Ch. 22: Wildcard
"Some Patterns Never Change."
I did a lot of firsts last week—first day of school, first therapy session.
Now this week… it’s starting to feel less foreign. Not easier. Not comfortable. Just… familiar.
The unknown part is gone. I know what the hallways look like. I know what my therapist’s office smells like. I know where to sit. What to say. Or more like… what not to say.
Knowing doesn’t make it better. But at least now… I know what’s coming.
Right now? It’s school. After that? Therapy with Kaylee.
Walking into school this time, the stares hit harder. More obvious. More elbows. More whispers.
Tony already prepped me in the car:
“People are gonna talk. Ignore it. Unless you want me to handle it.”
(Translation: he’ll happily fight someone.)
Though… after what happened last time, Gio would absolutely murder us if we landed back in the principal’s office.
As we head toward our lockers, Tony elbows me. “Hey… you cool?”
I shrug, then throw him a thumbs up.
Suddenly—
“Sofia! You’re back!”
Anna comes running up.
Tony groans under his breath. “It’s too early for that,” he mutters, nodding toward her.
I chuckle. “You sure you’re good?” he asks again.
I nod. He peels off toward his friends.
With Anna is Mia—the girl I barely met at lunch on my first day.
“Hi,” Anna says, catching up.
I give an awkward wave.
“You’ve been the talk of the school,” Mia says before Anna elbows her.
“Ow!” Mia shoots her a glare. “What? She has!”
I just roll my eyes and head for my locker. They follow.
“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” Mia asks.
I shrug, grabbing my books.
“It was badass,” she says. “You should hear the rumors about you now.”
I slam my locker shut and shoot her a glare.
“Don’t worry,” Anna says quickly. “No one’s messing with you.”
“They’re too scared,” Mia adds, grinning.
The three of us lock eyes… and laugh.
It feels good. Almost normal. Like it used to feel with Lexi and my old crew.
For a second… it feels like I belong.
Just as I’m starting to feel halfway normal again—
“Back from the dead and already collecting a fan club,”
Jessica. Of course.
The very first person I met here.
Now casually draping her arm over Anna’s shoulders like she owns the hallway.
Her eyes land on me, narrowing like she’s studying me under a microscope.
“That was a fun show,” she says, smirking. “Though I would’ve loved to see Tony’s little sister actually take him down.”
I shrug. Keep my face neutral.
“She would have… if no one held her back,” Anna fires back, arms crossed.
Jessica’s grin widens. “And here I thought you were gonna stay all shy and mysterious forever.”
The bell rings before I can reply.
“See you at lunch!” Mia calls as she darts into the classroom across the hall.
“Come on, let’s go,” Anna says, tugging me toward our class.
As I turn, Jessica’s voice cuts through the hallway:
“See you, sis.”
I freeze mid-step. Turn back.
Jessica’s still grinning, eyes locked on me. “Wildcard,” she adds with a wink.
I roll my eyes, turning back to Anna… but my mouth is now fully open in shock.
Anna tugs me toward the classroom. I resist, planting my feet and raising an eyebrow like: Seriously? Explain.
“Yes,” Anna says, already sliding into her seat, “Jessica is my older sister.”
I follow, still trying to process.
Wait. Hold up. The first day we met… didn’t she say her sister dated Tony?
Like she’s reading my mind, Anna glances back at me. “Yep. My sister and your brother dated.”
My brain short-circuits.
Tony and Jessica?
What?!
I did not see that coming.
Before I can ask anything else, the teacher starts class.
I try to focus. Really, I do. But the mental image of Tony and Jessica together is now playing on a loop.
What did he even see in her?
The rest of the morning moves just like my first day—except less dramatic.
At lunch, Tony meets me at the usual spot, orders for me before I even ask, then heads off to sit with his friends.
Nobody waves magazines at me.
Tony doesn’t come barreling over.
No one gets punched.
A much better Day Two.
Gio and Vince would be proud.
This time, I actually make it to all my afternoon classes—for the first time.
