THURSDAY, JUNE 27

Cass, a lanky 16-year-old girl from Oakland, hunched over her laptop, her fingers tapping a staccato rhythm across the keys. Braids framed her face, and the glow from the screen reflected off her gold-rimmed glasses. Large gold hoops dangled from her ears, one adorned with a small targus piercing that caught the light. She wore a vintage Aaliyah T-shirt tucked into faded overall shorts, the straps loose on her frame. A flannel shirt was knotted around her waist, its worn fabric draping over her thighs. Her bare feet rested on the floor.

'Almost there,' she muttered, pausing to adjust a slide on her screen. Printouts and notes on asthma prevalence in West Oakland lay scattered around her. A scholarship letter from the Quintin Hale Foundation was pinned to the wall, its corners curling slightly.

On the top bunk near the window, Ayesha, a 17-year-old Indian high school senior from Mountain View, rested against several pillows, her long, thick braid draped over one shoulder. The bedside lamp cast a warm light across her deep brown skin. Dressed in a well-worn NASA hoodie and leggings, she balanced her laptop on her knees, fingers moving quickly over the keys. She glanced up. “Remember our first week? You spent half of day one wrestling with Python installs,” she said, a faint smile shaping her words. “You looked ready to trash your computer when the environment wouldn’t work.”

Cass paused a slide on her screen, then pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I was sure I’d never get it done in time for the first lab,” she replied. She reached toward the Quintin Hale packet pinned to the wall. “My grandparents were excited when the scholarship came through for this boot camp. Dad, too—though he kept mentioning they’d miss me at the restaurant.”

Ayesha closed her laptop with a soft snap. “Well, that means he cares,” she said.

Cass nodded at the notes on her desk. “He just wanted me working hostess shifts. But being here feels like I’m doing something bigger for everyone back home.” She angled the laptop screen.

Ayesha powered down her own computer. “You’ll turn into a spreadsheet if you don’t rest,” she said lightly. “We have a final presentation tomorrow. Let’s not fall asleep halfway through.”

Cass tapped a few keys. “I’m almost done verifying the node splits in our decision tree,” she said. “We can’t have random outliers skewing the correlation.”

Ayesha looked toward the darkened window. “We’ve been at this for hours,” she said, stepping down from the bunk. “I’ll wait another day to see if my parents still think I should be some Kaggle ‘Grandmaster.’ You can wait another day to perfect everything.”

Cass chuckled. “They really say ‘Grandmaster’? Sounds like they’re mixing data science with chess.” She shook her head. “It’s an odd title.”

“Yeah, well, half the group here last year were junior coding experts. My parents expected I’d level up, too. But these skills take time,” Ayesha said.

Cass eyed a line of code. “Should we swap the random forest model for logistic regression?”

Ayesha set her water bottle on the desk and pressed a few keys. “Logistic regression is easier to interpret, but our data has non-linear patterns. Random forests handle those better.” The updated metrics appeared on the screen. “We’d lose some nuance from the tree-based splits. These categories need that complexity.”

Cass reverted to the previous setting. “Thanks for catching that,” she said.

Ayesha shrugged, then nodded at the slides Cass had prepared. “Ready to show me the rest?”

Cass clicked to the next slide, revealing bar graphs and heat maps highlighting high asthma rates in West Oakland. “I grew up there,” she said, entering data on her laptop. “I used to think inhalers were normal for everybody. All my friends had them in their backpacks.”

Ayesha watched the graph. “Seeing these stats is intense,” she said, tapping the screen. “West Oakland’s rates are nearly double the national average, and people don’t realize how traffic pollution factors in.”

Cass clicked to another slide. “Many trucks reroute through residential streets,” she said, her tone sharpening.

Ayesha glanced at a separate chart. “It’s bigger than just data,” she remarked. “You’re highlighting the neighborhood where your grandparents still live.”

Cass brought up a map of pollution hotspots. “Mom’s driving down from Oakland for tomorrow’s presentation,” she said, setting the keyboard aside. “She works at a clinic after her nursing shifts, and it’s a long trip, but she insisted on coming.”

“Real data, real experiences,” Ayesha said. “It’s not just a title or a project.”

Cass shut her slide deck. “I’ll ask Isaiah for a final check on the correlation table,” she said, her fingers tapping lightly on the desk.

Ayesha grabbed a binder lying near the lamp. “Sure, I’ll bring him these references,” she said, sliding the binder under her arm. “Also, remember you added the KQED truck-ban article to the appendix. It proves how commercial traffic affects certain neighborhoods.”

