Chapter 2: Poker Faces and Hidden Truths

Three months later, I had the job down cold.

Every day I logged into Genshin Impact, did my dailies, and watched my favorite digital idols dance. My life slipped into a rhythm: badge scans in the morning, Cheetos in the break room, and mobile games between rounds.

Now that I’d stopped seeing math as a career, I started missing it.

The job left me with too much free time. Sometimes I wondered if my old research problem had an answer after all. Or if I should try something new—maybe there was still progress to be made in the next decade.

I kept a pen and notepad in my pocket, jotting down ideas whenever they came. The scratch of my pen on cheap notepad paper was the only sound in the room. When the team leader saw this, he joked,

"Caleb, you keep writing stuff—still thinking about the SATs?"

"But except for gaming, you mostly just space out. Can’t pass the SATs like that."

"If you ever wanna hit the books again, we got your back, man. Couple years back, there was a guy here who studied every day and got into college through the GED."

I shrugged. "I’m just not that talented. Doesn’t matter how hard I work. Just jotting stuff for fun."

Jerry and the others meant well, but after a while, they left me to my scribbles and daydreams.

The truth was, in algebraic geometry, I hadn’t slacked off during those five years—I just never figured out how to work hard the right way.

There’s a saying: push someone to the limit and they can do anything—except solve math problems.

Math has a way of destroying your self-confidence like nothing else.

It was only after I started guarding doors that I realized I was just an average guy—not dumb, just ordinary.

With my high school diploma, I stood out among a crew of guys who never finished school. My "impressive academic background" got me noticed.

The team leader put me in charge of writing the monthly summary report and gave me a $30 raise for it. Not much, but in this world, every little win counts. Jake joked I should run for office next.

I’ve never been good at English. If I hadn’t gotten into college with a math olympiad gold medal, I might not have made it at all.

Because I started helping, meetings became more efficient. Meetings used to drag on longer than a Monday Night Football game. Now, with my agenda, we’re out before anyone’s coffee gets cold.

"Just report last week’s work, any issues, and this week’s plan."

"No need for stories, feelings, or anything else. Save that for after."

After the team leader took my advice, meetings finished in half an hour. Guys started betting on how short I’d make it next week.

After work, I’d head back to the dorm, open my laptop, fire up LaTeX, jot down ideas, and delete yesterday’s dead ends. Will peeked over my shoulder once, squinted at the weird math symbols, and lost interest fast.

Then it was poker time. Jake shuffled the cards with practiced hands, his phone buzzing with ESPN alerts. Will popped open a can of Dr Pepper and grinned, dealing out the next hand.

Jake eyed me. "Caleb, you count cards or something? Feels like you always win."

Before I could answer, Will chimed in, "Forget it, Caleb’s always losing stuff—meal cards, badges, keys. No way he remembers cards."

He added, "Maybe Caleb didn’t get into college because of a bad memory. He’s always spacing out. Who knows what’s going on in his head."

I just shrugged. "My memory’s pretty bad. I just get lucky, I guess."

My high school grad cover was almost flawless—rock solid.

After cards, I’d wash up and crash. The shared dorm fixed my sleep problems. Every night I fell asleep before the snoring even started. These days, exhaustion beat insomnia. I dreamed less of falling, more about poker hands and lunch menus.

Life as a security guard was going surprisingly smooth. Happy, even. No one worried about existential stuff. No one cared about the meaning of life—they just lived. That helped me settle down. It was all present tense, no future perfect.

Another morning, I was on post with Jerry when a familiar voice snapped me out of my daze.

"Caleb Harris? I went to your school to find your junior, he said you already graduated. Why are you here now?"

I looked up. There she was—my ex, Natalie Chen.