Chapter 6: Open Doors
M A D D O X
I hesitate outside Eleanor's door, pausing to flash a quick salute to fish-eye lens of the surveillance camera that hovers overhead. I'm not breaking any rules by being here. Students are allowed to visit each other's dorm rooms before 8 PM curfew, just as long as the door stays open and we remain in full view of the camera.
What could possibly go wrong with a full-proof system like that?
Seriously, the whole "remote supervision" thing is a joke. Dr. Carlyle likes to wave his hands and say a bunch of buzz words about "promoting peer-based learning," but we all know it's an excuse to cut back on faculty over the summer. Whoever came up with this plan should be fired. As if a digital video feed can't be gamed?
Trust me, if I've learned anything from my past two summers in the Maker Program, it's that anything can be faked. Anything can be hacked. Anything can be gamed.
A half-smile turns up one corner of my mouth as I rap my fist against the solid oak paneling. A door can be made to look open even when it's closed. Especially when you have students like Emerson Kemp—students who know a thing or two about augmented reality. Emerson graduated a couple years ago, but not without leaving behind his greatest legacy: some highly useful blocks of code for the young men and women of the Winthrop Academy Summer Maker Program.
Maybe I won't have much use for Emerson's tricks this summer. I'll stick to the open-door policy for now. I'm not here to do anything against school rules. Eleanor and I made our deal (as if I had any choice), but it's strictly a business arrangement. She wants to keep up appearances—act like we're still a couple for the next two weeks until the Maker Program ends. That's fine. She didn't tell me why, and I honestly don't care. It's a small price to pay if it means I get to keep my spot at Winthrop for the next school year. I'll play my part in public for as long as she likes. But there won't be anything going on between us behind closed doors.
The door swings open, and Reese stands on the other side. Eleanor's nowhere in sight.
Reese knows why I'm here. Her blue hair swings about her shoulders as she cocks her head toward the walk-in closet. A faint light emanates from the crack at the bottom of the closet door. "She's still getting dressed."
I glance at my watch. "We're late. The Welcome Dinner started twenty minutes ago."
"We're making a grand entrance," Reese replies. "The real party starts at 8." She offers no further explanation, but she taps the glasses dangling from the cord around her neck.
InstaLove? I lift an eyebrow. Maybe this party won't be as boring as I feared. "Are you sure Carlyle's going to be down with that?"
But I already know the answer before the words are out of my mouth. Of course he's down with it. Dr. Carlyle knows where his bread is buttered. He gets his funding for the Maker Program from the Winthrops...and this InstaLove VR mod is their darling daughter's pet project.
I pull out my own glasses and blow on them, using the bottom of my polo shirt to wipe the lenses. I should probably tuck my shirt in... But hey, it's summer. There's no official dress code in effect. No one will look twice as long as I'm wearing a blazer over top.
I lean against the doorframe, crossing my legs at the ankles, and I glance down approvingly at my perfectly creased cuffs. At least I ironed. I've been nursing along this pair of khaki trousers since Freshman year, but you wouldn't know it from the way I keep them pressed.
Reese turns away toward her laptop. I recognize the black rectangle of a text editor window. Her fingers dance across the keys, writing lines of code more fluently than most people write English sentences. She addresses me over her shoulder. "I integrated those new interaction scripts you wrote. Good stuff. I liked the one about the bunny rabbit..."
I scowl. "You know I could've integrated them myself." I'm still chafing at the whole plan for this summer's project, and I can't quite keep the irritation out of my voice. "I'm capable of more than writing glorified text messages."
She taps the window closed and turns back toward me. "You don't have edit privileges."
"I know how to code."
"I can't have multiple people editing the same blocks, Maddox. That's a recipe for introducing bugs."
"I know but..." I cast my eyes toward the ceiling and swallow the second half of my sentence. It's not worth arguing. I can't afford to get myself uninvited from Reese and Eleanor's group. We're essentially guaranteed to win first place at Maker Fair, with that tantalizing $500 cash prize...
But why do the two of them have to be so annoying? Eleanor I can manage, but Reese is such a control freak. I swear, she didn't used to be this bad when we were younger.
She glares at me. "Look, you're the one who begged to work with us. So be in our group, help where we need help, or else go do your own project. EOF."
EOF?
We're both staring each other down, but I break into a wide grin. Reese cracks me up sometimes. "Are you still saying that?" EOF started as a joke—using "End-of-file" for conversational purposes when any halfway normal person would just say "period." Eleanor started doing that in Middle School, the summer we all got serious about learning C++. That was eons ago. But I guess that's typical for Reese. Once she latches on to something, she never lets it go.
She smiles back at me, with a touch of sheepishness. "There's actually something else you might be able to help with."
"Sure. Name it."
"How do you feel about..." She pauses for a moment, searching for the right word. "Um... Human Resources?"
"Excuse me?"
"You know, personnel. Hiring. Recruitment..."
I run my palm against the bottom half of my face, but I can't stop my shoulders from shaking. She's messing with me, right? Human Resources? We're a bunch of kids at sleepaway camp!
