text: I did manage to make it back to class, and Monday did, thankfully, eventually end when I collapsed in my bed, a bundle of emotions, most of which I can't even identify, but feeling overwhelmingly lost.
  
  So I wake up groggy, and it's a fittingly gray Tuesday. I shuffle myself off to school, and there is everyone of import to me outside, apparently rather anxiously waiting for moi. And if you were thinking this might be welcoming, or motivating, you'd be wrong.
  
  I immediately, somewhat suspiciously, start dragging my feet and slowing my arrival.
  
  "Did you hear?"
  
  The question yells its way out of Ari's mouth about four feet before my feet get there.
  
  Now, my internal senses begin to race. They are like a frantic pack of panting dogs. No, I haven't heard anything, but should I have heard something? Now panting is ratcheting up to foaming at the mouth, and before I can calm the pack down, it's over as Imani explodes.
  
  "The Twincesses are gone!"
  
  I look at her, trying to understand what she just said and what "gone" means, but again, before I have a chance to get a word out, Ari is elbowing her mouth right back in the thick of it.
  
  "Apparently ..." Ari holds up her hand, motioning that the floor, and this story, is her exclusive.
  
  "Long before that Crazy Rich Asians movie came out, Mae Lee was obsessed with this idea that she and her sister are supposed to marry into Singapore society, which is why they do that whole "lah" thing and speak that fake Chinese. So once the movie hit, talk about obsessive fan stanning."
  
  Dramatic, emphatic pause so we may all take in her hip-stalker accusation, and now picking back up.
  
  "So as you can imagine, when Mae Ann started crushing on our very own, do-not-call-me-Sidonie, Sid Rubin, Mae Lee saw all her planning falling apart, and she got crazier and crazier. Ergo," pause for good word usage points, "when you said— in no uncertain terms, you were definitely not going to be Mae Ann's one true pairing, Mae Lee grabbed her sister, swiped her daddy's credit card, and they flew the coop."
  
  Ari finishes this off, beaming with the most self-satisfied of gossip-delivered afterglows, and all I can think is, they left because I said I wouldn't be her OTP?
  
  Wowzerhole.
  
  And although I still have yet to say even one word aloud, apparently I am an open source code this morning because Jimmy, of all people, stops laughing to say, "Sid? You do know they didn't leave because of you? They left because they are batshit crazy and had this planned for years. You were just a small delay factor."
  
  "He's right, Sid." Vik chimes in. "You can't just pack up and go to another country without having made arrangements. They may be weird, and they're definitely insane ..."
  
  "Certifiably cray," Ari butts in, less about signifying agreement than making certain she remains in the center of this narrative.
  
  Vik nods, but finishes his own thought. "...but we do know they aren't stupid."
  
  "And honestly, Sid." Jimmy grins just enough that I know it's coming. "I know it's hard for you to believe, but you know, you just don't have that much power."
  
  "Or allure."
  
  "Or that certain, hmmmm, je ne sais quoi ..."
  
  Hilarious, peeps. But I do start laughing. And laughing. And gasping for air. And not exactly for the reason one might expect.
  
  "You know the funniest part?" I say, not waiting for an answer. "All I can think about right now is I am so glad I did not say one word to my mother about Mae Ann."
  
  And as we all head off to class, I realize I really do feel a bit lighter. And maybe that's not particularly nice, but I just can't help it. I hope they both find whatever it is they desire ...across the ocean, far, far away.
  
  And I mean really freaking far away! As in never coming back!
  
  Because here, dead center, patrolling the middle of the crowded hallway, between me and my locker, obviously on the prowl, trying not to jump out of her skin is proverbial mouth-of-the-south, queen of the Cooper gossip rodeo ring, Janelle. And I had to know she was going to be here. This is way too juicy to ignore. Even my posse, my peeps, had been outside, salivating. There is no way Janelle is going to miss out.
  
  "Ooh lah, Sid." And it's like chalk on a blackboard. The entire hallway, including my now-cringing-'cause-he-knows-what's-coming-brother, Jean, freezes and then turns anticipatorily. "Can I ask you a question?"
  
  Having no real options, I warily proceed forward, trying to seem casual and absolutely show no fear. After all, we all know what's coming. She's done prowling. She can smell red meat. She will pounce.
  
  "We were all just wondering, what's it like to possess a perfect record of annual incidents to be remembered by?" And the laughing begins as she turns in a circle, inviting everyone in for the kill. "This year, may I present, The Flight of the Twins, complete with the strapline, or subtitle for those who have yet to complete Junior English: A Twelfth Year Tragicomic Tale of Two Cities. Brought to us by none other than our very own ...Sid Rubin."
  
  Janelle finishes with a flourish, bringing the hallway to cheers or jeers— hard to tell.
  
  But this time I am already overtired, and ticked off just enough. I straighten up, and ...
  
  "Good one, Janelle."
  
  ...before I can say another word, Jimmy grabs my arm and steers me away. "You know, you've got to let it go. You're not going to win this one." And he stops and looks directly at me. "And Sid? Truth: it really is kind of funny."
  
  Maybe. Maybe not.
  
  However, I'm not ready to concede, or laugh about it, especially when Scott and I get down to the lab and realize we are left with the bulk of the coding load, plus a nasty, ugly surprise. Either Mae Ann had not been doing as much coding as she had claimed, or her parting gift was a bit of sabotage. Either way we have been duped.
  
