During commercial breaks he asks me about school and I ask him about work. He still watches TV live, so we can’t fast-forward. I’ve tried to explain that we can stream Netflix on my computer if he wants. But I think he likes to watch shows as they air. It gives some structure to his week, each show associated with an evening. Mondays and Wednesdays are Law & Order SVU. Thursdays are Grey’s Anatomy, and then a call to my mother to discuss the episode to pieces. Sundays and Mondays mean the guys coming over for the game. Television is an event for him in a way it just isn’t for my generation.

There is a wonderfully comfortable silence as we watch. The TV set hums slightly, and sounds echo from outside, so even when there is no dialogue or music it’s not silent. After a week of orientation, small talk and overzealous introductions, I find it relaxing not having to fill every second with talking.

When the shows end at eleven, we both get ready to sleep.

“I’m so proud of you, mijo,” my father tells me, standing outside the bathroom door in his slippers as I brush my teeth.

I’m just getting started, I think as I shut off the light in my childhood room and climb into the twin bed I have slept in for the past seventeen years. Someday, I’ll do something to truly earn that pride.

Just as I am about to drift off to sleep, my phone pings. It is a new alert sound, not a text, but my Warren email. I roll over and swipe open my phone. The message is from the financial aid office, congratulating me on my first week of college and sending me a number of reminders about work study and book vouchers.

And then, halfway down the email is this line: Remember that to qualify for continued aid you must be in good academic standing, retaining a GPA of 2.75 or higher.

I sit up in bed. Braden’s words from earlier, about getting a 2.66 if we fail, echo through my head and are interrupted by the memory of Professor Thomas saying he intends to flunk half the class.

I click the Lock button and watch the screen turn black before setting the phone back on my nightstand. I hope that, when I wake up, I will have thought of a project that will please Professor Thomas. Everything I’ve done—everything my parents have done—depends on it.

I barely sleep. And when I do, I dream about code.

Chapter Five

Sara

Since our meeting ended sooner than I expected, I work for a while longer on homework by myself and try to soak up any inspiration I can from the HP Garage replica. I finish my CS assignment and head straight back to my dorm. It’s not like I had any other plans tonight. Or any night really.