"I'm serious, Maddox!" She whirls away and walks over to her desk, muttering under her breath. "Never mind. I'll do it myself."
I push away from the doorframe and take a step in her direction. "What do you mean, Human Resources?"
"Emerson wants us to recruit one of the new kids. Someone caught his eye when he was reviewing admissions applications."
Well, that's a new one...even for Emerson Kemp. Admissions applications? You have to give him credit. The kid is only 21 years old—a student himself until he developed InstaLove a few years ago—but he's already like an honorary member of the faculty around here. "Since when did Emerson care who works in what group for Maker Fair?"
"Forget Maker Fair!" Reese answers with a frown. "Didn't Eleanor tell you? Emerson might grant us a licensing deal for the VR module if we can show him proof of concept."
I pull up short. That got my attention. And no, in case you're wondering, Eleanor didn't breathe a word to me about it. "A what-a what kind of deal?"
"A licensing deal!" Reese glowers. She can tell I have no idea what she's talking about. She speaks slowly, enunciating her words as if she's talking to a toddler. "His company might license the code we develop and use it for the real app."
"Wait... so pay us for it? Like, with money?"
"Yes, Maddox. With money."
I stuff my hands in my pockets and slouch a bit, trying not to let on how interested I just got in this conversation. Probably a good thing we aren't playing InstaLove right now. My avi would be the one with the dollar signs for eyeballs.
"Ohhh gotcha," I say as casually as I can manage. "So how much are we talking about?"
Enough to pay my own way for senior year at a private boarding school? Because that would solve a lot of problems...
Reese doesn't answer. Maybe she doesn't know. Or maybe she doesn't need to know. It's not like she needs to worry about anything so mercenary. She probably only cares how it will look on her college applications. (As if she needs to worry about that either... Who am I kidding?)
I clear my throat. "So what do you need me to do exactly? Recruit some phenom to our group?"
"Lowercase," Reese replies, dropping her voice and glancing toward the closet.
"Excuse me?"
She presses a finger to her lips and answers in a whisper. "You know, the other Eleanor. We're referring to her as Lowercase."
I make a silent letter O with my mouth. "And does she—" I nod toward the closet— "know that you're recruiting Lowercase?"
"No! That's why I need you to do it. Act like it was all your idea."
I don't get it. I must be missing something. I mean, Eleanor can be petty, but I can't believe she'd throw a fit over some other girl daring to possess the same first name.
Reese heaves a sigh. "She's hurt, Maddox. She saw the way you looked at that girl... and then three seconds later you broke up with her."
Oh. I wasn't sure if Eleanor told anyone about our conversation in the library. But of course she did. She and Reese tell each other everything. There are no secrets between those two.
Reese's voice drops so low, she's practically mouthing the words instead of speaking them. "You're already on her shit list, Maddox. The last thing she needs is her best friend betraying her, too."
I look down and scratch the back of my neck. Why do I suddenly feel like such a slimebucket? It's not true, of course. I didn't break up with Eleanor because of some love-at-first-sight InstaCrush on another girl. It's way more complicated than that. But I won't pretend the new girl hasn't been popping in and out of my thoughts all afternoon...
Reese's silent gaze bears down on me, and I can't bring myself to meet her eyes. I slip on my VR glasses instead, flicking and blinking my way through the prompts.
There she is, filed under Missed Connections. My curiosity about this girl keeps growing. I wouldn't have pegged her for some badass hotshot coder, but she must be fairly amazing if Emerson took note.
I move her over to InstaFriends, but something makes me hesitate before I hit Confirm.
I know it's a bad idea. The next two weeks are going to be complicated enough without my adding further fuel to the fire.
But isn't this the whole reason I broke things off with Eleanor? Because she doesn't own me. She doesn't get to dictate who I talk to... who I look at... who I am... She doesn't get a say in my every move. Not anymore.
Tell hell with Reese and her guilt trips. I move Ellie's avatar again.
I blink once to Confirm, just as I hear the creak of the closet door's hinges. My glasses slide into my back pocket as Eleanor emerges. She catches sight of me and does a pirouette. She's wearing a strapless black satin cocktail dress, and the skirt swirls as she spins on sky-high heels. Anyone else would look ridiculously overdressed, but not Eleanor. I swear, the girl sets her own dress code everywhere she goes through sheer confidence and force of will.
She smiles and comes toward me. I can smell her scent. Chanel no. 5 like usual. She's been wearing that stuff ever since she read in Gossip Girl that it was Blair Waldorf's signature fragrance.
She straightens the lapels of my jacket, then takes a step back to assess her handiwork. "Tuck your shirt in," she commands.
I meet her gaze, and somehow our eyes have a whole unspoken conversation in the long moment before I answer. "Nah. I'm good like this."
Her mouth tightens at the corners. I know that look. She isn't pleased. But she covers it with a smile and a shrug.
"Suit yourself," she says, linking her arm through mine. With her other arm, she reaches out for Reese. "Come on, groupies. We're late. Let's get this party started."
I only have one thought as she leads us from the room.
It's going to be an interesting evening.
Or no... Scratch that. It's going to be an interesting two weeks.
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