s this throb of guilt, which I ignore.
Chapter Twenty-Two
We find a classroom with a chalkboard, and Khoi immediately gravitates to the rainbow assortment of chalk. As he amuses himself by doodling a surprisingly accurate portrait of HellomynameisBrenda, I check my email. There’s a message from Janelle Lim, Edvin Nilsen’s assistant, saying that a car will pick me up from campus at 11:30 a.m.
For the next hour, we bounce concepts back and forth. A sustainability social game that incentivizes users to compete with friends on “going green.” An app that uses computer vision to identify plants—Jenni-with-an-i would like that. But honestly? These ideas feel pretty beige.
“How did you come up withImposter Syndrome?” I ask.
Khoi blushes. God, I wish he looked less adorable doing that. “It’s sort of pathetic.”
“Try me.” I’m well-versed in pathetic.
“You know that gameMafia? It’s also calledWerewolfsometimes.”
I nod. Classic social deduction game. The underlying mechanism is the same as the one inImposter Syndrome: There are a few secret bad guys who go around killing everyone else. The good guys have to figure out who the bad guys are before they succeed in wiping out the rest of the players.