Cass glanced at her phone. “Thanks for reminding me,” she said, typing out a quick text. “I’ll let him know.”

Ayesha stepped toward the door. “Finish up,” she said lightly. “But don’t pull an all-nighter. Better to show up alert.”

Cass gave a small nod. “I’ll stop soon,” she said, though her fingers continued to hover over the keyboard.

Ayesha slipped out, the door clicking shut. The lamp’s buzz matched the subdued hum of Cass’s laptop fan. Cass glanced at the last bullet points on the slides, reversing a minor tweak. Laughter and footsteps passed along the corridor.

Moments later, a low chime sounded on Cass’s computer. She increased the lamp’s brightness and squinted at a Discord window that had popped up.

TheFreemanBoys: "Cass, are you there? Mom and Dad have been arguing. Something about a collector calling the restaurant while Mom was at work."

Cass typed quickly. "Archer, Carver, you two should be asleep. It's late."

TheFreemanBoys: "We're serious! Something's off! Dad even slammed a door!"

She checked her phone—no missed calls. Her fingers tapped once on the desktop. "I'm coming home after my presentation tomorrow," she typed.

A beep sounded in the hallway, and the mini-fridge clicked on with a soft hum. The Discord indicators switched from Online to Offline. Cass stood, crossing to the closet. She grabbed a duffel bag from the shelf, the nylon scraping gently. She tossed it onto the lower bunk, the zipper rattling against the mattress.

While she was tossing a few clothes into the bag, the doorknob turned again. Ayesha walked in, a textbook under her arm. She paused at the sight of Cass's duffel bag. "What happened?" she asked.

Cass spoke without looking up from the desk. "My brothers texted. Mom and Dad are arguing at home. Something about a collector. Archer and Carver sounded spooked."

"Hey, hey, Cass. Hold on." Ayesha locked eyes with her, her warm hands gently holding Cass's cold fingers and guiding her to breathe. "Just breathe slowly, okay? Let's think this through... think through the actual data with me."

Cass nodded.

"Okay, good... let's slow down. What exactly did they tell you? What information do you have, Cass?" Ayesha asked, her voice firm but soft.

Cass pointed to her laptop on the cluttered study desk. She wanted to explain but couldn't find the words. Ayesha flipped open the screen and scanned through the twins' chat.

"So, from the 'data' you got from your 'source,' we can gather two facts for now," Ayesha said, pacing her tone to emphasize each point. "One, your parents have been arguing. Two, they've been at the restaurant more, leaving your brothers home alone."

Cass stared at the dimly lit desk lamp; its glow shone brighter the longer she looked into it. She blinked, then covered her face with her hands, trying to block out the overwhelming thoughts swirling in her mind.

"Hey, I understand why you're upset, and it's okay to be afraid." Ayesha placed a hand on Cass's arm, her voice firm but soft. "I'm not trying to dismiss your feelings with logic here, but think about it—if it was really serious, wouldn't your parents, or someone at the restaurant, have called?"

Cass stared down at her phone. "I tried Aunt Zora. She didn't pick up."

"Listen," Ayesha said, sitting on the edge of the desk. "You've been away from home for almost six weeks. That's the longest you've been away, right? And tomorrow's this huge presentation we've been stressing about..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Sometimes when we're already on edge, our brain goes straight to worst-case scenarios. Like, your first instinct was to pack a bag and bolt."

Cass looked at the half-packed duffel and let out a shaky breath. "I guess I did kind of jump into panic mode."

"Totally normal reaction," Ayesha said. "But let's take a beat here. Mom's coming tomorrow for the presentation. You can talk to her then, figure out what's actually going on."

Cass paused briefly, then nodded. "You're right," she said. "I overreacted."

"That wasn't an overreaction, that was a full crashout in progress," Ayesha said with a slight grin. "You went from zero to packed bag in like, two minutes flat."

They spent the next hour adjusting references and confirming data sources. Cass focused on West Oakland's health issues, while Ayesha refined the technical sections. Occasionally, Cass glanced at her phone but found no new notifications. They both worked in near silence until Ayesha stepped away from the desk.

"That's enough," Ayesha said, stacking the last pages. "I'm going to bed."

Cass nudged the duffel aside with a foot and flicked off the main light. The streetlamp cast long, angular shadows across the room, stretching over the desk and up the walls.

The room quieted, the only sounds the soft rush of air through the vents and the distant murmur of campus life outside. Headlights from passing cars traced lines across the dorm wall. Cass pulled a red notebook from under her pillow, the university seal embossed on its cover. She clicked her pen and jotted down a few brief figures.