Last week… yeah… I didn’t exactly make it past lunch.
It’s also the first time I actually look at my schedule.
When Gio and Vince did the school tour with me, I wasn’t paying much attention. Too much on my mind. Too many nerves. The whole day was a blur.
Even on my first official day, I just focused on the room number. The next step. Not the whole picture. Survival mode.
I already knew this school wasn’t like my old one, but I figured… school is school, right?
Wrong.
My afternoon classes? Not what I expected.
I find out just how different things are when I walk into my first class after lunch.
No rows of desks. No textbooks.
Instead… computers. Dual screens at every station.
Before I can process, a man around Gio’s age walks over.
“You must be Sofia,” he says, smiling.
I nod.
“I’m Mr. Holt. This one’s yours.”
He leads me to a seat in the third row, right by the window.
“I’ll come help you get set up once I get everyone else going.”
I nod again, setting my books off to the side as I sit down.
A boy slides into the seat next to me.
I glance over… then do a double take.
I know him.
I’ve seen him before.
But where?
I don’t want to stare… but also, I need to stare.
I shift my eyes toward the clock like I’m checking the time… then sneak another glance at him.
He’s already staring at me.
I meet his gaze and give him a Can I help you? look.
He chuckles. “Don’t remember me?”
I scrunch my face, trying to place him.
“Don’t think so hard,” he says, laughing at his own joke. “Might hurt yourself.”
I roll my eyes at the same joke we’ve all heard a hundred times.
Suddenly, it clicks.
My mouth drops open.
He smirks, like he’s been waiting for me to figure it out.
“I’d ask if you remember my name, but if it took you that long to remember my face—”
Before he can finish, I grab my phone, type out one word, and shove the screen toward him:
Lucas.
His grin stretches wide. “So you do remember.”
I smirk back, lifting my eyebrows like, Obviously.
Hard to forget a name my brothers have mentioned a dozen times. Pretty sure it is even in my book.
Mr. Holt’s voice cuts through the moment.
“Alright, welcome back everyone! Hope you had a good weekend. Pick up where you left off on Friday. If you need help, shout my name.”
Then he points directly at me.
“We’ve got a new student—Sofia. I’ll help her get settled. If you’re too shy to shout, just come find me.”
I glance around at the rows of computers… then at Lucas’s screens… then at my own.
What class even is this?
I flip open my schedule.
Coding.
I blink. Coding?
Who signed me up for this?
Why didn’t I actually read this schedule before now?
Lucas leans over, reading my expression like an open book.
“Never taken a coding class?”
I shake my head.
He grins. “Easy A. Go at your own pace.”
Mr. Holt walks over, still smiling. “Alright, Sofia. Let’s get you logged in and set up. Ever coded before?”
I shake my head again.
“Not to worry,” he says. “We all start at nothing… and build from there.”
The way he says it makes me smile. Feels like something Mom would’ve said.
Mr. Holt grabs a chair, rolls it over, and pulls up a screen. Black background. Blinking cursor.
“We’ll start you off with Python. It’s beginner-friendly and fun,” Mr. Holt says with a grin.
He opens a split screen on my monitor.
On the left: a black box where I’ll write code.
On the right: a blank white webpage… just sitting there… waiting to display whatever I tell it to.
He types a short line:
print("Hello, World!")
“This little command tells the computer to display whatever you want,” he explains. “Right now, it’s saying hello to the world… but you can make it say anything. Your first official conversation with a machine.”
I stare at the screen.
I don’t totally get how it works… but I’m a fast learner.
He must read my face because he adds, “Coding’s like solving a puzzle. The computer won’t do anything until you give it the right sequence of steps. Logic. Cause and effect. One piece at a time.”
That part sticks.
I delete his line and type:
print("I got it!")
Then I hit Run.
On the right side, the webpage flashes:
I got it!
A real smile slips out of me.
“Here’s a quick intro module to get you started,” Mr. Holt says, clicking a link on my screen. “Watch the video, follow along, and I’ll circle back once I check on everyone else.”
