Chapter One
The Call
Paisley Grove
Palo Alto, CA
Itry to focus on the code I’m writing as my fingers fly across the keyboard. For the past two weeks, a big foreboding lump has sat like a log in my gut. Day or night, asleep or awake, it’s there. I’ve been doing coding sprints to make myself ignore its presence, but the exercises barely work.
I recall the day I sat in this chair, talking on the phone with my brother, Max. I’d just had my first over-the-phone interview with Mason Harper, director of software engineering at Valentine Technical Innovations, or VTI for short. I don’t want to have this memory right now, and I work more feverishly to rid myself of it, but it doesn’t go away. I was forced to admit to Max that my interview went well, despite wishing it hadn’t.
“You’re doing it for Grandfather,” he said, hearing the apprehension in my voice. “You’re doing it for us.” He's been saying that a lot these days, and he's starting to sound like a broken record playing a very irritating song over and over again.
I close my eyes as my fingers come to a halt. My brother, who’s eight years older than I am, knows me well. Despite the large age gap between us, we’ve always been close. He knows I’d rather cut my hands off than let down our family, making it hard to say no when he attaches our mission to family duty. I’m a Grove.
Grove Industrial Technologies is the number one producer of the latest groundbreaking high-tech products. According to Max and my father, Xander Grove, our top spot doesn’t come without our family endeavoring to maintain it. And although they’ve never said it, frankly, I’ve been programmed to believe that I was born with an obligation to do my part.
“Remember what they stole from us. They can’t get away with it,” Max reminded me for what seemed like the millionth time.
I open my eyes and focus on the same scene I observed during our conversation that day. Currently, I live in the Palo Hills in a house that used to belong to my brother. He’ll never admit it, but I know he moved out of this place because he couldn’t take the lack of excitement the community has to offer. He’s now back in New York, and I’m cooped up here, watching how the leaves on the trees in the backyard endure a thrashing from the restless wind. The oaks have changed since I last paid any attention to them. Their foliage has grown so high and thick that it looks as if I’m in my own little universe, being swallowed alive by leaves and branches. I work from home, hardly ever leaving the house other than to jog, which I do twice a day, shop for groceries, or grab a bite when I’m not in the mood to cook.
Do I want to live this sort of solitary life? No, not at all. I miss my friends. I miss the world. But the next five minutes will determine my future. VTI sent an email to the final group candidates yesterday, informing us that the person who lands the position will be contacted by 2:00 p.m. EST. It's now 4:55 PST. I close my eyes and pray that person won’t be me.
I’m suddenly jolted by loud ringing. The sound isn’t coming from my personal device. The chime of the ancient analog phone stabs my ears like the shouting of an angry crowd. My personal device plays Junga’s “Uprise,” a song that reminds me of him—Hercules. Hercules Valentine. The secure device that’s registered under a fake name has the harsher ringtone. I swivel around in my chair and, pressing my palm over my beating heart, glare at the secure smartphone on the bookshelf.
After the third ring, I muster enough energy to answer the call. “Hello.” I clear the frog from my throat.
“Hi, is this Lark Davenport?” The woman’s cheery voice clashes with my sense of doom. Lark Davenport isn’t my real name, though—it’s the one I used when I applied for the job.
Don’t say “um.” Speak clearly, and remain professional. You can’t get caught.
I stand tall. “Yes, this is she. How can I help you?”
“Hi, Mrs. Davenport, this is Lake Clark.” She pauses. She probably wants my response to be as happy and easygoing as hers.
I remember Lake. She was part of the team that interviewed me over the phone. They wanted to use old videoconference technology, but I lied and said that I was between clients and only had the bandwidth for a voice call. I hate lying. Not only that, but I’m not very good at it, and Max knows it.If I’m caught…
“Yes, Lake, I remember you,” I say in a chirpy tone that I hope is convincing.
“Good. We’d like to offer you the principal software developer position. Mason wants to know if you can start next Monday.”
Say no, Paisley.Say that unfortunately, you’re unable to take the job because something came up, and then thank her for the opportunity.
“Monday’s too soon. I’ll need fourteen days,” I reply instead. That’s the plan. We’ll need at least fourteen days to run a test.
“Okay. Fourteen days. That’ll work. We’re just excited to have you on our team.”
Her optimism intensifies the foreboding sensation coursing through me. I close my eyes, trying to get a handle on my emotions as she tells me what date and time they’ll be expecting me and where I should report. Someone from HR will take me on a tour before bringing me to my team’s area. She goes on about the concierge service for workers, the state-of-the-art dining facility, resting pods, and the gym. The longer her sales pitch lasts, the more it feels as if the molecules I’m breathing are suffocating me. I want to stop her and tell her there’s no need to convince me since I already said I’d take the job.
“Lark?” she finally asks.
“Humph?” I force my eyes open.
“Well, we can shore up the rest of the details in fourteen days.”
I rub the back of my neck because it’s too warm, and for some reason, I want to cry. I want to shout, “Beware of me, Lake Clark— I’m an interloper.”
“Right,” I barely say.