When she finished, she set the notebook aside. The phone on her desk remained silent. Outside, the distant noise of the dorm slowed, and the room stayed still. Cass lay back, her eyes closing as the gentle hum of the building filled the room.  

JOURNAL ENTRY

THURSDAY, JUNE 27

6: The weeks I’ve been at this camp, learning, grinding, pushing through. First week? Thought I was finna get humbled by Python. Now? I’m out here running decision trees like I was born for this. But, I miss home. I miss real food. I miss my people.

0: The convos I had with my parents today. No texts, no calls. They always busy, but I should’ve known something was up. I been so caught up in my own world, I didn’t even peep the signs.

2: The number of times Ayesha told me to go to bed. Girl, I hear you, but we not finna embarrass ourselves in this presentation tomorrow. Plus, my brain won’t shut up anyway.

12: The hours I spent making sure our final project was airtight. Bar graphs, heat maps, correlation tables—I got it all. Ain’t no way I’ma let some sloppy analysis take us out. Data don’t lie, and neither do I.

14: The slides in our deck. Every single one gotta hit. If Professor Avery don’t look at this and see that I ate, I’ma be sick.

500: The data points I analyzed to get our model right. People out here playing chess—I’m playing with air quality statistics and asthma rates. We not the same.

73%: The accuracy of my predictive model. Could be better, but you know what? I was out here fighting for my life against dirty data. This is a W. The last 27%? That’s just room to grow.

3: The seconds I actually let myself feel proud before my brothers hit me with that “Cass, you there?” text. Instant stomach drop.

1: The packed duffel bag sitting at the foot of my bed. I was ready to run home on sight. Didn’t even think twice. Just threw in some sweats and my laptop like I was on a mission.

10: The deep breaths Ayesha made me take before she let go of my hands. “Think through the data.” That’s what she told me. Like I wasn’t already running numbers in my head trying to make sense of this mess.

4: The ways I tried to convince myself everything was fine. If it was that bad, Mom or Dad would’ve called, right? But they didn’t. Which means... either they don’t know, or they do and don’t want me to.

15: The times I checked my phone waiting for another text from Archer and Carver. They went ghost. That’s what scared me the most.

7: The times I whispered just one more slide before I finally shut my laptop. Ayesha ain’t let me pull an all-nighter, but I wasn’t finna sleep easy anyway.

30: The minutes I laid in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to count my own thoughts like data points. If I had a scatter plot of my stress levels, the trend line would be ugly.

∞: The questions running laps in my head. What’s happening at home? Why ain’t nobody called? What am I finna walk into after this presentation? And the worst one—what if it’s already too late?

FRIDAY, JUNE 28

The first streaks of morning light stretched across the lower bunk, nudging Cass awake. Around her, the dorm came to life—doors opening, showers running, footsteps moving hurriedly in the hall.

Her phone screen lit up as she reached for it, squinting at two messages sent in the early morning hours.

"Got called in early, doing a double today. Isn't Lola going to be there?" her mother's message read.

Below it, from her father: "Sorry, babygirl, not going to see you in action. I know you'll do great. Can't wait to have you back at the hostess stand."

Cass rolled her eyes and set the phone face-down on her blanket. Across the room, Ayesha was still in her sleep shirt, sorting through hangers in the closet.

"What's up?" Ayesha asked, pulling out a blouse.

"Mom got called in for another shift." Cass's fingers traced the edge of her phone case.

Ayesha turned from the closet. "After everything last night, too. Must be important for them to work today."

"Isn't it always?" Cass's voice carried a practiced sarcasm.

She rolled her neck with an audible crack. "Whatever. Let's get ready," she said, pushing off the blanket.

Cass pulled a navy dress from the closet. The bathroom door clicked shut, then opened minutes later as a knock rattled their room.

"Cass, Ayesha, you ready?" Isaiah's muffled voice carried through the wood.

"Just a minute!" Ayesha called back. "We girls have to look perfect!"

"Don't believe the hype, y'all," Isaiah shouted. "Just do you. Whatever makes you feel comfortable is what counts."

Cass tapped her heel against the floor. "Yes, we are," she said, adjusting the hem of her dress. "When it comes to style, both brains and beauty have to be on point."

Ayesha opened the door. Isaiah stood in the hallway, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"You look ready to conquer, Cass! Those shoes are killer," he said, eyes widening.

Cass clicked her heel again. "Lola's idea. She swears shoes like these help with confidence."

In the hallway, they clustered together for a photo as other students streamed past. The scent of coffee and whiteboard cleaner lingered, mixing with the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. Laptop bags bumped against hips, and dress shoes clicked against the linoleum.