I nod.
As Mr. Holt walks away, Lucas leans over.
“See? Easy A.”
I roll my eyes but… he’s not wrong.
The rest of the day is just as new—and honestly? Kinda cool.
We didn’t have classes like this at my old school.
Turns out, my afternoon schedule flips every other day.
A Days: Coding, Entrepreneurship, Finance.
B Days: Marketing, AI, Creative Writing.
Every class feels hands-on. Real.
I’ve always liked school—mainly because I love learning—but I used to wonder how half of it would ever apply to real life.
Here? That doesn’t even cross my mind.
They’re getting us ready for the real world.
It’s different than what I know.
But for the first time in a long time…
It’s a part of my new life I’m actually grateful for.
Tony has baseball after school, so Vince picks me up and takes me to therapy.
It’s been almost a week since my first session.
I’m already wondering… how many more of these do I have to sit through?
I mean—I’m talking now. Huge breakthrough. And therapy didn’t even do that.
So… do I really need this?
Gio would say yes.
But what does he know?
“How was school?” Vince asks as we pull onto the main road.
I glance over at him. “Glad your phone didn’t ring?”
He shoots me a look. Full big-brother glare.
“Admit it… you were worried,” I tease, raising an eyebrow.
He smirks. “Not for you… for the safety of the other students.”
We both laugh.
As he pulls into the parking lot for therapy, I decide to push my luck.
“How much longer do I have to keep going to this?”
Vince sighs as he parks. “Honestly? Not sure.”
I give him my best puppy-dog eyes. “But I talk to you guys now… isn’t that enough?”
He laughs. “Sorry, sorellina. It’s kind of a requirement when you… you know… lose your mom, end up in a coma, go mute, find out you have four brothers, a dad in prison, and… oh yeah… a possible stalker trying to kill you.”
He tilts his head and shrugs like he’s not even a little sorry.
I roll my eyes. “Sounds more like a telenovela than real life.”
“Exactly,” Vince says, already getting out of the car. “Let’s go, kiddo.”
With a dramatic groan, I drag myself out and follow him toward Kaylee’s office.
The door swings open before we can knock.
Kaylee stands there with a giant, too-happy smile—like I’ve shown up for a playdate, not therapy.
Complete opposite of how I’m feeling about being here.
“Sofia! It’s good to see you. Come on in,” Kaylee says, swinging the door wider.
I walk in and settle into the exact same spot as last week.
She and Vince chat for a good thirty seconds while I stare at the clock… silently begging the minute hand to fast-forward to the end of this session.
“I’ll be back in an hour, Sofia,” Vince says, giving me a small wave.
I glance toward the door and nod.
Kaylee shuts it behind him, then crosses the room and hands me the iPad again before taking her usual seat—the same chair, same spot, same crossed-leg position… shoes off.
“Would you like a drink? Water? Tea? Juice?”
I shake my head.
She smiles like she expected that.
Then she leans back, still barefoot and overly cheerful.
“So… how’s it going?”
I give her a soft smile and a thumbs up.
She laughs.
I raise an eyebrow.
Her thinking face appears, like she’s building suspense on purpose.
“Let’s see…” she starts, ticking off with her fingers, “You got into a fight with your brother on your first day of school… found out your family and your life aren’t exactly private… met your father—who you assumed was dead—and then realized you actually already knew him.”
My mouth falls open.
Wait… what?!
I was not expecting her to know all that.
Before I can react, she kicks her feet down to the floor and sits upright.
“Oh, and wait…” she says dramatically, “I’m missing the best news.”
She leans in, giving me a full-on proud mom look.
“You spoke to your brothers.”
I blink. Still too shocked to do anything else.
“Congratulations, Sofia. That’s a very big breakthrough,” she says softly. “I’m proud of you.”
I stare at her, stunned.
She chuckles at my expression. “You’re a minor. Communication between parents and guardians is… well… kinda required.”
