“Oh, they will,” she says. “It’s just a matter of time.”
I smile at her. She’s so kind, even though, really, she doesn’t know that much about me. But she’s part of the reason why I like coming here each week. If Mom were still alive, or if I ever talked to my grandma in Miami more than once or twice a year, I imagine she might sound something like Mrs. Bates.
Suddenly there’s shouting from the corner of the room. An aide is trying to help Mr. Bates up and he’s yelling at her to get her hands off him. Mrs. Bates casts me a quick apologetic smile, a wave goodbye and walks toward her husband, her bracelets jingling the whole way. “Honey,” she says gently. “That’s Roberta.”
“I don’t know any Roberta,” he says back. Mrs. Bates puts her hand on his arm, and his demeanor calms down. “We’re late to pick up the children, aren’t we?” he says suddenly.
“Honey, the children live in the city now, remember? They have children of their own.”
He shakes his head, confused. He doesn’t seem to remember at all.
“It’s all right,” Mrs. Bates says, standing up on her toes to kiss her husband softly on his cheek.
His expression softens, and he hugs her.
“I’ve got you now,” I hear her saying to him as I walk out. “Don’t worry, Jack. I’ve always got you.”
Chapter 14
Jane has her survey up and ready on SurveyMonkey by the end of the week, and we start spreading the word at school, sending out the link to anyone who wants to take it. Sam talks to the choir, and Robert to the marching band. Hannah tells the swim team, and George tells everyone in our classes. I start with texting Mara, who promises to share it with the cross-country and volleyball teams. By the end of October, we have nearly three hundred responses to the survey. That’s seventy-five percent of the student body.
We repopulate our database with survey responses, combined with a skim Jane set up for socials and our original yearbook data. George has his heart animated, with moving arms and legs now, and we get Hannah and Robert to work on designing the screens for our app. Sam is working on the algorithm with me, and that feels like the last and also most important piece we need to get right before we put it all together in Xcode.
Sam and I haven’t made much progress by the end of our meeting on the last Friday in October. The regional competition is just a month away, and I ask him if he wants to come over tomorrow, so we can work. Hannah overhears, and offers to come, too. “I still need to return your sister’s dress,” she says. “And anyway, I want to learn more actual coding from you.”
It feels like she’s not mad at me anymore, or maybe she never was? Maybe, like George, she understood that I couldn’t possibly have been able to fathom Phillip’s motives. But I’m just happy that she’s talking to me. I tell her she’s welcome to come. “And if you’re done with finding a match yourself, I wouldn’t blame you,” I add. “The girls’ cross-country team offered to be our next test subjects, so you’re totally off the hook.”
“Why would I be done?” Hannah says, frowning, like I’ve confused her.
“I just thought...”
She laughs and shakes her head, and her red curls fan out against her back. “No,” she says, “I want us to get this right, and then I want another match. And maybe you’ll make yourself a match this time, too?” she adds.
“No,” I say. “I don’t have time for a boyfriend.” Hannah raises her eyebrows, surprised, but doesn’t say anything, and I quickly turn the subject back to her. “But don’t worry, I’m going to perfect our algorithm and then I’ll find you a perfect match.”
* * *
George’s mom is off work today and is picking him up, so he stays behind to work through an animation issue with Ms. Taylor while he waits for his mom to arrive. I walk out to the parking lot after the meeting by myself, and almost bump right into Phillip and Jason, leaving practice.
“Em,” Phillip says, shortening my name, a curl in his voice, so it almost sounds like he’s taunting me. I bite my lip, but I don’t correct him again. He steps right in front of me, so I can’t just ignore him and keep walking.
I sigh and cross my arms in front of my chest. “What do you want, Phillip?”
“What’d you tell Hannah about me? She won’t text me back.”
“And Jenny’s ghosting me, too,” Jason adds.
“I don’t even know Jenny. And I didn’t tell Hannah anything.” All of this is technically true. It was George and Sam and Jane who’d told Hannah what was going on while I’d sat in front of the trophy case feeling paralyzed and helpless. But I don’t feel that way anymore. Now that I’ve had a few weeks to let what happened simmer, I’m angry. “It wasn’t enough that you quit coding club, was it, Phillip? You had to try and destroy our project this year, too?”
“You practically begged me to take Hannah to the dance, and I did what you wanted, didn’t I?”
I shake my head. “I did not ask you to make some kind of demeaning bet with your friends and try and use her.”
Phillip’s face burns red, nearly matching his hair. “Who told you that?” he fumes.
I’ve said the wrong thing. I know I have. But I feel my own face turning red and hot with anger. Phillip made me think I could trust him and then he almost ruined everything. “It doesn’t matter who told me,” I say. “What matters is that now we know the truth and we’re blocking you from any more dating matches.”
My voice shakes a little, and I think Phillip and Jason are going to demand an explanation or keep me from walking the rest of the way to my car, but instead Phillip starts to laugh. He laughs so hard that his whole body shakes. “You really...think...you’ll...” He gasps out words in between laughter, and then shakes his head, unable to finish his sentence. Jason chuckles a little.
They’re both laughing at me now, and I think about what Izzy said, about how I shouldn’t be matching anyone. But Izzy is wrong. I understand this situation perfectly. And then I think about how Mara came to talk to me at lunch, how the girls’ team heard what happened at the dance, and how maybe the whole school will start using our app to find dates and then I really will prevent Phillip from dating anyone at our school.
“Laugh all you want,” I finally say, pushing past them to make my way toward my car. “But Jane figured out a way to exclude you from our database. You’ll never get a date now.”
* * *
The next afternoon, Sam, Hannah and I are sitting at my kitchen table, laptops open, all attempting to do research on what scientific factors are the biggest indicators of lasting love so we can definitively reconfigure our algorithm. I’m staring at an unhelpful journal article on my screen about pheromones and attraction. But I’m still thinking about my run-in with Phillip in the parking lot yesterday and wondering if I should mention it to Hannah now. She’s reading something on her own screen, her mouth open a little, looking engaged and determined. It’s much better than the way she’d looked last week, sad and depleted, and maybe I shouldn’t mention Phillip to her ever again?