The Silicon Valley Connection

prologue | aidan - print ('mistakes were made')

Curse these damn hills.

    Almost losing my footing on my longboard, I shift my center of gravity and lower my foot on the sidewalk. The looming high-rise towers that I have come to despise so much because of who owns them come into view, filled with people rushing, of course--always in a hurry to get somewhere. I glanced at my watch again, thinking that the time had somehow changed from the last twenty-two seconds that I had checked it.

    3:03 p.m. I still have twenty-seven minutes until the pre-season training begins. Pulling the strings of my windbreaker taut, I carefully cruise in-between pedestrians, careful not to let any wandering eyes land on me and start a flurry of flashing lights from phone cameras. My most recent argument with my father about how I spend my leisure time is still a sore spot, like a tiny pimple that refuses to go away.

    Still sour that I didn't follow in his footsteps with basketball like he and my older brother, he takes every opportunity he can to compare me to him in the most demeaning ways possible. However, I can honestly care less because as a GoldAbridge scholar in academics and volleyball for my third consecutive year, I'm busy enough as it is. The September breeze whips through my hood, and after a minute, I give up on a tug-of-war game with Mother Nature and leave it off. I make a right into the Theater District when a Toyota swerves a little too close to the curb, and my last-minute maneuver causes me to put us both off balance. The drink splashes on her sweater, and the cup clatters onto the concrete.

"Shit...I am so sorry. Give me a minute. I'll--I'll be right back." Keeping the intense rush of heat from flowing to my cheeks is pointless as I dash into the nearest coffee shop to grab a handful of napkins, leaving my board at her feet. Before stepping back outside, I readjust my prescription aviators and turn to only find her at the door, holding my longboard at her side with a sheepish grin on her face. We exchange items, and she nods to the front of my deck.

"Nice board," she compliments, gesturing to the crossbone skull wearing a hat and red band across the top. "And don't worry about the spill. This is probably the universe telling me I don't need any more caffeine," she says with an exasperated sigh. "Besides, now I have an actual excuse to get rid of this sweater," her now muffled voice adds while pulling the fabric over her head.

I'm trying my damned hardest not to stare, but part of a music ribbon tattoo woven with what looks like planets peeks from her flank area and travels to her waist. The tee falls back over her figure, and the now stained sweater covers the remaining skin. She's already two times cooler just by the tat alone. A flash of white teeth then forms the most lighthearted smile I've ever seen. Probably ever.

"Thanks for the help, though."

"I'm glad I can be of service." She gives me a two-finger salute, and I send one right back with a head tilt. Then, setting my board back on the ground, my foot rests on top, and I extend my arm. "Aidan...Lim," introducing myself with my mother's maiden name.

Her hand barely wraps around my own as she returns the shake. "Faith Sommers. Huge fan of your podcast, by the way. I especially enjoyed this week's episode with your robotics experience in high school."

"Really?" My face brightens with recognition of our correlative interest in the STEM field. "I'm assuming that you participated in it, too, if I'm not mistaken?"

She nods her head with excitement, and I chuckle. "I was on team--"

An incoming call interrupts her mid-sentence and she sighs while hitting the green button on the screen.

"Sorry, I have to take this."

I wave it off. "No worries. I have to head out anyway." She thanks me again, and after another awkward handshake, we're nothing but specks to each other; I continue west, and she goes east. I knew I would be late to practice, but every minute over was worth it.

"Those drills were absolutely brutal," my roommate complains, twisting his hips to crack his back but to no avail.

Letting my backpack and gym bag slide lazily off my shoulders, I roll them in large, excessive circles to loosen up the muscles that I'm pretty sure I won't be able to use...for at least a week. My desk chair rolls back when my weight hits the cushion, and I let out a miffed sigh, my lips protruding outwards in a pout. "Yeah, they were. My dad would've killed me if he saw how out of shape I was at practice today. Not that I care what he thinks, but I can just sense his disappointment as if he were in the bleachers."

On the contrary, I'm not surprised that our first pre-season practice was this grueling. After the heartbreaking loss during Nationals last year, no one was spared from the coach's irritable wrath. Endless attack drills, rotation after rotation of serving--and not the fun spike serves, but the annoying float ones, were on the itinerary from the moment Marcus and I set foot onto Seaside U's state-of-the-art volleyball court last summer.

Men's volleyball at our university is about as popular as the school's football team--immensely well-liked. My fingertips barely reach my phone before falling to the floor. Then, after turning it on and scrolling through the wave of missed notifications, a particular text from my older brother caught my eye.

HUNTER: got a picture of this roster from a frat brother for some competition we're participating in. you're welcome in advance.

My eyes trail down the list, and the other two names besides my brother's and mine make the hope in my chest rise a little. So, Faith attends Seaside. I haven't seen her around campus before, so she's most likely a transfer student. I lean back into the chair with my hands behind my head and turn to Marcus right as his hand reaches the doorknob. "You know about a chick named Faith Sommers?"

    He slowly closes the door and pivots. "Yeah, we've been pretty close since high school. Why?"

    I shift back forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "I'm just curious because Hunter just texted me saying that we're all in some group project together."

    He glances down at his screen, and there's no sound as his mouth moves, silently reading the message I just sent him.

    "This is legit?" he asks, a bewildered and horrified expression etched on his face.

    Confused, I tilt my head. "It is. Is there a problem?" Faith seemed genuinely nice, so I figured it would be cool to work with her unless it's a different girl than the one I met earlier today--which doesn't seem likely. With an undergrad population of about 8,000 students, it's common to see the same people from off-campus in the city; also, between my best friend's distracted expression and my conclusions, I realized that there was more to what he wanted to say.

    He shoves his hands in his pockets, and I glimpse his nostrils flaring a bit as if what he's about to say is taboo. "Well, not necessarily." He runs a hand over his short curls over his fresh undercut and down to the chin. "It's just that she and Hunter aren't on the best of terms right now due to an incident back in eleventh grade, and she hasn't been the same since..."

    She knows my brother? Shit. Then she knew who I was as soon as we met. So why didn't she say anything? An unexpected wave of uneasiness rises in my chest, and bile tingles at the back of my throat.

    "Aidan, you good? You look a bit pale all of a sudden."

    I run a hand through my own hair. "Depends. I think I met her already on my way to practice--well, more like I crashed into her," I say nervously, vividly recalling our near-death experience.

    "Hmmm." He leans against the nearest wall while scrolling through his phone. Seconds later, I'm looking at a picture of her and Marc smiling side by side from what I assume is their high school graduation.

    "Was it her?"

    I take a deep gulp. "Mhmm." So much for our positive interaction. "If that's the case, me being in the group too is not going to make this group arrangement any better," I say with a defeated huff. I want to ask him about the situation with my older brother, but I know that's her story to tell.

    Marc shakes his head. "I honestly think the opposite, but I will give you a heads up that trust is something she values a lot, professional or otherwise, so make sure you tread carefully."

    "Duly noted," I nod, but there was something else hidden in his words; it sounded a lot like a warning to me...to not make a similar mistake.