Isaiah laughed and gave Cass a light nudge. “She might be right. There’s a rumor about a prize for the best data project—maybe an exclusive event to meet top professionals. Time for the big show.”

Ayesha adjusted her bag strap, checking the pen secured in its outer pocket. "I heard Marcus and Jin's wildfire prediction model is pretty solid," she said, "but our air quality data is going to knock it out of the park."

The scent of coffee and whiteboard cleaner hung in the air as students filled the hallway, their laptop bags bumping hips and dress shoes clicking against linoleum.

"Time to show them what we've got," she added, joining the flow of students.

Cass fell into step with Isaiah, who was muttering under his breath, rehearsing his section. "And as you can see from these confidence intervals..." he gestured to an imaginary screen, then stopped and shook his head. "No, that's not right."

They pushed through the dorm's side entrance into crisp morning air. The path ahead lay in shadow of tall redwoods, and Cass tugged on a light cardigan, smoothing its sleeves. She walked in step with Ayesha and Isaiah, inhaling the leafy scent carried by a mild breeze.

Soon, the conference center came into view, its glass facade reflecting the early sun. Through wide automatic doors came the aroma of strong coffee and the low murmur of practicing students. The air conditioner inside added a gentle hum to the background. They passed small groups rehearsing lines, the tap of keyboards sounding between hushed conversations.

A large display case near the auditorium entrance showcased a carefully curated collection of photographs and artifacts celebrating the contributions of women in STEM. At its’ center, a striking portrait of Katherine Johnson stood prominently, her poised expression radiating quiet brilliance. Below her image, bold text displayed one of her most famous quotes:

“I counted everything. I counted the steps to the road, the steps up to church, the number of dishes and silverware I washed…anything that could be counted, I did.”

Surrounding her portrait, smaller photographs and documents highlighted the legacies of other pioneering women in science and mathematics, each frame telling a story of perseverance, innovation, and groundbreaking achievement.

Cass paused, reading the quote. She smoothed the edge of her dress, her fingers grazing the fabric before falling still.

“She’s amazing,” Cass said, her eyes on Johnson’s image. “If she guided entire missions into space as a ‘human computer’, we can handle our data project.”

Ayesha leaned in, adjusting the zipper on her bag. “She noticed every detail,” Ayesha said. “That’s what we do with data—counting every step.”

Cass glanced between Ayesha and Isaiah. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Six weeks ago, I couldn’t analyze a dataset. Now we’re presenting on asthma stats. Feels unreal.”

Ayesha gave a small nod. “We’ve come a long way.”

Isaiah clasped his hands together. “Let’s back each other up. If one of us slips, the others step in.”

The digital display above the auditorium doors flashed 9:00 AM. Students streamed past them, laptop bags swinging, voices rising with last-minute questions. Cass studied her reflection in a nearby display case, then her lips curved into a smile.

A bright banner labeled DATA SCIENCE FOR SOCIAL GOOD: DATA IN ACTION pointed them to the correct auditorium. Cass slowed slightly, letting Isaiah and Ayesha flank her. She matched their pace.

“All set?” Ayesha asked, rolling her shoulders.

Isaiah tapped his closed laptop. “Data, slides, references—everything’s ready.”

Cass brushed her hand across the strap of her own bag. The digital clock above the auditorium read 8:55 AM, and a cool draft from the air conditioner brushed her wrist. She inhaled quietly, then exhaled in time with her steps.

“Let’s do it,” she said, lengthening her stride. “Data Science for Social Good, here we come.”

*****

The auditorium stretched before Cass in neat, concentric rows of chairs, each seat angled toward the stage in gentle tiers. She entered with Ayesha and Isaiah, guided by the steady hum of conversation and the occasional hiss from laptops starting up. A quiet expectancy pervaded the space, intensifying when a chair squeaked or a stack of papers shifted. Overhead, the vaulted ceiling amplified the rustling of notes and the creak of folding seats. Vivid banners in blues, reds, and golds lined the walls, each marking milestones from past cohorts. Cass slowed briefly when she noticed Stanford’s emblem among them, the distinctive tree logo giving the event an added sense of formality.

Near the entrance, long tables covered in white cloth displayed poster boards and flyers. Some showcased 3D models, others featured colorful infographics. Cass paused to read a few titles—projects on climate analytics and resource optimization—then continued after Isaiah, who moved confidently through the narrow aisle with one arm around his notes.

“We should run through our transitions again,” Ayesha said, leaning closer, her voice quiet.

