Chapter 32: Earth

“It's Torchy's,” he says. “All of it is good. What do you like in a taco usually?”

Texans don’t mess around with their tacos. I've learned that in the time that we've been here. I pull a face. “I don't really like eggs in mine. Breakfast shouldn't come doused in salsa.”

He scoffs. “You must not have had them the right way yet. Their migas taco is amazing.”

“I'll take your word for it. Eggs aside, I like most any kind of meat. Beef, chicken, pork. Shredded is always better.”

I try to order my own taco, but John insists. He orders three for himself, and three more for me. “So you can see which one you like best. Plus, you said you were starving.” He goes on to order fifteen more tacos, to go.

“I wasn’t thinking.” I groan. “You’re getting food for the office. I can get mine to go as well.”

He shakes his head. “No rush. They're still playing, you know. To 'work out the kinks.’ They won't even notice. Plus, it's a free lunch. What do they care if it’s a little later in coming?”

We sit down to wait on the order. “So your startup. . .is paying a bunch of kids to sit around playing games? How can you afford that? You must’ve run a mean lemonade stand to raise enough startup capital.”

“Harsh,” he says. “But the truth is probably worse. My dad bankrolled it.”

“Wow. Must be nice.”

“Your dad's not well off, I take it?”

“My dad's not even alive.”

“Oh, no.” John frowns. “I’m so sorry.”

Before I can reply, a woman shows up with our tacos. I inhale mine, they're so good.

“You liked them, then?” John asks.

“They were amazing, especially the pulled pork.” I smile. “But you’ve probably got to get back.”

He lifts one of his tacos in the air. “You eat inhumanly fast. I've got two more tacos to finish.”

“Right,” I say.

He takes a bite and starts to chew. I watch in silence. Awkward.

“Are you nervous Game Theory will fail?” Jesse will be out of work if it does, not that John would worry about our rent. But if his dad's rich and this is all just a lark to him, Jesse should know and plan accordingly.

“You have no idea how nervous. I'm not sure I can deal if it collapses.”

“Your dad’ll be mad?”

He laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. “Mad is a predicable reaction, mundane even, something he’d never consider. My dad won’t be disappointed, either. No, he's expecting me to fail. If I do, he’ll be validated, and somehow that feels worse. He’s coming by later today, to check in on our progress.” John’s mouth twists. “Can’t wait for that meeting.”

“The market’s fickle,” I say. “Most startups don't make it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he says.

“What I mean is, your dad might just expect it because the numbers sort of lean toward, you know, new companies collapsing. But he loaned you the money, so he must have a little faith.”

“Or a lot of money and no desire to argue with me.”

I think about the nice office space they have and all the overpriced tacos John's buying without a second thought. Who has that much money? “I guess. Maybe.”

“I wasn't going to let him fund it, you know. I had a Kickstarter, and it was doing okay.”

“So why did you?”

“I quit school, and he didn't want me to.”

I don't understand. “You quit school, and that made him mad. . .so he decided to give you money? You didn’t want it, and kind of didn’t need it, but you took it anyway?” None of this makes sense.

He grimaces. “It’s more like, he knows the owner of Kickstarter and made one call. Bam, they cancelled my campaign. I was forced to make a deal with him instead. If Game Theory fails, I’ll go back to school full time.”

“Where were you going to college? Or did you drop out of high school?” Part of me hopes he’s a high school dropout, too. Maybe he wouldn’t judge me.

He snorts. “Nah, he'd have lost it over that. I'm over at Rice. And technically I didn’t quite drop out. I’m taking one class a semester, to stay enrolled but make time to focus on Game Theory.”

“J’s been after me to apply to college.”

“You should—and even better, you could apply to Rice. It’s a phenomenal school.”

“Which I could never afford.”

“That’s what financial aid is for.” He ducks his head almost shyly. “I could totally show you around. And even though college isn’t totally my thing, with my dad’s connections, I can introduce you to people. People who matter.”

“I could never impose like that—and I doubt your friends would like me.”

“Are you kidding? They’ll love you,” he says.

I doubt that. “Too bad there’s no way I’d ever get in. When our parents died, things got rough there for a while.” I look down at my hands and lower my voice. “I didn't actually graduate from high school.”

“That’s problematic,” John says, “but it's also the point of a personal statement. If you score well on your tests, and my dad calls a few people, you could probably still get in.”

“Why would your dad call anyone for me? He doesn’t even know me.” My voice drops to a whisper. “You barely do.”

“Your brother’s brain astonishes me, and if you’re only half that smart, Rice would be lucky to have you. And for my dad, well, anything that makes me excited to go back, he’ll do.”

“I hope you're not going to start hounding me, too.” Or maybe I hope he will.

“So how'd your date go last night? You were a little light on the details.”

“I tried the bobotie and the peppadews.”

“That's not what I meant.”

Clearly. “What did you mean, then?”

John taps his hand on the table. “You're working for that guy now, and you had dinner together last night. You said it wasn't a date, but it sounds like maybe you're into him.”

“Does that matter to you?” Ah, crap. Am I flirting with Jesse's boss?

“What if it does?”

“I'd say that's your problem, not mine.”

John finally takes the last bite of his tacos.

I stand up. “You've got some hungry employees on your hands. I'd hate it if they all walked out on you. How would you explain that to dear old Dad?”

“I try not to explain anything to him whenever possible.” John stands up, and we turn toward the door.

And that's when I see him.

He has shaved his beard, but the rest is the same. Black hair, golden skin, brown eyes so light they’re practically champagne. He looks casual—he’s wearing a polo shirt instead of a suit—but there's no mistaking Declan Rosenbaum for anyone else. My heart races and my hands begin to shake. I tense my muscles to run out the door, but that would attract too much attention. Is there any chance he’s here by accident? Could he not have seen me?

I try to still my hands. They’re trembling noticeably enough that John might worry.

Declan isn't looking at me, but what are the odds it’s a coincidence?

Nil. Zip. Zilch.

He's here for me, I know it. He's sitting in a booth a few dozen feet away. I try not to speed up as I walk toward the door, but I can't help glancing over my shoulder repeatedly. At least he isn't moving.

John raises one eyebrow when I look his way. “Everything okay? You got quiet, and you're acting weird. Kinda jumpy.”

I ball my hands into fists. “I'm fine. I just realized what time it is, and I've got to get home.” From the corner of my eye, I can see that there’s a bus coming around the corner, and no matter where it’s going, I need to be on it.

“Thanks so much for lunch. Tell J I'll see him later, okay?”

I sprint toward the bus stop. I don't turn back around, sure that John will be gaping. I hope it doesn't freak him out, but honestly, it probably doesn't matter.

Things may be looking up, and Jesse and I may have new jobs, but it’s not enough. We have no choice.

It’s time to go.