Page 12 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

His beard needs trimming, and somehow this is the detail my sluggish mind focuses on as I ask, “Arjun asked you just now?”

Lucas shakes his head again, his long brown hair, parts of which reach almost to his chin, briefly covering his eyes before he smooths it away. “He approached me last week.”

“That’s against the rules.”

I’m not surprised, just pissed.

These are the rules Caltech set. Ones we agreed to via Google Form acknowledgment, but still.

Lucas raises an eyebrow, as if I should know better.

And I should. I pick at the granola more slowly now that my body’s more settled.

“I didn’t like that he went against the rules,” Lucas admits sheepishly. “But even without that, you would have been my first choice. You’re strong in the languages I’m weak in, your math coverage is broader, and I like your code.”

Out of habit, I try to tug at the ponytail that isn’t there because it’s what I do when I’m thinking, and⁠—

“You just cut your hair?”

Maybe I’m too disarmed by the left-field question, maybe I’m too tired to lie, or maybe I just want to tell someone the truth. “I sold it.”

Because my father wanted to punish me for talking back to him. So he “forgot” to send any money in July. And because some midnight-panic googling revealed that if your hair is long enough, if it’s untreated and thick enough, you can make close to a thousand dollars.

My waist-length hair, which had always been my greatest vanity.

It felt like a fitting punishment. A serendipitous, one-time fix even though I still find myself trying to twirl strands that are no longer there.

As if he’s reading my mind, Lucas admits, “I used to keep my hair longer too. After I chopped it off, I reached for it, like a phantom ponytail.” He waits another beat, and then, as if we’ve already agreed, as if we hadn’t veered into a completely different topic, he hands me his unlocked phone. It’s from an unnamable generation and is scratched and dented despite the OtterBox. “Put your number in. I’ll start with Xinzhe if you want. But I’d love for you to at least check out Brody?”

I’m impressed he’s still bothering to ask, because as the guy who just turned down Arjun, Lucas is clearly the one in control here.

“I can’t believe we’re really considering bro dude.”

“Look past the gym shorts. Check out the code he’s posted on GitHub.”

I don’t look right away because I’m too tired for that.

Instead, I fall asleep on the LA Metro and almost miss my stop before relieving my neighbor, making sure my mother’s still half asleep, giving the younger girls quick baths, admonishing Aurora not to stay up too late before I then take the world’s quickest, coldest shower, because we’ve run out of hot water.

Most likely? I used it all up bathing the younger girls.

If I’m less lucky? I forgot to pay a bill, or worse, I bounced a check.

Despite the shock of the cold water, I’m asleep within minutes of getting to the couch, my mind a swirl of overdue notices, to-do lists, and homemade granola.

I wake at three in the morning to blessed silence and make my rounds.

Harper’s fever is gone, and Wren is cuddled against her. At some point, I’ll need to get them their own beds. When we first moved in, all four of us had crammed in here: I slept with Harper, leaving Wren with Aurora, but since I’m normally on campus, Aurora’s been promoted to her own bed, leaving me the couch when I visit.

Which is too often, given my work and study schedule.

But also, unavoidable.

When I peek into her bedroom, my mother is awake but watching C-dramas on her phone.

“You home for the weekend?” She doesn’t look at me as she asks this, and I can see the way her eyes travel across her phone as she follows the actors’ movements, more invested in the fantasy world than her real one.

“I thought I’d help out while Harper’s recovering.”