"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."
The 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.
Ralph's voice makes me jump. "You're not reading anymore; you're just gazing at that screen, that's no good. You need a break. So do I."
I realize he's right. Both my elbows are on the desk, and I've got no memory of putting them there.
Ralph leans back in his chair, massaging his neck. I mirror his movements, and discover that my own neck is stiffer than I thought. Around me, everyone is glued to their computers, some focused, some on the verge of falling asleep. The guys sharing our desks are part of the latter group.
"You looked surprised to see me here," Ralph says and I turn to him. He's smirking.
"I could say the same about you."
He watches me intently for a few seconds then says, "Because I knew James and you broke up. He told me he called you here, but to be honest, I didn't think you'd show up."
I take a deep breath. I wonder how exactly he knows that James and I broke up. Did James tell him, or did he see James with other women and drew his own conclusions? The image of a disheveled Parker opening the door to James's apartment comes to mind. The image of an almost-naked Sophie follows. I have a strong urge to vomit as I remember that dreadful morning. Did James have one of those wild nights again? Did Ralph accompany him this time? I scrutinize Ralph, pondering whether I can try to scoop any information out of him without him catching on to what I'm doing. The smirk on his face tells me there isn't. He's expecting me to ask him something like this. What he said before was a provocation.
So I provoke him too. "And I knew that your favorite pastimes include spending obscene amounts of money on brainless activities."
"They do," Ralph says, not looking the least bit insulted. "But now and then I like to put my hacking skills to some good use. You know, with whatever neurons I haven't killed with brainless activities."
I snort.