“Yeah,” he’d said, leaning his head on the seat in front of him. “Maybe.”
I’d put my earbud back in, and I’d forgotten all about that conversation until right now. But maybe it’s a good thing that Hannah matches him? Phillip might be willing to help me, to help us, given his past history with coding club. Even though he’s no longer part of the club, I do think he’ll genuinely want us to win. That he might be willing to be my first test subject.
* * *
“Which one is Phillip?” Hannah asks as soon as I pick her up Monday morning to go to school. I’d texted her about my results yesterday, but she was at a swim meet all day and couldn’t come over. Now I hand her my yearbook from last year, before pulling out of the parking lot of her apartment complex and driving toward school.
Phillip’s face is flagged with a sticky note, so she finds him quickly. “He’s cute,” she says, sounding excited.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Phillip’s cuteness is beside the point. They’re a statistical match, perfectly suited to date one another. But when I glance at her again, she’s still staring at his picture, smiling a little.
I’d texted Phillip last night and asked him if he’d meet me in the courtyard before school this morning. He texted back that he really didn’t have time for coding club anymore. I told him that was fine, that this was about something else, and then he had agreed to meet me. And that wasn’t exactly a lie. I don’t need or want him back in the club. I just need him to listen and give my algorithm a chance.
I’d texted George last night, too, asking him if he needed a ride to school this morning, hoping maybe he’d come with us, see my work in action and change his mind. All I got back was one word: nope. But he can’t stay mad at me forever. As co-presidents, we’re going to have to work together to submit our application for the state competition, and once I get Phillip on board, and maybe get a few more people interested in matches, George will come around. He’ll have to.
* * *
Phillip is sitting in the courtyard, just like he’d promised. And I sigh with relief when I spot him there. It’s not that I’d expected him to stand us up exactly, but I also wasn’t sure whether he’d remember or care enough to actually show up, either.
“Hey, Em,” he says, looking up as we approach. It annoys me, the way he calls me Em, like we’re old friends. We’re not. Em is reserved for people who really know me, who love me. Everyone calls me Emma, except for Izzy and sometimes Dad. But I bite my tongue, offer him a wave and a forced smile. His eyes move from me to Hannah, and he opens his mouth a little, like he wants to say something else, but then closes it, saying nothing at all.
I gently take Hannah by the shoulders, sit her down on the bench next to Phillip and stand in front of them, looking at them for a second. His orange hair is still just a little wet from the shower and curling up above his ears, and Hannah’s red curls are also a little damp and flatter than usual, revealing more of her heart-shaped face and bright green eyes.
“Phillip,” I say. “This is Hannah. She’s a freshman, new in coding club this year. Hannah, this is Phillip.” Hannah turns and rigidly holds out her arm, offering one of her tiny hands to shake. But Phillip cocks his head to the side, smiles at her. He picks her hand up, but instead of shaking, just holds on to it for a second, before she pulls away, her cheeks burning as red as her hair.
“I’m confused. What’s so important that you guys needed to see me before school?” Phillip asks, turning back to me.
I take a deep breath and tell him about my matching app, not sure what to expect after the way things went horribly awry on Friday with Ms. Taylor and Mr. Weston. Once I finish explaining to Phillip about how I ran Hannah through my algorithm and how he matches her, he stares at me for another second, and then he bursts out laughing. I was not expecting that, and I frown. “Wait...” He’s still laughing. “You’re going to tell me who...I should...date, Em?” He can barely choke his sentence out, he’s laughing so hard.
“Not me,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “Math. And stop calling me Em. Emma.”
Hannah stands up. Her cheeks are so red she looks sunburned, and her eyes have turned glassy. “I’m gonna go,” she says, her voice trembling. “Nice to meet you, Phillip.”
“No, Hannah, wait.” Phillip stops laughing, stands and grabs her arm. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear. I’m sorry if you thought that. It’s just...Em...er, Emma, setting me up.” He swallows back another laugh.
“It’s not me,” I say again, unable to keep my annoyance out of my voice. “Hannah and I wrote an algorithm—”
“Yeah, yeah, math,” he cuts me off. And none of us say anything for a minute. I’m wondering what I’m supposed to do, if I should walk away. We could try and match someone other than Hannah to start. Or should I try and convince him some more? I bite my lip, really not sure.
He’s not laughing any longer, but he looks at Hannah and smiles a little. He looks back at me. Then back at Hannah again. I can’t tell at all what he’s thinking. “All right,” he finally says. “I actually need a date for the fall formal, anyway. Hannah, would you like to go with me?”
“I...” Hannah opens her mouth to speak but can’t seem to form a coherent sentence.
“Yes. She would love to,” I answer for her. I’m somewhere between relieved that my idea is actually working right now and giddy that I’m proving George and Izzy and John wrong about me. So it doesn’t occur to me to question why he’s gone from laughing at me to helping me in the span of a few minutes.
But it does occur to Hannah. “Why would you want to go to the formal...with me?” she blurts out.
“Why not?” Phillip says quickly. “If Emma says that math makes us a good match, who am I to deny that?”
“Exactly,” I say, hoping Hannah will stop talking. Things are going better than I’d hoped—why does she need to question it?
Phillip gets Hannah’s number and promises to text her so they can figure out the details about the dance and maybe meet up for coffee or a movie before then. The first bell rings, and we all gather up our things to get to class, and just as Phillip starts to walk away, I have an idea. “Hey, Phillip,” I call after him. “If anyone else on the cross-country team wants a date for the dance, text me, okay? I’ll run them through my algorithm, too.”
He turns back to look at me, and for a second, I think he might laugh at me again. But instead he shoots me a thumbs-up, smiles and walks to class.
I turn to Hannah, and she doesn’t look as happy as I would expect. But she doesn’t look upset anymore, either, more like confused. “What?” I say. “This is a good thing. This is what we wanted.”