I exhale slowly. He’s right. I need this grade, and he’s apparently my best shot at getting it.
“Fine. But I’ve already cracked the formula on these story grids. Beginning, middle, end. Conflict, resolution. It’s just a template.”
He laughs—warm, not cruel. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
“What’s funny?”
“You can’t formulate stories, Piper. Trust me, I’ve tried. They’re messier than that.”
“Everything can be reduced to patterns. That’s how the world works.”
“Is it though?” He leans forward, and I catch myself noticing the way his eyes light up when he’s engaged. “Okay, tell me—what’s your favorite movie?”
“I don’t see how that’s?—”
“Humorme. Favorite movie.”
I think for a moment. “The Matrix.”
“Of course, it is.” He grins. “Okay, so The Matrix. Tell me the formula.”
“Hero’s journey. Ordinary world, call to adventure, mentor figure?—”
“But why do you love it?”
I pause. “Because... because Neo’s a hacker who discovers reality is a code.”
“Exactly. You don’t love the formula. You love that specific story, with those specific characters, making those specific choices.” He taps his pen against the notebook. “Stories aren’t math problems. They’re... experiences.”
“Not true. I’d enjoy the story just as much if it was a different character. As long as the structure’s solid, the details are interchangeable.”
“Really?” He leans back, eyebrow raised. “So you’d love The Matrix just as much if the main character was a middle-aged accountant who chose the blue pill, to stay ignorant because he had a mortgage to pay?”
“That’s not?—”
“Or if instead of discovering reality is a code, he discovered reality is... I don’t know, made of cheese? Same structure, right? Ordinary world, big revelation, choice to accept or reject the truth.”
I bite back a laugh. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m making a point. You love that specific story because the main character is a lonely hacker who feels like something’s wrong with the world. That speaks toyou—the coder who sees patterns everywhere. Change those details, and it’s a completely different experience.”
I pause, caught off-guard by how accurately he’s pegged both Neo and, annoyingly, me. For a guy who looks like he’s been carved out of marble, he knows his sci-fi better than I expected. And his point is... actually making sense, even if I don’t want to admit it.
I chew on my lower lip, buying time. “That’s very poetic and completely unhelpful.”
“Luckily for you, I can be extremely helpful.” He flips open his notebook. “Show me what you’re working on. Let’s see this formula of yours in action.”
I hesitate. Showing him my assignment feels weirdly vulnerable, like admitting I actually tried and failed.
“Come on,” he cajoles. “I promise I’ll only judge you a medium amount.”
“How reassuring.”
“I’m kidding. Mostly.” His expression turns more serious. “Look, I get it. This isn’t your thing. But I’m actually pretty good at translating story stuff into language that makes sense to logical people. That’s why Long picked me.”
“Because you speak both nerd and jock?”
“I prefer ‘bilingual in geek and Greek life,’ but yeah.” He grins again. “Plus, I got a 98 in this class last semester.”
