Chapter 16 - Senior Year
Ethan began senior year at seventeen.
Room 214 had changed.
Mr. Blake replaced Mrs. Mercer permanently.
The walls displayed contribution maps from every engineering team.
A poster near the door read:
DOCUMENT WHAT YOU BUILD.
DOCUMENT WHO BUILDS IT.
Sofia claimed Ethan should receive royalties.
He ignored her.
Lucas ran for robotics captain again.
This time he lost.
To a sophomore named Jasmine Patel.
Ethan waited for devastation.
Lucas grinned.
“She’s better.”
“That healthy response is disgusting.”
“I know.”
Grant’s criminal case dominated local news occasionally.
Lucas stopped reading articles.
His mother filed for divorce.
He moved with her to a smaller house.
He complained about sharing a bathroom with his younger sister.
Ordinary misery.
Ethan understood its value.
LIGHTBRIDGE Version Three moved toward real-world pilot deployment.
The $10,000 competition funding barely covered certification testing.
Miriam helped Ethan apply for a community technology grant.
She reviewed his draft without rewriting it.
Comments appeared everywhere.
Explain.
Evidence?
Whose claim?
Too vague.
Ethan called her.
“You could just tell me what sentence you want.”
“No.”
“You enjoy this.”
“Yes.”
He got the grant.
$40,000.
The first installation would be at Mara’s community center.
Ethan insisted the center own the deployed units.
No exclusive license.
No university branding beyond acknowledgment of support.
Miriam did not argue.
“You’ve become difficult.”
“Good mentor?”
“Insufferable.”
He smiled.
One October afternoon, Principal Ward asked Ethan to speak with a freshman whose project had been copied by a teammate.
Ethan refused.
“I’m not the school plagiarism mascot.”
Ward looked embarrassed.
“You’re right.”
Then Ethan reconsidered.
“Does the kid want to talk to me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ask first.”
The freshman did.
Her name was Nia Brooks.
She had designed a simple water-quality sensor.
Her teammate presented parts as his own.
Nia was furious.
Ethan listened.
Then she asked, “What did you do when your teacher stole yours?”
“Mine was complicated.”
“Everybody says you exposed her.”
“Sofia exposed her.”
Nia frowned.
“So what did you do?”
Ethan thought.
“Kept records.”
“That’s boring.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“Stopped thinking punishment would rebuild my project.”
Nia looked disappointed.
“That’s less dramatic than TikTok.”
“Most things are.”
She smiled.
Ethan showed her his contribution logs.
Not his scandal.
His process.
That felt more useful.
At home, David had begun dating.
Very quietly.
Ethan noticed because his father ironed a shirt on a Thursday.
“You’re going somewhere.”
“Dinner.”
“With who?”
“Someone.”
Ethan stared.
David sighed.
“Her name is Anne.”
“Do I know her?”
“No.”
“Does Mara?”
“Yes.”
“Aunt Mara knew first?”
“I needed adult advice.”
“That’s offensive.”
David smiled.
Ethan expected anger.
Instead he felt fear.
Then guilt for feeling fear.
Dr. Nina helped him untangle it.
“You can want your father to have a life and still hate evidence that time is moving.”
“I don’t hate it.”
“You spent twenty minutes criticizing his shirt.”
“It was bad.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
She waited.
Ethan sighed.
“Fine.”
David did not bring Anne home for months.
He did not ask Ethan’s permission to date.
He did ask before inviting her to dinner.
That distinction mattered.
Anne was a pediatric respiratory therapist.
Ethan hated that immediately because it felt too connected to hospitals.
Then he met her.
She was funny.
She did not ask about Rachel.
She did not say she had heard his story.
She complained that David overcooked pasta.
Ethan liked her against his will.
After she left, David asked, “Well?”
“She has terrible judgment.”
“Because she likes me?”
“Yes.”
David laughed.
“Anything else?”
“She’s okay.”
High praise.
The anniversary of Rachel’s death arrived in January.
Ethan skipped school.
David did too.
They visited no cemetery because Rachel had been cremated.
Some ashes were with Mara.
Some scattered near Lake Michigan.
Some remained in a ceramic container Ethan forgot existed most days.
They made pancakes.
Burned the first batch.
Watched a terrible science-fiction movie Rachel loved.
No speeches.
At night Ethan went to the garage.
The old broken green fragment remained beside LIGHTBRIDGE.
He picked it up.
This time, no sacred feeling arrived.
Just memory.
He placed it into a drawer.
Not hidden.
Stored.
There was a difference.
His phone buzzed.
Sofia.
College decisions tomorrow. If you get into Whitmore I’m publicly accusing you of Stockholm syndrome.
Ethan replied:
I applied to six schools.
Sofia:
Coward.
He laughed.
Rachel had attended Whitmore.
Nathan had corrupted part of it.
Miriam was changing part of it.
Institutions, Ethan had learned, were not single people.
He did not know whether he wanted to go there.
For the first time, he could decide without making the choice about Rachel.
That night he received another email.
From Evelyn Mercer.
First contact in months.
She wrote only three sentences.
I have been approved to volunteer in an adult education program under supervision. I wanted you to know because part of my licensing review required me to describe what I did to you without using the word “pressure” as an excuse.
I hope senior year is treating you well.
Ethan read it.
Then archived it.
No reply.
Not punishment.
May you like
Choice.
---