Cass set down her laptop on a small foldout table. “Sure, let’s do it.” Together, they went through each part of their presentation, keeping their voices low. Isaiah lightened the mood by joking about tricky Q&A moments, drawing small smiles from Cass and Ayesha.

The house lights dimmed. Conversations faded, broken only by the shuffle of people settling in. From Cass’s position, the stage lights cast a glow across the polished floor, illuminating the microphone and podium. Above the curtains, Stanford’s logo appeared under low lighting. Cass pressed her fingertips against her laptop, pausing as the room fell silent.

A slight stir near the front led her to spot Professor Avery—short silver hair catching the spotlight—as she stepped onstage. Applause spread across the auditorium, and Cass clapped along, watching the professor’s composed stride. When the clapping receded, a tangible anticipation settled over the assembled rows of seats.

“Good morning,” Professor Avery began, her voice carrying throughout the room. “Today, we celebrate a moment when data moves beyond mere information and becomes a driver for human progress.” Cass sat upright in her seat, listening as Avery spoke about future possibilities shaped by data-driven innovations. “Imagine using data to detect disease outbreaks before they start,” Avery said, “or optimizing resources to benefit entire communities. Data must be a force for sustainable solutions.”

Onstage, the professor continued describing data’s influence in environmental science, healthcare, and social justice. She cited a project that harnessed open-source data to mitigate flood risks in coastal towns. Cass tapped a key on her half-lit laptop, glancing at the stage as Avery spoke about the power of such tools when directed at real-world challenges.

“Each data point represents a story, a life, an outcome,” Avery concluded. “Our role is to interpret and act on these narratives. With deliberate focus, we can uncover hidden patterns and direct those insights for the greater good.” Applause spread through the auditorium. Cass pressed her palms together in applause as Isaiah joined in with an animated grin, while Ayesha offered an approving nod.

As the lights stayed low, the crowd stirred with renewed conversation. Ayesha’s phone vibrated, drawing Cass’s attention. “She made it,” Ayesha remarked, showing her screen. “My mom found a seat in the back.” Moments later, Ayesha greeted someone behind them—a maternal figure with similarly deep brown eyes—who pressed a quick kiss to Ayesha’s cheek. Cass checked her own phone and read a text: “See you soon, Lola.” She raised her eyebrows slightly, scanning the rows until she spotted Lola’s wave, to which she responded with a brief grin.

They stood and moved toward the stage steps at the side. Their names were announced, and they proceeded onto the stage. Each footstep echoed on the wooden floor. Cass briefly spotted friendly faces among the audience, including Lola’s encouraging smile, which seemed to keep her poised. At the podium, she adjusted the microphone, drew in a measured breath, and prepared to speak.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” she said, introducing herself in a steady voice. “I’m Cass Freeman, here with Ayesha Patel and Isaiah Harris. Today, we’ll be sharing our research on the impact of freeway pollution on asthma rates in Oakland.”

Behind them, the first slide lit up, displaying a map with color-coded markers. Ayesha clicked forward as Cass continued. “Nearly twenty percent of children in Oakland have been diagnosed with asthma,” she said, pointing to a chart. “Those numbers represent entire neighborhoods near Interstates 880 and 580, where pollutant exposure is part of daily life—leading to missed school days, missed work for caregivers, and crowded hospital waiting rooms.”

Isaiah then explained the data layers they had combined, flipping through bar graphs and heat maps. Cass kept a hand on the podium, remaining still as the slides showed comparisons across states. “Here,” Cass said, indicating a key statistic, “some Oakland zip codes face triple the national average in hospitalization rates. We also found a clear correlation between these hotspots and freeway proximity.”

She moved to the next slide, where potential solutions appeared: tree planting, new emissions regulations, and broader use of home air purification units. Ayesha described the recommendations with an even tone, and Isaiah outlined how local decision-makers could adopt these measures. Their final slide displayed a statement of hope in bold letters. Cass cleared her throat and spoke once more.

“Thank you for listening,” she said, bowing her head in acknowledgment. “We hope this project inspires further investigation and prompt policy changes that prioritize public health.” Applause rose around them as they left the lectern. Under the stage lights, the entire scene seemed bright and clear. Professor Avery came forward, her expression reflecting approval.

“Excellent work,” the professor said, looking from Cass to Ayesha and Isaiah. “Your integrated approach—connecting environmental and health data—truly shows data science’s potential.” Cass gripped the remote, standing beside her teammates as applause filled the space. The audience’s response and the professor’s words together marked a fulfilling conclusion to all their preparation.