Day 2: Colleen (You Try to Impress Academically)

You check the forum before you even get out of bed. Still no reply from Freya.

Part of you had half-hoped for a scathing takedown—at least it would mean she noticed. But the thread sits quiet. Unmoved. And so does she. You scroll back through older posts until you find a different topic from last semester, an ethics thread on complicity and silence. It's mostly dust now, but Freya had jumped in mid-argument and practically dismantled it. The thread’s been dormant for months, but the question at the end still lingers unanswered: “What does refusal to speak actually communicate?”

You write a reply—short and careful. This time you don’t quote anyone. You reference themes Freya hinted at, draw a connection to sociological frameworks, and leave the tone neutral, thoughtful. Not showy. Just sincere. For once, you don’t end with a Latin phrase. You end with a question.

Then you hit post.

Now you wait. Or stew. Same thing.

The Women in Tech event kicks off at six. You show up early. Not early enough to be weird—just enough to see the room fill up and get a sense of the flow.

Colleen’s already there.

Second row again. Same posture you saw in the video: upright, arms crossed, not fidgeting, just focused. Her expression hovers somewhere between mild irritation and cool disinterest—like she’s troubleshooting the speaker’s logic before they finish their second slide.

The talk is on algorithmic bias in hiring software. You follow the intro well enough, but once the acronyms start multiplying, your comprehension starts dropping frames. Still, you take notes. You nod along. You stay present.

When Q&A opens, Colleen is first up. Her voice is clear, measured, and surgical. She doesn’t attack, exactly—just applies pressure in the right place and forces the speaker to backtrack and clarify. There’s a ripple of amusement in the room. She sits down without looking smug.

You raise your hand.

You ask a question—something about model training transparency. You’re not entirely sure you’re using the right terms, but you keep it grounded. The speaker answers politely. You’re relieved not to be laughed at.

Colleen glances your way. Briefly. It’s hard to tell if it’s curiosity, irritation, or just environmental scanning. But she saw you.

After the talk ends, you wait—not hovering, just drifting close enough to intercept as she zips up her bag. She’s almost out the door when you catch her eye.

“Hey,” you say. “That was a good question you asked.”

She pauses. Looks at you flatly. “You’re the guy who asked about training transparency, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You a CS major?”

“No. Philosophy and sociology. Freshman.”

She squints just a little. “That explains it.”

You don’t flinch. “Yeah, I was hoping I didn’t mangle the terminology too badly.”

“You did,” she says, deadpan. “But I’ve heard worse.”

There’s an opening. She hasn’t walked off.

You ask, “Is this your area? Bias in hiring algorithms?”

She considers the question, then shrugs. “It overlaps. I’m more systems theory and interaction design. But most people only talk about the shiny surface. Bias lives in the guts.”

You nod. “Where would someone start, if they wanted to learn about that?”

Colleen adjusts her strap. “Start by learning how datasets get warped before they’re even used. Read about the Amazon recruiting model collapse. Or look up the COMPAS case.”

“Got it,” you say. “No chatbots.”

That earns the smallest twitch of a smirk. “Definitely no chatbots. They’re like talking to a mirror that thinks it’s smarter than you.”

She turns to leave. This time she does.

But not in disgust. Not in dismissal.

It feels like you've opened a doorway just a crack. Now you need to work out how to step through. And you have just 4 days left, 5 if you secure the challenge just prior to the next show time.