  Color us shook.
  
  And peeved. And seethed.
  
  There is, however, a silver lining to my finding a new annoyance, or perhaps more specifically rage target, which is you can let an old annoyance go. It's debilitating having too much annoyance going on at once.
  
  Buh bye, Janelle. Hello, Mae Ann.
  
  Sadly, neither rage nor smolder will fix any of this, so Scott and I set to work, determining it will be more efficient to recode the entire third bot rather than risk an unseen error. It will be gruesome, but does give us time to once again evaluate our theory as to how we are attacking the competition portion.
  
  For example, just the other night, when we had two robots competing on Imani's course, it became fairly obvious one of our smarter moves would be to get sensors for each bot and add them on. Although sensors are invaluable, they are not free. Thus, while Scott and I are ensnared in this coding mess, Marcus and Ari are unavailable, out taking another fundraising meeting, while Vik is busy laying out the brochure.
  
  Granted, we are not the only two coders in the entire school. And yes, we could have reached out to one or two, but it seemed smarter and easier at this point, with all we had done on our own bots, to backtrack and rebuild the third bot ourselves. And not to brag, but Scott and I are faster and better than anyone else here, so while another body might seem helpful, for right now, not so much.
  
  "Hey Sid?"
  
  We've been pretty much silently at this for about an hour I guess, when Scott's question makes me look up.
  
  "You okay?"
  
  And for a split second I'm confused, and then for another split second, as his meaning dawns on me, I want to scream at him to stop. To yell, don't go there, but I don't.
  
  "I mean, I know it's not a lot of fun when Janelle gets going."
  
  I nod and shrug, hoping this will suffice. While I can't disagree, I am instantly covered in incredibly awkward, so while I know he's being thoughtful, not snarky, I am absolutely not interested in talking about this. With him. It would be like Scott and I just became equals in the Janelle's Target-of-the-Day sweepstakes, which would be incredibly gross. And while I feel just a little bit bad about hating on this, I can't.
  
  And besides, I've kind of moved on. Okay, maybe not exactly moved, but definitely inched ...on. Forward motion am I.
  
  Happily my one-size-fits-all shrug seems to satisfy, and we both get back to what we were doing: coding, recoding, coding, recoding.
  
  "Hey Sid?"
  
  Again I pause and look up, suddenly aware it's gotten pretty late and, as I straighten up, my back is killing me. We have been in here for hours. Who knew?
  
  "Have you decided where you want to go to school?"
  
  My immediate thought is, he has heard something I don't know? "As in, am I about to be kicked out of school or something?"
  
  Scott looks at me for a minute, totally confused. Then he laughs. "Nah. I'm sure if you survived your sixth grade hacking history, they're not getting rid of you now. I mean college. Have you picked a university?"
  
  "No. Not yet." Which reminds me I should probably get those applications out before the folks remember to ask ...again. "How about you?"
  
  "I'm not sure. I'm building a database. Of everyone's choices. And I'm cross-referencing where everyone from the last three years has gone." There's a sudden hesitation in his voice. "I don't really care that much about which school I go to or where it is. I just want to be anonymous when I start. You know?"
  
  And I look at him. And I do know. Hey, I'm as guilty of the "yuck" as the next guy. And I feel really hurt, for him ...but not for me. Because that's when my inner lightbulb turns on and I realize Jimmy is right. My high school legacy is kind of funny. A realization that makes me want to shout.
  
  But Scott's will never be. Which shuts me right back up.
  
  And then I am stuck. I think maybe I should be saying something, but I don't know what it should be. Do I say I'm sorry? Do I say don't worry about it? That if we both end up going to the same school I won't tell anyone?
  
  This is not in my comfort, nor my comforting, zone.
  
  Which I do feel really bad about— because the sad part is I know he's just trying to make me feel better. And he's being honest and unguarded, and even vulnerable, but the truth is we weren't ever on some even playing field of despair. So while he means to be generous, he really is too intimate, and now we can be uncomfortable. Or not.
  
  Because, you know, a funny thing happened on the way to the competition. Somewhere, while I was being oblivious, I realize "Hand Jive Olney" went and became "Scott-the-Coder." And Scott-the-Coder deserves better— from me.
  
  "Hey Scott?" I look straight at him. "I don't think you need to escape to college. I think you're gonna take it by storm."
  
  Scott looks at me, blinks. I know he is checking for a punch line, but I really don't have one. He isn't Hand Jive anymore.
  
  After that I don't think we say another word to each other unless it is about the code. Until eight o'clock, when Mr. Rabon knocks and gives us the signal. He is done for the night, so we are done.
  
  And judging by the dark and empty hallways, I guess so is everyone else.
  
  The three of us make our way out of the building and walk a block and a half over to the cross-cornered subway entrances, where we split up, each to catch our own trains.
  
  And then it happens just as if I am living in an action movie. In one continuous shot, I take a seat, the doors close, and boom. From my backpack I hear a sound. No, that's not right. I hear a signal. Our group emergency ping beacon of urgency is going off.
  
  I tear off my pack and whip out my phone. It's from Ze:
  
  TILE-BOY SURFACED. Sunday IS A GO.