Lost in Us (32 page)

No matter what I tell others, I can't deny the truth to myself. I sounded pretty convincing today, when I told Mum and Aidan about my decision—both were far too happy with the news to actually need any explanations. I babbled on anyhow. It was good for practice. Maybe if I repeat the words often enough, I'll succeed in deluding myself to believe them. I start saying them out loud, the hot water in the shower running over my skin.
It's the best choice for my career. I'll get the highest paycheck there, which means Mum and Dad will finally get to have a decent life.
I repeat them again and again, but instead of coming to believe them, tears, hot as the water running over my back, start streaming down my cheeks. It doesn't matter how often I repeat them. I know I would've never seriously considered moving away if it weren't for what happened between James and me. Which not only makes me a coward, but also weak. My heart stings in my chest with every beat, every breath, bringing new waves of tears.

My mum used to say that sometimes it's all right to be weak. To allow oneself to wallow in pain for a while. She said it made the pain fade away faster; it made pulling oneself together easier. I wonder what she would have to say if she knew that I'm allowing my weakness to decide my future.

I lied to her today; I couldn't bring myself to tell the real reason I wanted to move. It's been a long time since I was honest with my mother. I know exactly when I started hiding things from her: when James entered my life. I should have realized then how wrong it was if I felt the need to hide it from my own mother. If I'm honest, I did realize then, but I didn't have the strength to break away from him.

I do now.

Perhaps it's not weakness, after all, what I plan to do. Perhaps it's strength, if strength is what remains after weakness rots the body and the mind to the core.

I
drive Jess to the airport with the windows rolled down, because the AC in her archaic Prius has stopped working at the worst time. Jess sits with her hands in her lap, her fingers fiddling with her black cotton skirt. She wears a white simple shirt with the flag of England on it. She drew it herself on the shirt, identical to the one she had drawn on her cast, which her doctor removed three days ago. From time to time, I see her hand sliding to her knee, pinching the skin as if she still can't quite believe her leg is freed up from all the bandages. But her newly found freedom isn't why she's been silent the whole trip, biting her lip as if she's determined to wreck it. For the first time ever, Jess is nervous. Her flight to London is in a couple of hours, her interview tomorrow. I would attempt to soothe her, but I'm twice as nervous as she is, because my own trip to New York is in two days. I don't bring up the subject, though. For one, I don't want to steal her moment. And also, Jess makes a point to purse her lips and mutter incomprehensible sentences under her breath every time I bring up New York. To my astonishment she never once brought up James. My fingers grasp the wheel firmer at the thought of him. He hasn't called at all in the past two weeks.

Not that I wanted, or expected, him to. But this didn't keep my stomach from clenching in a painful twist every time my phone rang. I buried myself in work and assignments, using every free moment to talk to Jess about London, giving her tips of all the things she can do in the short period of time she'll be there. As such, I gave myself no time to dwell on my misery. Except at night. Even the nights I was too exhausted to cry myself to sleep, I didn't escape the pain. It found a way to taunt me, a way I couldn't defend myself against—nightmares.

I drop Jess at the airport, and she promises to call me as soon as she arrives in England. I have no assignments or work left, so as soon as I get home I put my headphones on and turn the volume of the music to the maximum then proceed to clean the entire apartment. I fall asleep fully clothed after I'm done. No nightmares.

Jess doesn't call me the next day. I check my phone every other hour while I waste my butt away sitting in the most boring, daylong course I've had the misfortune to have to attend at Stanford. When I arrive at home, I pack my stuff for New York to have something to do, though I have no classes tomorrow, so I could technically spend the whole day packing. I'm flying late in the evening. I check my phone before I go to bed, but there's no text or missed call from Jess. There is still time for her to call me, though I dearly hope she'll remember the time zone difference and not call me in the middle of the night.

She does just that, of course. When my phone rings, waking me up with a start, I tap the nightstand in the dark, fully intending to turn it off, but accidentally answer. Grudgingly, I put the phone to my ear, holding my eyes firmly closed so the light of the screen doesn't blind me.

"This is a really lousy time to call, Jess," I mumble.

The voice on the other end of the line freezes me in my bed. "I think Jess knows that."

I bolt into a sitting position, cursing that I haven't checked who the caller was. "And why don't
you
know that, James?"

"I know that too," he says. "But I'm too desperate. Don't hang up."

I don't hang up, although every bone in my body tells me that would be the smart thing to do. His voice thrusts thorns in my skin and my heart, and I know that the second I hang up, the intensity of the pain will crush me. Right now, his voice numbs me, even as it pierces me to the core. So I need him to speak.

"What's wrong?" I ask, curious in earnest. There's a lot of noise in his background, but I'm certain he's not in a bar. Where is he then?

"I… um… need your help." He takes a deep breath. "My programmers have fucked up a part of the code on our online platform, and I'd like you to help us fix it."

I frown. "You know half of Silicon Valley, and you call me of all programmers? I'm not half as skilled as those brainiacs you know."