Ah. There it is.
Thanks, Vince. Thanks, Gio. Glad we’re all on Team Let’s-Make-Therapy-Work.
I look down at the floor. Not sure what I’m supposed to say. Not even sure how I feel.
“There’s no pressure for you to speak here,” she says gently.
I keep my head down, fidgeting with my fingers for comfort.
For a while, it’s quiet.
I’m not sure if she’s waiting for me to fill the silence or if she’s just thinking.
I wait.
Finally, she speaks.
“You know… before this session, I spilled coffee all over my shirt. Had to run home and change.”
I glance up, wondering why she’s telling me this.
She grins like it’s some kind of inside joke.
“I figured if today was gonna be a mess… I might as well start early,” she says with a shrug.
Then she leans back in her chair again.
“So… that’s my day. Want to trade stories? Or… you can just listen to me ramble.”
She says it like she really wouldn’t mind either way.
“I know we therapists are known for being great listeners… but I can talk all day,” she chuckles.
Suddenly… an idea sparks.
I grab the iPad and start typing:
You went to school with Gio and Vince, right?
I hit send.
Kaylee reads it, then nods—giving me that look like she already knows exactly where I’m going with this.
I type again:
What were they like?
She smiles, leans back in her chair, and says, “I’ll tell you a story… if you tell me one about you and your mom.”
I hold her gaze. Lean back in my chair.
Study her offer.
Then smirk and give her a thumbs up.
Her thinking face kicks in. Fingers to her chin. Eyes narrowing like she’s scrolling through old mental files.
“Hmm…” she hums. “What story should I tell you?”
About thirty seconds pass before she snaps her fingers.
“You’ll like this one… especially since you and Tony went at it last week.”
I scoot forward in my chair—fully invested now.
“So…” she begins, grinning, “Gio and Vince both played soccer in high school. They also played baseball—but let’s focus on this one particular homecoming game.”
She shifts, getting comfortable, like she’s about to deliver the best gossip of the decade.
“Pretty much the whole school was there—including your dad and your two younger brothers. Gio was center midfield. Vince played right forward. They worked together like clockwork. Always knew where the other one would be. Total mind-reader level connection.”
She pauses, then adds, “Except for that day… they were off. I don’t know why. No one does. But something was definitely wrong. Gio set up the perfect shot—Vince was supposed to head it in for the goal. Classic play for them.”
She leans forward, eyes wide.
“But Vince wasn’t there. Not even close. Gio ran up to him—no idea what was said—but the next thing we all saw… Vince shoved Gio. Hard.”
My eyes widen.
Kaylee grins. “Gio looked just as shocked as the rest of us. They never fought. Not at school. Not in public. But right there… on the field… it turned into a full-on fist fight.”
I let out a silent gasp.
“The refs came running. Coaches jumped in. Teammates tried to pull them apart. Total chaos.”
She pauses, laughing at the memory.
“And then… out of nowhere… this sharp, clean whistle cuts through everything. The whole field froze. Every head turned toward the stands.”
She grins wider.
“Your dad. Standing there with his fingers in his mouth, whistling loud enough to wake the dead. Both boys stopped immediately. Dead still. Total deer-in-headlights moment.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Of course… we were all trying not to crack up because Tony and Sal—tiny little kids at the time—were standing next to him… mimicking the whole fight. Punching the air. Swinging at each other like little gremlins.”
Kaylee shakes her head, smiling at the memory.
“First and last time they fought at school,” she says, finishing the story.
I’m grinning now, eyes wide.
“See?” Kaylee says, pointing at me. “You and Tony were bound to have at least one fight. I hear Tony and Sal had their fair share, too. It’s a DeLuca thing. You’re part of the family now.”
We both laugh—and for the first time in this room… it feels real.
“Your turn,” Kaylee says, smiling.
I pause, thinking it over.
Her story made me think of… well… me.
I played soccer. And softball.
Weird how we were all so similar.
I start typing:
My mom was my soccer coach.
