Chapter 3: Lone Wolf, Math Queen

This time, it was group performances, scored by the judges. Teamwork makes the dream work—unless you’re me.

But—

No one wanted to team up with me. Ouch.

Why? Simple. I was the human anchor.

I was too stiff, couldn’t carry a tune—no matter what group I joined, I’d drag them down. I was radioactive.

So I ended up as a one-person team. Just me, myself, and I.

Which suited me perfectly. Less drama.

I just wanted to coast and not drag anyone else down. Save the world from myself.

Perfect. Truly.

But while I was enjoying myself, others saw it differently. Cue the drama.

Cassidy Monroe was elected group leader by a landslide and strutted over to me. She looked like she was about to give a TED Talk.

She looked down at me with a pitying gaze:

“Samantha, you’re really pitiful, you know that?”

“You realize it’s easy to get eliminated alone, and no one’s going to campaign for you, right?”

Well, duh. Tell me something I don’t know.

But I felt like messing with her, so I played along:

“So what should I do?”

Cassidy thought I was scared and smirked. She was loving this.

“Let me give you some advice. If you kneel and beg me, maybe I’ll let you join my group.”

I pretended to consider it seriously. “Really?”

“Of course. As long as you kneel in front of everyone.”

She was sure I’d beg to stay in the show. She even had someone bring over a chair, crossed her legs, and waited for me to kneel. Theatrics, much?

But after a long wait, I didn’t move. I could’ve waited all night.

Cassidy frowned. “Samantha, don’t be ungrateful. You have one minute to decide.”

“I’ve decided.”

“I’ll just get eliminated by myself, thanks.”

I grinned at her. It felt good.

Her face turned all kinds of colors, furious and embarrassed. Like a mood ring gone haywire.

“You—”

“I’m Samantha Carter, 22 years old, five foot five, 112 pounds.”

I cut her off. Might as well have fun with it.

She froze, totally thrown off, pointing at me: “I...”

“Your nose job—yeah, I know. Careful, or it might shift.”

“Ah!”

Cassidy shrieked, totally shut down, and stormed off. Mission accomplished.

I shrugged helplessly at her retreating back. What else could I do?

I sighed. Why do women make things so hard for each other? Honestly, it’s exhausting.

Since I’d decided to coast, I didn’t bother with training. Why waste the effort?

Instead, I dragged a whiteboard into the practice room and started working through formulas. Math therapy.

Inspired by that paper I’d read, I suddenly realized the breakthrough I’d been stuck on. Eureka moment!

So the livestream audience saw a bizarre scene:

While Cassidy and her team sweated through dance practice, I was doing math. Not a care in the world.

While they picked costumes and did their stage makeup, I was doing math. Lipstick versus Laplace transforms.

When everyone else went to bed late at night, I was still doing math. Night owl life.

I even moved my bedding into the practice room. Who needs sleep?

The cameras ran 24/7, so even at 1 a.m., the livestream showed me in the practice room, grinning like a mad scientist as I scribbled on the whiteboard.

[Samantha’s smile is kind of creepy.]

[I have to respect her stamina—she’s been at it since 8 a.m., only stopping for bathroom breaks.]

[Okay, I admit it, she’s really committed to the bit.]

[That string of formulas actually looks legit—anyone understand it?]

[I’m a physics grad student and I don’t get it.]

[LOL, if a grad student can’t understand it, she must be making it up!]

[Wait, I just showed my professor and he wanted to know where I saw it—he said even PhDs can’t do this level.]

I had no idea what was happening in the livestream. Ignorance is bliss.

Nor did I care that tomorrow was round two. Priorities, people.

After finishing the last number, I finally put down my marker and let out a breath. Sweet, sweet satisfaction.

If I was right—

This would be a breakthrough in missile manufacturing, surpassing the current state of the art. I could barely contain my excitement.

I sent the verification and derivation process to my advisor, then finally left the practice room to get some sleep. I’d earned it.

Feeling great, I thought:

Tomorrow, they can finally eliminate me! Bring it on!

I’ll never have to stay in this crazy place again! Freedom!

My computer, my machines, my workstation, my lab—I’ll be back with you all soon! Hang on, guys. I’m coming home.