Page 71 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

Because most of Brody’s friends are away on spring break, our options are limited.

I should have come with you, Lucas messages. Now I’m stuck on this aluminum death trap by myself.

I calm him as best I can from the hospital waiting room.

Brody’s appendix bursts while he’s being wheeled into surgery and while his mother is still stuck in traffic. By the time Beatrice I-didn’t-change-my-last-name Huntington arrives, demanding in her quiet but still authoritative manner that the surgeon give her a full report of what’s happened with her youngest son, Brody’s already in recovery.

Only after Beatrice is satisfied that she’s been thoroughly updated does she kiss the still unconscious Brody on the cheek before engulfing me in a hug of undoubtedly expensive perfume that’s only slightly marred by dried sweat. Then, she sits me down and cross-examines me, prying out all the details before hugging me again.

“You probably saved his life,” she tells me, squeezing my hand. “I can’t imagine what would have happened if he’d gotten on that plane.”

Beatrice tells me that Brody’s father is flying back from England right now and that I ought to head home for the night.

“Are you sure?”

Brody’s mother’s gaze slips down to my shirt and only then do I realize I’ve yet to completely wash out the vomit from earlier. She grips my hand in hers before saying thank you again. “Brody always said you’re the glue of the team. The gal you’d want in an emergency.”

Much, much later, after I’ve showered and crawled into my blessedly empty dorm room, after Lucas has already landed and I’m bleary-eyed with exhaustion, I finally get ahold of Professor Miller, who already landed, but has been catching up with the other coaches.

He’s adamantly opposed to my flying out a day, or even two days, late.

“Even if you were the strongest member, a two-person team is unlikely to stand a real chance. But in my estimation? You’re the weakest link. Thus, I see no justification for the additional cost of a last-minute international ticket,” Professor Miller tells me. “You’re better off staying and taking care of your teammate. Lucas will do the best he can, since he’s already here.”

A lifetime of biting back what I really think means that I smile at Professor Miller without telling him where to shove his unsolicited and—considering he never shows up to practices and likely only has Arjun’s word for what’s happening—unfounded opinions.

“Thank you for taking the call.”

My smile is a tad overbright, and Professor Miller looks a little confused about my sunny attitude, but he hangs up shortly afterward.

When I visit him the next morning, Brody is considerably less sanguine. He tells me his mother can fly me out.

“She’s ready to name my firstborn child after you. Given that, I doubt she’d flinch at the cost of a last-minute first-class ticket to Singapore.”

I consider it, but . . .

“Professor Miller’s already been announced as the ACM 95 teacher next year.”

“So what? He’s really going to turn away a second team member who shows up?”

Probably not. Except he was so adamant, and even after a night of sleep I’m thoroughly exhausted. Though I’d like to be there, with Lucas, a small part of me does worry that I won’t contribute, that I’ll be worse off next year. “He’s Arjun’s advisor. Who knows what Arjun’s told him. Besides, your parents were saying they have to be back in court, and most of your friends are off on their ski trip. I’ll stay and take care of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Please.” I take a seat next to him, thinking that I’ll be able to take Wren to the doctor now, that I can catch up on the research project I’ve barely started. “You owe me way more than sorry and your firstborn.”

Brody grins and settles back against the pillows. “Think Lucas even needs us?”

“Watch him win the whole thing on his own.”

Turns out I’m right and wrong.

Lucas still isn’t used to the idea of competitions. Without us—and he claims, more specifically without me—he is anxious. So much so that he stays on the phone with me until they take it away from him to place it in a ziplock bag before the competition starts.

“At least beat Harvard,” I tell him. I don’t get a chance to tell him I’m joking, that considering Harvard beat all three of us at nationals, solo-ing against them should be an impossibility.

Joke’s on me, though, because Lucas goes on to place thirtieth, by himself, at worlds.

Harvard Hermès and his cronies place forty-third.