Read Online The Duality Principle by Rebecca Grace Allen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rebecca Grace Allen
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some ingenuity.
Getting this job had been a total crapshoot. Mark and his team had come up from New York City and put together a start-up in an old warehouse overlooking the wharf. They weren’t picky with resumes, didn’t care about experience or what history the Starks name held. They just threw Connor a coding test when he showed up for his interview and asked him to figure out the bug. It had taken him five minutes. They hired him on the spot.
Connor tapped out a few more lines, hit a snag and sat back to think, rocking in the plush leather chair at his desk. It wasn’t his, really. Everything in the wide, open space of the office belonged to Mark, but Connor had earned his spot here. A small collection of personal items filled his workspace. On the hutch sat a tiny Hot Wheels yellow-and-black Camaro, a miniature version of the Transformer, Bumblebee. A framed photo of him with his grandparents was next to his screen, and his favorite Buddhist quote was tacked to his corkboard: Make an island of yourself, make yourself your refuge. There is no other refuge. Make truth your island. Make truth your refuge.
It always made Connor think about how he was on his own in this world. How after being abandoned by the people who were supposed to love him unconditionally, the only truth was in his ability to rely on himself.
A sudden flash of inspiration hit, and Connor sat forward, unfurling several lines of code. He smoke tested it, and once he was sure it was working, uploaded it to the staging server and logged off.
“We’re good,” he informed Mark as he stood. “I’m out.”
Mark flashed him a wave, and Connor pushed through the door, taking the steps two at a time until he hit the pavement. It was a perfectly clear day—the kind that didn’t have a trace of humidity, summer’s heat forced into temporary submission by a cool sea breeze. Was this the kind of weather Gabby went hiking in? And would she ever be willing to take him with her? He could give it a try, although he’d never gone into the woods for any reason other than to find a tree wide enough to hide a girl behind or to escape from the cops.
The former would be much more preferable to do with Gabby than the latter.
The smell of fried fish wafted across the street and Connor’s stomach grumbled. Lobster rolls and chowder were what made the seacoast famous, and Gabby’s words about Portland the night before had made him appreciate this town in a way he hadn’t before. He crossed Commercial, stopping at the corner sandwich shop, and was just digging into his lunch when his cell phone rang. He snapped it off his belt loop and checked the screen. The last person in the world he wanted to talk to at that moment was his grandfather. The second to last person was currently calling.
Connor picked up the call. “What, Dean?”
“You hitting the fireworks with us tonight or what?” Dean had the call on speaker. Connor could hear the sound of wind blowing and country music in the background—a sure sign that he was driving the pickup and Mikey was riding shotgun. “And who was that girl you were with last night? Someone you found on a dating site for the hottest female nerds in New England?”
“Funny. And thanks for the drive-by right before I was about to make a move, by the way. You two really know how to help a guy out.”
“Glad to be of service,” Dean replied. “Mikey, will you at least turn that shit down?”
Connor waited until the sound of southern twang faded. “Don’t you guys ever work?”
“One of the perks of being employed by our fathers. Slacking comes with the territory. Besides, it’s the Fourth of July. The day’s over, my friend.”
It was true. And soon everyone in a ten-mile radius would find themselves a small square of real estate in Bug Light Park. He’d put money on the fact that Gabby and Jamie were going to be there too.
“There a reason why you’re not answering me?” Dean asked, pulling Connor back to
Getting this job had been a total crapshoot. Mark and his team had come up from New York City and put together a start-up in an old warehouse overlooking the wharf. They weren’t picky with resumes, didn’t care about experience or what history the Starks name held. They just threw Connor a coding test when he showed up for his interview and asked him to figure out the bug. It had taken him five minutes. They hired him on the spot.
Connor tapped out a few more lines, hit a snag and sat back to think, rocking in the plush leather chair at his desk. It wasn’t his, really. Everything in the wide, open space of the office belonged to Mark, but Connor had earned his spot here. A small collection of personal items filled his workspace. On the hutch sat a tiny Hot Wheels yellow-and-black Camaro, a miniature version of the Transformer, Bumblebee. A framed photo of him with his grandparents was next to his screen, and his favorite Buddhist quote was tacked to his corkboard: Make an island of yourself, make yourself your refuge. There is no other refuge. Make truth your island. Make truth your refuge.
It always made Connor think about how he was on his own in this world. How after being abandoned by the people who were supposed to love him unconditionally, the only truth was in his ability to rely on himself.
A sudden flash of inspiration hit, and Connor sat forward, unfurling several lines of code. He smoke tested it, and once he was sure it was working, uploaded it to the staging server and logged off.
“We’re good,” he informed Mark as he stood. “I’m out.”
Mark flashed him a wave, and Connor pushed through the door, taking the steps two at a time until he hit the pavement. It was a perfectly clear day—the kind that didn’t have a trace of humidity, summer’s heat forced into temporary submission by a cool sea breeze. Was this the kind of weather Gabby went hiking in? And would she ever be willing to take him with her? He could give it a try, although he’d never gone into the woods for any reason other than to find a tree wide enough to hide a girl behind or to escape from the cops.
The former would be much more preferable to do with Gabby than the latter.
The smell of fried fish wafted across the street and Connor’s stomach grumbled. Lobster rolls and chowder were what made the seacoast famous, and Gabby’s words about Portland the night before had made him appreciate this town in a way he hadn’t before. He crossed Commercial, stopping at the corner sandwich shop, and was just digging into his lunch when his cell phone rang. He snapped it off his belt loop and checked the screen. The last person in the world he wanted to talk to at that moment was his grandfather. The second to last person was currently calling.
Connor picked up the call. “What, Dean?”
“You hitting the fireworks with us tonight or what?” Dean had the call on speaker. Connor could hear the sound of wind blowing and country music in the background—a sure sign that he was driving the pickup and Mikey was riding shotgun. “And who was that girl you were with last night? Someone you found on a dating site for the hottest female nerds in New England?”
“Funny. And thanks for the drive-by right before I was about to make a move, by the way. You two really know how to help a guy out.”
“Glad to be of service,” Dean replied. “Mikey, will you at least turn that shit down?”
Connor waited until the sound of southern twang faded. “Don’t you guys ever work?”
“One of the perks of being employed by our fathers. Slacking comes with the territory. Besides, it’s the Fourth of July. The day’s over, my friend.”
It was true. And soon everyone in a ten-mile radius would find themselves a small square of real estate in Bug Light Park. He’d put money on the fact that Gabby and Jamie were going to be there too.
“There a reason why you’re not answering me?” Dean asked, pulling Connor back to
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