“Are you...complaining about your dad helping you?” I think of my own parents, who were overjoyed about Educonnect but had no idea what it did. They have no way to help me in this field, but would give just about anything to be able to.

He laughs. “God, I must sound like such a brat.”

“I wouldn’t say that...” I say.

“That’s because pageant girls know not to be rude to your face,” he jabs.

I smile at his joke even though it’s kinda mean.

“It’s just...” He starts again, the vulnerability back in his voice. “So many people at this school have built themselves from nothing. They were the top kids at their high school, the pride of their hometown. And I’m sure that they feel like, you know, if they can make it this far, they can make it. Because they know how to help themselves.”

I tug the hem of my dress as I take a seat next to him. Water starts to soak through as soon as I make contact with the wet pavement, and I cringe at the thought of ruined fabric but try to push the concern out of my mind and focus on the teary-eyed boy in front of me.

“Do you know what my dad said when I got in here?” he asks, not waiting for an answer. “‘Good, I’ve sure as hell donated enough.’ There was no excitement—for me, it was like, if I hadn’t gotten in here, it would’ve been an embarrassment. How the hell am I supposed to make them proud if nothing I do will ever be impressive?”

I stare at him as the rain picks up even more. The sky seems to open up, and my dress is soaked through in seconds. I’m sure my makeup is running down my face like charcoal tears.

They say it’s sunny three hundred days of the year in Santa Clara County, California. Today seems to be one of the other sixty-five.

“You want to know why I’m so anxious to be part of something huge? Because every year I’m not doing something earth-shattering is another year I fall behind where my father was when he was my age.”

“That’s so unreasonable,” I say. “Being a millionaire under thirty shouldn’t be the bar.”

“It is to my parents.”

“Aw, c’mon. They can’t actually think that.”

“Sara.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been going to schools with at least a fifty-thousand-dollar yearly tuition since preschool. Do you know how successful I have to be to return on that investment, to not be a loss to my parents?”

“But you’re their son, not a stock. And sure, they’ve helped you, but you’ve worked hard too. They might be hard on you, but of course they’re proud of you.”