Chapters (45)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Pulse
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY–ONE
- TWENTY–TWO
- TWENTY–THREE
- TWENTY–FOUR
- TWENTY–FIVE
- TWENTY–SIX
- TWENTY–SEVEN
- TWENTY–EIGHT
- TWENTY–NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY–ONE
- THIRTY–TWO
- THIRTY–THREE
- THIRTY–FOUR
- THIRTY–FIVE
- THIRTY–SIX
- THIRTY–SEVEN
- THIRTY–EIGHT
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- RESOURCES
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Eric’s smirk meant Delia was definitely turning as red as the beets her dad grew every summer. The ones Delia wished she could taste now, even if—especially if—it meant watching Cassie eye them with suspicion no matter their form, including fried like potato chips.
“I was being nice,” Eric said. “But I also care about the details.”
“No one actually cares about the details.”
“Were you at the same hackathon I was? Caring about the details is how we all got here.” He pushed himself off the wall. “Still crazy to me sometimes that I’m actually here.”
“I know. I go back and forth between what’s crazier: that I’m here or that here actually exists.” She rolled a rock under her sneaker—the one she’d glued the sole back onto with Lucy’s surprisingly strong fake eyelash glue. “Silicon Valley. As mythical as—”
“Gumberoo School.” When Delia didn’t respond he said, “You know the series, right?”
“I know the name, but I’m not much of a fiction reader.”
“This cannot be. Hanging with a girl who hasn’t read the Gumberoo? Impossible!”
The way Eric’s hazel eyes widened followed by a toss of his hair infused the flutter in Delia’s stomach with the strength of a hummingbird.
“You know what else is impossible?” he said.
“What?” Delia hoped her voice was louder than the thrumming of her heart.
“That we’re here in this amazing city and seeing nothing but the inside of a pretentious club and this one little street corner.” He pulled out his phone, and Delia wondered if he was as relieved as she was to be able to break eye contact.
She and Eric talked all through their shifts and had been texting a lot too, mostly about how traitorous she felt to their beloved Python since Lucy had forced her into using Swift. Even Delia could admit their shared interest in coding and ValleyStart and aversion to pea milk lattes meant she might be slightly more interesting to Eric than the guy taking a drill to his laptop. They were friends. She liked him.
Except she might like like him.
“Okay.” Eric looked up from his phone. “What do you say to some sightseeing?”
“Now?”
“No better time, as my grandma would say.”
“But, I mean, it’s just . . . can we?”
“Who’s gonna stop us, Ryan Thompson?”