“Oh, uh, yeah.” She glances at her computer, like she forgot the giant advertisement was there. “I would not recommend it.” She shakes her head, closing the laptop and slipping it into her bag.

“Really? It’s like a dream job for me.”

“Yeah, I mean they paid well and it’s a great résumé builder.” She stands and pulls her bag over her shoulder. Pausing, she looks at me. I realize she is waiting. I quickly dump everything into my bag and pop up to follow her.

“The culture was just pretty brutal for women,” she says. “Full of bro-grammers. I would lead my group and then never get picked for projects. Was mistaken as an assistant like three times.”

We make our way out of the now-half-empty auditorium.

“One night I was working late and someone thought I was there to take out the trash.”

“Oh God, that’s terrible.” I squint as we step out into the sunlight.

“Yeah, it’s unfortunately not unique to Instafriend either.”

I cringe.

“If I can give you one piece of advice, kid—start your own company. I think that’s the only way women are going to advance in tech, by doing their own shit. You need to strike out on your own, by any means necessary. That’s what I’m tryna do.”

I nod vigorously, taking mental notes. She spikes her cup, now just ice slightly stained a coffee color, into the recycling bin.

We are approaching the split between the main academic quad and the turn toward my dorm. I don’t know which way she’s going, but I don’t want this conversation to end.

“Do you want to go to the library or something?” I ask. “Work on the homework?”

“I wish I could.” She checks her watch. That’s how cool she is—she actually wears a watch. So vintage. “But I have to get going. I have this wine-night thing with my dorm-mates from freshman year.”

“Is that a thing?” My eyes go wide. “Like, drinking on a school night?”

“I mean, not finals week, but week one, sure.” She pulls her phone out of her bag. “It’s gonna just be upperclassmen tonight, but here, let’s exchange numbers and hang another time.”

We type in our numbers, and when she hands my phone back she says, “I’m glad there’s another brave soul with me in this class.”

I wonder if that comment should make me feel good or bad for my whole walk home.

Chapter Four

Roberto

“But how would you make it profitable?” Braden interrupts Sara, who was midway through pitching an idea. She pauses, her marker halting on the dry erase board.

“What do you mean?” She stares at him, eyes like daggers.

“How would it make money?” Braden asks again, drawing out his words, as if the problem before had been him speaking too quickly.