Page 55 of You Had Me at Hello World
“I’m happy,” I say, and when he smiles, something inside of me melts.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next week flies by. I spill my heart out in our pitch.To some people, Silicon Valley and artificial intelligence are the gold rush, I write.To others—to my mother—the United States itself is that mine replete with luxurious things. In Mandarin, America ismei guo, or beautiful kingdom, but in our family’s worst moments, I’ve wondered if there was any beauty at all in this country. Sometimes I don’t know why we even stayed.It feels weird to be vulnerable in something that’s going to be read by faceless strangers, but I figure that if whoever is judging thinks the same way Edvin Nilsen does, they’ll probably want to know about my background.
When Khoi reads what I wrote, he hugs me but says nothing. He doesn’t need to.
Tuesday, the program organizes a game of capture the flag on MIT’s campus, and Khoi convinces me to go. “C’mon, Char, you can’t skipeverythingfun. And this next checkpoint isn’t like the last one. It isn’t an exam you can cram for.”
I relent. For some reason my team decides to stick Haruon flag-guarding duty, and he dozes off. Austin-or-Dallas gets lost somewhere in the tunnels below building 16, and his twin, who’s on the other team, pretends to be him to infiltrate our defenses. Khoi, Obi, and I cook up a triple-pronged tactic that is much more complicated than it needs to be, and we all get captured anyway. An embarrassing defeat for my team, but it’s the most I’ve laughed in a long time.
We take another break from work on Thursday evening when Aisha invites us to her midsummer showcase over at Harvard. The dances are mesmerizing. Bodies weave in and out perfectly in sync as music flows from frenetic to tranquil. There’s even a traditional Chinese fan dance, which I’ve never seen in real life. I wish my mother was here too.
Then a funky drum splits the air, and Aisha rushes onstage with several other dancers, their hips swaying to the beat. She kicks, her leg arcing through the air like a calligrapher’s brushstroke. Levitates, as if she’s no longer bound by the same gravitational forces that anchor the rest of us. She radiates pure joy. This is so obviously what she’s meant to spend her life doing. I applaud until my palms hurt.
At five p.m. on Friday we upload our proposal to the Alpha Fellows portal. To celebrate, Khoi and I go to Toscanini’s, an ice-cream shop near campus, and we split a scoop of their most iconic flavor, B3: brown sugar, brown butter, and brownies.
After dinner, there are Independence Day fireworks along the river. Some of the Alpha Fellows want to watch the showon sailboats. They’re really determined to get permission. After enough begging, they finally wear the camp counselors down.
“That’s the secret to life,” Obi says as we walk over to the MIT sailing pavilion. He sounds a little too smug. “Be super-duper annoying until you get what you want.”
This other girl shoots him the nastiest look and takes a big, dramatic step back like he’s got the plague.
“Wait, wait, hold up,” Obi says in a panicky voice. “I didn’t mean it like that!”
I fall back to walk next to Khoi. “Growing up, I never got to see fireworks,” he says.
“What? Why?”
“The sound reminds my dad of a pirate attack.” It sounds so silly—like something out of a Disney movie—that I almost laugh, but one glance at Khoi’s face tells me he’s dead serious. I don’t know too much about the history of the Vietnam War, but I know that Vietnamese refugees fled the country on boats.
The world can be horrible in ways I can’t even imagine.
“PTSD is an asshole,” I say. “My stepdad has it. He served in Iraq.” I’ve never told anyone about Michael’s condition before.
He reaches down to give my hand a squeeze, and his grasp is warm and soft and perfect. I have to remind myself to let go.
On the dock, we strap ourselves into puffy orange life jackets. The sailboat bobs in the dark water. I end up in a group with Jenni-with-an-i, Haru, Aisha, and Khoi. Jenni-with-an-i, whogot certified to sail last year, asks the rest of us to slide in before she unties the boat and jumps in.
As we cut through the waves, she explains the basics of sailing. There’s a mainsheet, which, counterintuitively, isn’t actually a sheet—it’s a rope that controls the orientation of the sail. There’s also the till, a glossy wooden lever that is used to steer.
For once, Haru seems enthralled. He keeps asking Jenni-with-an-i questions about the boat mechanics. Aisha and I exchange knowing smiles. Somehow I don’t think Haru is truly that interested in tacking versus jibing.
We find a windless spot to float. It’s a pleasantly cool night, that perfect summer twilight vibe I’d spend the entire school year waiting for. The moon is plump and yellow and it looks the same as it does back home.
While we wait for the fireworks to start, we idly swap gossip—one of the girls at Alpha Fellows is Elon Musk’s secret daughter, three camp counselors are in a throuple—while passing around Aisha’s flask.
After I have a sip, I offer it to Khoi, but he whispers, “Can’t have alcohol with my meds.”
There’s a whistling, and then a deafening crack as the first firework shatters into gold-and-crimson shards.
“Char!” Khoi shouts. “Look! It’s in the shape of a heart!”
I mean. It’s kind of impossible not to smile.
We fall silent as the sky splinters into bright, luminous colors: midnight blue, vibrant green, deep purple. I’ve seenfireworks displays before, of course, but somehow this one feels uniquely magical. I don’t know if it’s being out on the water, or next to my friends, or just the alcohol zipping through my veins.
I cut my gaze to Khoi. The fireworks are reflected in his eyes, and he looks so giddy, like a little kid seeing them for the first time. It’s adorable. Then I notice Aisha watching me watch Khoi. Blushing, I turn my face back toward the sky.
