Source Code

Chapter one: under pressure

Hey

In library school, we have a course how to build a website. I learned that you could hide secret messages in the source code of a website, that is how I got the idea for this story. I was like, what if Eliza and Maria communicate while building a website for Alexander Hamilton. And I thought it would make a great story; I hope you agree.

Tempe

"Truth can only be found in one place: the code."
― ,

Eliza Schuyler

I knew I was a programmer, they day I was born. I can't explain how I knew it, I've always seen the world in code. For some reason, I looked to color as hexadecimal. I never saw red; I saw #ff0000. I knew that before I was born. I don't know why the I could understand the language of a computer easier; then I understood English. It was something I could never understand. From the moment I was able to hold a computer, I understood the machine better then I understood the people in front of me. I preferred to spend my time learning to programme than socializing with anyone else.

My parents never liked that. They expected too much of me since I was a child. I was always was pushed in a certain direction. I was meant to go to Stanford, not Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I was meant to have a lot of friends; I was a loner. I was meant to be a star, but they looked at me as a rebel. My father, Philip, always told me I needed to be better. I needed to get higher marks; I needed to become more involved in charity. I needed to spend less time on my computer.
If it were up to my father, there wouldn't be enough hours in a day to sleep and to relax. The pressure I felt was too much. I was not sure how long I would handle it.

My sister, Angelica, was the same, she used to say she was choking and she wouldn't be able to handle it for very long. I remembered when Angelica left home, it was about three year.She was but eighteen years old; it was late in the evening when I caught her sneaking out of the window.
"Angie, you know father doesn't like it when you sneak out." , I said. "You don't know what he'll do when you return."
"I'm not returning, Betsey," Angelica replied. "And if you were smart, you would get away from him too. If you don't, ..."
"If I don't know what..."
I remember that John Baker was driving the car that day, Angelica looked back from the car window. I had hardly ever seen her after that moment. Every day I missed having Angelica in the house. Every day my father would talk about my sister that had disappointed him. Angelica was never mentioned in pride; it almost seemed my sister had ran off with the enemy. Little did I know that my mind was thinking about the very same thing.

I had another sister, Peggy was only two years younger than me. When Peggy was born, she was named Margarita. Peggy was the star of their family; she was studying in Stanford. She was everything that I was supposed to be. Angelica, Peggy and I had always been close. And even now we talked every night. They always told me to follow my dreams, but I never knew if I could do it.
I didn't know if I could survive without the financial support of my parents.

Maria Lewis

Where I come from, people don't expect anything from you. My future lay in the diner down the street, where my mother worked. Mom always said I should get used to the idea of being a waitress; she said I didn't have the brains to do anything else. I was pretty, without any substance. I learned that when I was pretty young.
I remember when I asked my mother if I could become anything I wanted.

'Pretty girls like you, won't become anything. You're too pretty to be smart." , she said. "You're not pretty enough to model.'

So I spent my life believing I could never become anything in my life. So I didn't try at all. I was not motivated in school or life. I spent every moment failing in some way. I had bad grades, I wasn't motivated to be involved in any causes, and I didn't have any friends. I proved my mother that I would never become anything. Yet I remember one moment in life pretty well, the local library was organizing a course in programming. I was fifteen years old and found the first thing I was good at. It was the day I fell in love for the first time. I spent time making money so I could finance my love.

I didn't finish high school, and after that, I started working as a waitress. I think the words of my mother always played on my mind. I didn't go to university. She was right; I didn't become anyone. In my past time I paid for courses in programming, I tried to accomplish something in my life.

I wished the golden opportunity would come, but I knew there was no such thing. People like me didn't get what they wanted. How I dreamed of parents that believed in me. If I had those parents maybe I wouldn't be sitting in the bad part of Los Angeles, hoping that I could get out. Maybe I would have a diploma. Maybe just maybe I would be someone. Maybe I would have a great computer, not the computer that could hardly handle my programming. And a small robot that could only do minor jobs around the house.

Maybe I would be someone. I hoped for an opportunity. At the same time, I hoped for love.

Eliza Schuyler

My parents always said they weren't proud that I was a freestyle programmer. They said I could have been a doctor or a lawyer. They said they wished I had been better, smarter, stronger. For some reason, they would have preferred if I was a street fighter. Anything better than a computer programmer. I always said the most successful people were computer programmers. I told they I could create anything I wanted and then they would say, I hadn't. I had small jobs; I saved up money to improve my equipment.

That evening, I sat in the dining room. My sister, Peggy, was visiting for dinner.
"So Peggy how is Stanford?" My father asked her.
"It's fine." She smiled. "It's always fine. Betsey, I heard of Angie. She's fine. Father, don't you think we should go see Angie's show, she's starring in a small musical off Broadway."
He didn't say a word, almost like he didn't hear Peggy's words. I wanted to react; I wanted to say that Angelica wanted to be an actress since the day she was young. I wanted to scream that he should see that. And all of the sudden I did.
"Father, Angie has worked her ass off," I screamed. "And if you had any respect for your daughter, you would be in the audience opening night."
"I don't like the theater."

"She's your daughter, for..." I raised my voice even louder. "Mother, please show that you have something to say. Or are you just as a hypocrite as him?"
"Elizabeth, don't talk to your mother like that."
I felt the pressure get to me. I heard my heart beating in my head; I felt my blood boil underneath my skin. I felt like I could no longer handle this.
"I'm done with this..." I stood up. "You say you don't like the theater, then why has my life been a play since the first day. You've always told me I had to be better. Right now I see, it is you who should be better."
"Sit down, Elizabeth."

"No, father." I had tears in my eyes. "I've always done what you wanted me to do. I went to a great university, but it wasn't good enough. I have a job, that could support me. I'm never good enough; today I stop trying to please you. Angie left without a word, but not me. I'm done, I'm moving out father. I will make it on my own."
"Elizabeth, don't..."
"I'm out before the end of the week."

Peggy looked at me, as I stood up. I walked into my room, closed the door and opened my computer. Now all I needed to do was find an apartment. Maybe I hadn't thought about this, but I wouldn't change my mind. I was leaving.