Page 8 of Hard to Forgive

“There is definitely a market for it,” Conner declared. “I mean think about it. A lot of people go on apps like Swyper looking to meet someone. They just can’t find it there, and there’s no algorithm taking into consideration what you like and dislike.It’s just a bunch of pictures. At most, it rules people out by age, gender, and location, right?”

The woman and I both nodded.

Conner continued, “But the people who are going on there for something more, they’re still going on there. So an app that was actually designed to help you find something more? They’d migrate there. Leaving Swyper to the people who just want to find a hookup or whatever.”

His tone was blase, like he didn’t know exactly why most people used Swyper. It might have been more convincing if his phone hadn’t chosen that exact moment to trill out the Swyper notification sound, alerting him to a new match or a new message.

He laughed and pulled out his phone, completely unabashed. “I just hope they make the chirp a bit more subtle.”

I chuckled, shaking my head at Conner’s antics. Of course he wasn’t bothered by any of that. Almost everyone used Swyper at some point in their life, especially the younger generation. I had a profile that I barely checked.

“I’m guessing you’re hoping to get the dating app?” I asked Conner.

He didn’t have time to answer. The door opened, and three men in suits walked into the conference room. The chatter died down immediately. Conner pocketed his phone and stood up straighter.

My palms started to sweat. I wiped them off on my jeans and stuffed them into my pocket. I hated this part of my job. I hated finding out who I’d be with for the next however long the project lasted. I hated the uncertainty of not knowing what I’d be doing.

“Good morning,” the first man in the suit, Mr. Bollinger, called out. “I know you’re all excited to find out what your next assignments will be, so we’ll get going quickly. Once you haveyour assignments, go to your newly assigned areas and your project leaders will brief you from there.”

It was the same song and dance that happened with every team assignment. I thought there had to be a better way of doing this: email or something. Sadly, no one had ever asked for my opinion on the matter. I wasn’t even sure I’d have given it if I had been asked.

I didn’t really like getting that kind of attention focused in my direction.

The crowd began to thin as names were called and groups were formed. Once an entire team had all of it’s members, they left. They went off to find their assigned locations and meet with their project managers to start on whatever coding assignment they’d gotten to expand the company’s large profit margins. The thinner the crowd grew, the more nervous I became.

What if by some sick twist of nature I wasn’t assigned to a project? Would I get tossed on some boring project with a project manager who hadn’t wanted me? Would I have to walk into someone’s group alone with all eyes on me?

My hands tightened into fists. My nails bit into the meaty part of my palm, and my knuckles turned white. The bite of pain reminded me to breathe, allowed me to feel something other than the suffocating swell of anxiety crashing over me. I inhaled and held it, counted to three in my head, before I exhaled slowly. It was a move that my therapist had taught me back in college, when I first realized the constant state of dread I lived in was abnormal.

I did it a few more times and felt my hands relax.

There was no way I wasn’t assigned to a project. If that was going to happen, if I were going to get fired, they wouldn’t do it in such a public forum. I’d witnessed several people be let go for poor performance over the two years I’d been there. I didn’tsuffer from poor performance. My reviews were always positive, even if they did mention that I didn’t speak up enough.

I took another breath and pushed that thought away.

Negativity was not allowed here. I was going to get a great assignment and afterward, I was going to go off with my new team and work diligently on whatever project I’d been assigned. Eventually, I would work my way up to one of the high profile projects, one that might make my name in the industry—or even just Brighton Tech.

I was calming down. I’d managed to talk myself off the ledge. Just in time.

“Jonas Koetter, Isabel Rocca, Logan White, Declan Mansfield. You four are going to go upstairs with Yvette,” the man speaking called out. He pointed to a young woman who couldn’t have been more than thirty and stood stick straight. She had a determined expression on her face and looked ten times more professional than I did. “You’ll hear more about your project upstairs.”

It couldn’t have been a big one. Four team members, all young? It was going to be something minor. I hoped my disappointment didn’t show on my face. “The rest of your team members will meet you up there.”

Wait, therestof our team members?

I squared my shoulders and started across the room to the woman: Yvette. The young woman who had been bickering with Conner came with me. She offered me a soft smile. Her eyes glanced down at my hands, and I released my fists, still feeling raw.

I hated when anyone noticed the tells of my freak outs, even if they didn’t know what they were.

We were joined by two men around our age. I assumed they were Logan and Declan. Yvette counted us like we were kindergartners and motioned for us to follow her. She led us tothe elevator and took us up four floors. We followed her off the elevator like ducklings following their mama duck and into a room with eight cubicles.

“This will be our fishbowl,” she said, indicating the room. “Choose your desks, but don’t bother making yourself comfortable. While you may work at your desks, I encourage you to get up and work anywhere in the room. I encourage you to talk to your coworkers. You’re welcome to do pair programming if you’d like.”

I was intrigued. My last project manager gave us our tasks and we sat and did them. We weren’t encouraged to move around. It was quiet about eighty percent of the time, with each of us wearing headphones and listening to our music or podcasts or whatever. Yvette seemed to have the exact opposite planned for this team.

I didn’t know if I liked it or not, but I followed her instructions. I chose the corner cubicle and put my computer bag on top of it. I pulled out my laptop and flipped it open. I didn’t bother plugging it into the docking station yet. I’d wait until I knew what her next instructions were going to be.

“Ma’am,” Isabel spoke up. Her voice was quieter in here than it had been when she’d discussed the various projects with Conner, almost cowed. “What is our project?”

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