"You're as skilled as they are, Serena. Don't try to convince me of the opposite. Besides, every programmer I know is already here. They've been here for hours. We're not getting anywhere."

So that's what all the noise is. He's in his office. I look at the phone. It's two thirty in the morning. "Why do you think I'll make a difference?"

"Another pair of eyes is always welcome when it comes to this, you know that."

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"No." The desperation in his voice sends chills down my spine. "I have a meeting with investors tomorrow morning. If the code can't be fixed, the platform won't be working, I won't have anything t-t-to show… to them," he stutters, then stops, taking in another deep breath. "That would be very bad, Serena. Look, just come here. I promise you, there are so many people here you won't even see me. I'll stay out of your way."

"That won't be necessary," I say, a knot forming in my throat.

"I know you can't stand the sight of me. I can't blame you."

"That's not true," I whisper so low I'm sure he hasn't heard me.

"I wouldn't have called you if it weren't absolutely necessary, Serena."

"How bad will it be if you aren't able to show the platform to the investors tomorrow?"

He laughs nervously. "How bad? I think it's safe to say ramen noodles will become a big part of my diet."

I clench the sheet in my fist. Bankruptcy. "I'll be right there."

T
he second the elevator doors open on the floor of James's office, I feel like I've just entered a football stadium. James wasn't exaggerating. He really must have called up every single programmer he knows. There are at least six times more people than there should be in this office, and their constant chatter, punctuated by the occasional shout from one side of the room to the other, pierces my ears in an unpleasant way. The air is thick with exhaustion and the smell of too many people.

And the heat of too many computers.

I stand on my toes, trying to spot James in all the chaos, but give up after a few seconds, and settle for finding someone, anyone I know. I vaguely recognize a blond hunk with whom Jess went out a few times, and who graduated from Stanford last year, but no one else.

But someone recognizes me.

"Serena," a surprised voice calls. I swirl on my heels, and encounter one person I was least expecting to see here. In front of me, every bit as hairless and smug as on the plane, is Ralph. Between the talk of constant partying and Christie's heavy-handed hints that his only occupation was spending his trust fund, he's the last person I expected to find in a room where everyone is working hard. Ralph is watching me with his abnormally bushy eyebrows raised.

"Ralph," I say, hoping I'm more skilled at hiding my surprise than he was.

"Come on," he says, and without another word leads the way into the chaos. He seems to know exactly where he's going, because he doesn't hesitate. As we squeeze ourselves between groups of people huddled around computers, I notice Parker, throwing his hands in the air in despair, talking with less grace than I've ever heard him talk. He doesn't see me. I look the other way as I pass him, glad I can use the excuse of him being busy to not greet him. I think of James and the state he must be in. I'm glad it is Ralph who found me and not James.

"Right," Ralph says when we reach the corner of the room where there is a desk with three computers and four twenty-something guys seated in front of two of them, staring at the screen. "Everyone, this is Serena." One of them raises his hand and waves without looking in my direction. The others don't acknowledge me at all.

"Sit here." Ralph points to one of the two empty chairs in front of the third computer. He sits himself next to me and explains in a few hurried sentences what the issue is. To increase the platform's speed, the programmers did some last-minute modifications to the back-end code yesterday. Somewhere in those modified lines of code lies the bug that caused the platform to completely crash.

"We've been working on finding the bug for the past ten hours, but another pair of eyes is more than welcome."

I gulp, watching Ralph lean forward in his seat. His elbows on the desk, he rests his chin on his right hand, his eyes beginning to scan the lines of code. Ten hours is a long time to be looking for a bug without finding it. Especially when there are a few dozen people looking for it. I check my watch. It's three o' clock in the morning.

With my heart pounding fast, and without another word, I turn my attention to the screen, too. It takes me some time to get acquainted with the code well enough to actually be able to search for a bug. Not a favorite activity of mine. I might be among the top of my class in computer science, but there's a reason I never considered it a career option: I can't see myself programming for hours at a time. I realized this soon enough after I decided on it as my minor, but was too proud to drop it.

The constant chatter around me is distracting, as is the increasingly suffocating air. The tension in the air is almost palpable, like the thinnest sheet of fog. I try to block out all of it. I try to think that this is just another course assignment. One that I've delayed until the last moment. Who am I kidding? I never left anything until the last moment. And no assignment ever had stakes like this.

A failed course or a bad grade was the worst that could happen. And as minutes pass by, and then an hour, the fact that something much worse than failing a course will happen if someone doesn't find the error in the code stops being just a possibility. It's becoming a reality. One that almost paralyzes me.
How bad? I think it's safe to say ramen noodles will become a big part of my diet,
James's words ring in my ears. 

I lean forward, closer to the screen, flexing my wrist. At some point during the last hour, I rested my chin on my wrist, like Ralph. He's now so close to the screen that if he leans in a few inches more he'll touch the screen with the tip of his nose. I focus my eyes on the screen and read the lines of code again and again. Until my vision is blurry. I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again a few times. My gaze slides at the lower right corner of the computer, at the clock. Another hour passed. I swallow hard.