Chapter 6: The Ghost in the Machine
Our partnership officially began on a Tuesday. We met in a quiet corner of the public library, far away from the prying eyes of Claire Dasorman and the rest of Maplewood High. I had brought my laptop, my notebooks, and a very thick wall around my heart.
"Strictly professional," I reminded Eli as he sat down across from me, his backpack heavy with what I assumed were the promised "data feeds."
"Strictly professional," he repeated, though his eyes lingered on me a second too long for a business partner. He pulled out a high-speed external drive. "I have the mapping data for the city's power grid. If we can sync this with your snowfall prediction model, we can map out exactly which neighborhoods will lose power before the lines even snap."
We got to work.
The friction between us was high at first. I didn't trust his shortcuts, and he found my logic too rigid. But as the hours ticked by, something unexpected happened. We started to click.
When I hit a wall with the data processing, Eli would find a workaround using his knowledge of the local infrastructure. When his mapping became too cluttered, I would write a script to clean it up. It was intellectual chemistry a different kind of heat than the kiss in the snow, but just as intense. For the first time, I wasn't just working twice as hard to be seen; I was working with someone who actually kept up with me.
"You're doing it again," Eli whispered, leaning over to look at my screen.
"Doing what?" I asked, my fingers never leaving the keys.
"The 'Amara Focus.' Your eyes get all sharp, and you start typing like you're trying to set the keyboard on fire." He laughed softly. "It's kind of terrifying. And incredible."
I felt my "strictly professional" wall crack just a little. I looked at him, and for a moment, the code on the screen didn't matter. But then, I remembered Claire's warning. He's a strategist.
The next day at school, the atmosphere was different. The "trio" had become a divided camp.
I was walking to the computer lab when I saw Ethan Wells waiting for me by the lockers. He didn't have his usual easygoing athlete smile. He looked worried.
"Amara, wait," Ethan said, stepping into my path.
"I have class, Ethan," I said, trying to move past him.
"Just listen," he urged. "I've known Eli since we were six. He doesn't like to lose. To anything. Or anyone." He glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. "He and Claire have a deal. Her dad is on the board of that regional competition. If Eli wins with her, he gets a guaranteed internship at a top tech firm in the city. It's his ticket out of his dad's engineering company."
My heart felt like it had been dunked in ice water. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because Claire is furious," Ethan said simply. "She thinks you're a distraction. But I think Eli is using you to build a better 'product' because he knows your logic is better than hers. He's playing both sides, Amara. He's keeping her on the hook for the 'win' while using you for the 'build.'"
I felt a surge of nausea. Was the kiss just a way to secure the "best builder"? Was the partnership just a way to use my brain to get an internship that Claire's dad controlled?
I walked into the computer lab with my head held high, though I felt hollow inside. Eli was already there, sitting with Claire. They were looking at a screen together, their heads close, just like they used to be.
As I walked by, Claire looked up. Her expression wasn't angry; it was triumphant.
"Oh, Amara," she called out, her voice sweet as poison. "Eli and I were just discussing the final submission requirements. It turns out, you can only have two people on a team for the regional finals. Ethan and I are one team, obviously."
She paused, looking at Eli, who refused to meet my eyes.
"And Eli," she continued, "has decided to stick with the original plan. After all, my father is the one handing out the awards. It only makes sense to partner with someone who has... connections."
The room went silent. I looked at Eli, waiting for him to say something to tell her she was wrong, to tell her we had a deal. But he just stared at his keyboard, his jaw tight.
He didn't choose the girl. He didn't even choose the better code. He chose the path of least resistance. He chose the "insider" win.
I stood there, the "different girl" once again, exposed and humiliated in front of everyone. But then, a cold, familiar fire started to burn in my chest.
"You're right, Claire," I said, my voice steady and dangerously quiet. "Connections are important. But in the end, the judges don't see the dad. They see the code."
I turned to Eli. "Keep the mittens, Eli. I don't need them. I'm going to be working much too fast to stay cold."
I didn't wait for an answer. I walked to my station in the back of the room. I didn't need a partner. I didn't need a "strictly professional" lie. I was going to enter that competition alone, and I wasn't just going to compete.
I was going to delete them.