Lucy ignored her and wrenched herself into her running gear. She rammed her feet into her limited production sneakers, opened the door, and ran.

Past the fountain in the quad.

The eagerness shown in updating your application, while commendable, ultimately called certain values held in high regard by our institution into question.

Past the student center.

Concern arose regarding the promised recommendation from Mr. Ryan Thompson that never arrived.

Past the ValleyStart headquarters.

This concern deepened as claims of social media prowess were proven to be false.

Past the library.

Misrepresentation, be it from a lack of follow-through or purposeful deceit, cannot be disregarded.

Past the computer science center.

When considered along with the unfortunate circumstances of your missed interview, which was not preceded by a notice of cancellation or need to reschedule . . .

Past the tech day camp.

. . . we regret to inform you that we will not be able to offer admission to our incoming class and your name has been removed from our alternate list.

Past and past and past.

Removed removed removed.

Lucy’s arms pumped and her feet pummeled the ground.

Have a nice life, loser.

She sprinted through the park that bordered the edge of campus, her eyes zeroing in on the backless bench in front of her. She stayed her course, closing the gap, and when she neared it, sprang into the air to hurdle it. One leg stretched out, clearing it easily, but the toe of her other foot clipped the edge, and she pitched forward, plowing into the ground face-first.

The impact forced all the air from her lungs and she rolled onto her back, grappling for oxygen. Pennant still clutched in one fist, she wrapped both hands around her torso and curled her legs toward her stomach, reaching for them, holding herself, rocking, fighting the tears rising to the surface. And then, she flung her arms and legs to the side, spread-eagled on the ground, and screamed.

It wasn’t until she finally stood that she saw the playground off to the side. Swings, slides, merry-go-rounds all motionless, halted as children and parents and nannies gawked at the spectacle that was Lucy Katz.

She waved.

And curtsied.

Then plopped onto the bench that had tried to kill her, motionless herself until her last tear dried.

Now what?

*   *   *

She spent the morning wandering through campus, her walk as aimless as her life. She shredded the Stanford pennant as she went, dropping strips of felt into trash cans along the way until there was nothing left but bits of red fuzz beneath her fingernails.

When her eyes rested on the tall glass windows and steel frame of the computer science complex—a modern anomaly on the mostly white stucco and red tile campus—Lucy realized where she was: outside Nishi’s office. Lucy was inside and knocking on her door before thinking through why.

“Lucy?” Nishi said, glancing at her phone. “I don’t see you on my schedule—”