Kaylee reads it, her smile growing. “Go on,” she encourages.
I scroll through my memories… then one comes flooding back.
I can’t help it—my mouth pulls into a full smile, my eyes starting to water as I recall this memory.
Flashback:
“Nobody wants to play goalie?” Mom asks, scanning the team.
Every single player looks down. Around. Anywhere but at her.
Avoidance level: Olympic.
“Sof,” she says.
I groan, looking up like I already know what’s coming.
Mom gives me the head nod. The one that says Get over here.
She pulls me aside, wrapping her arm around my shoulder.
“I don’t wanna play goalie,” I whine.
“It’s only thirty minutes. I need someone,” she says, giving me the exact same puppy-dog eyes I always give her.
I cross my arms. Her eyes aren’t working on me.
“You know what happens when people do things they don’t want to do?” she asks.
“They resent the person that makes them do it,” I say, deadpan.
Her grin turns full mischief. “They become more resilient.”
I groan. “I don’t think I’ll be very good at it.”“It has to get through ten other people before it gets to you,” she says, giving me that I-know-you’re-gonna-say-yes look.
I stare at her.
“Ice cream. Triple scoop,” I say, standing my ground.
Mom laughs and sticks out her hand. “Deal.”
End of flashback
I ended up crushing it.
Only let in two goals… after they fired at me like twenty times.
I loved it.
Played goalie the rest of the season.
I finish typing all that to Kaylee.
She laughs as she reads the last part. “That’s a great story. Thank you for sharing, Sofia.”
I nod, smiling for real now.
“You know who else was a goalie?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
I look at her, curious.
“Sal.”
My eyes go wide.
Sal played soccer? I type quickly.
“Your whole family played,” Kaylee says, still smiling. “They were really good. All-State, every one of them. And Vince even made All-American his senior year.”
My eyes widen even more.
I’m more like them than I thought.
I nod… but then—freeze.
Wait a second.
Same sports. Same weekends. Same everything.
Why wouldn’t we…
…have the same password?
My heart skips.
My mom and I had the same password for everything.
77KQ5py9$
It didn’t mean anything. Just a random string we memorized and used for everything.
“Why change it up when it’s nearly impossible to crack and easy to remember?” Mom used to say.
I sit up straighter, adrenaline rushing through me.
That’s it.
That’s the password.
“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” I yell at Vince, practically bouncing in my seat.
Vince laughs. “I promise… the computer’s not going anywhere.”
“Can you imagine if this is it?” I say, grinning like a maniac. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”
“Guess therapy’s paying off then,” Vince says with a smirk.
I glare at him.
“Okay, okay, not pushing it,” he says, chuckling as he pulls into the driveway.
Right before I’m about to leap out, he shoots me a look.
“Wait until I come to a complete stop before jumping out.”
“Then stop,” I say with a grin.
He slams on the brakes—hard—right there in the middle of the driveway.
I jolt back against the seat.
We’re not at the garage. Not near the front door.
Vince gives me an innocent look. I stopped.
I unbuckle, launch myself out of the car, and sprint to the front door.
Behind me, Vince drives forward, finally parking.
By the time he’s out of the car, he calls after me, “Don’t worry, I’ll grab your backpack!”
I’m already inside.
I race up to Gio’s office.
Nobody’s there.
I sit down at the computer, shove the chip into the port, and watch as a box pops up:
PASSWORD REQUIRED
My heart’s pounding.
Fingers shaking, I type:
77KQ5py9$
Hit enter.
Vince leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Well?”
His voice startles me. I jump… then snap back to the screen.
Red text flashes:
Invalid Password
“Nooooo!” I drop my head onto the desk and groan dramatically.
“Sorry, kiddo,” Vince says, walking over.
“I swore that was it,” I whine.
“I know,” he says, giving the back of my head a light pat.
Then he smiles, nudging me toward the door.
“Come on… let’s eat. We’ll figure it out. Soon.”
Oh, I’ll figure it out, I think to myself.