“Emma.” Jane steps forward and reaches for my arm. I pull back roughly and her lab coat slips up. For a second I catch a glimpse of her scars, and I remember how she showed me once, who she really was. How she protects herself. Now her face falls, like I’ve wounded her. “Come on,” Jane says. “I know you want our app to win, but what about how we feel? What about our friendship?”
I think about what Izzy said before she left: If you feel something...just let yourself feel.
But all I feel now is anger. And without another word to either of them, I turn and storm off toward my car.
* * *
“Emma!” George is calling my name and running after me when I glance back. He’s holding his hands out trying not to slip. He’s forgotten all about his PE clothes now. But I’m not going to remind him. There’s no way I’m turning back in the direction of the gym, where I assume Jane and Sam are still kissing.
George catches up to me right when I reach my car. I get in and start the engine, and he lets himself in the passenger side. “Emma, stop.” He puts his hand on my arm. “Just calm down a minute before you drive, okay? The roads might be slippery.”
He’s right, and besides, I’m also freezing. I turn up the heat, warm my hands in front of the vents. George does the same on his side of the car. Finally, when I’m warmer and can breathe a little bit again, I drive out of the parking lot.
The snow is starting to stick on Highbury Pike, and it really does take all my focus to drive. And to breathe. I inhale and exhale, in and out. Foot on the accelerator; foot on the brake. I creep down Highbury Pike at twenty-five miles an hour, until finally we make it to George’s driveway and I release my tight grip from the steering wheel and exhale.
“Why don’t you come in for a little bit? Drive home later,” George says kindly. “The snow’s supposed to stop soon, and it’s not cold enough out to stick for very long.”
George is right, the weather is forecasted to improve. And I don’t really feel like going to my big empty house all alone right now, or enduring the scary last mile of driving. But I hesitate, not sure I’m up for conversation, either, not even with George.
“Come on,” George prods. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate. We have marshmallows.”
“I mean, if there’s marshmallows...” I smile a little, in spite of all the anger I still feel swelling in my chest for Jane and Sam.
“And besides.” George turns, and his eyes glimmer a little so I know he’s teasing me now. “You owe me a rematch in Ping-Pong.”
* * *
Ping-Pong is all about the ball. Never taking my eye off it. Back and forth and back and forth, and I don’t lose sight of it. There’s no hindsight in Ping-Pong.
I beat George again—this time by two points instead of one. I raise my paddle in victory, feeling sweat pool under my sweater.
George laughs and collapses in a bean bag, and I put my paddle down and collapse on one next to him. We both need to catch our breaths. Our hot chocolate has cooled on the end table while we were playing, and I pick mine up and take a little sip.
“It’s not that bad,” George says after a few minutes. “Is it?”
“What? Your hot chocolate? Or the fact that I beat you at Ping-Pong every time?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “My hot chocolate is delicious, and maybe I let you win.” I burst out laughing, and so does he for a minute, but then his face turns more serious. “So Sam and Jane like each other,” he says, his voice a little softer. “So what?”
“So, Sam matches Laura...and Jane didn’t even try to make a match. She told me she didn’t want to date anyone. She never liked my app idea, and now she’s ruining the whole thing. Maybe that was her plan the whole time?” I’m breathing hard, and my words tumble out fast and angry, and I know they’re ridiculous, that I don’t really mean them, even as I say them. Jane wants to win next week. Jane said she believes we can win. But she also said she didn’t want a match or a boyfriend.
George gives me a look like he thinks I sound crazy. “Emma.” He shakes his head. “Jane wouldn’t do that.”
I bite my lip. It feels impossible to even talk rationally about Jane or Sam right now without this blinding, furious heat rising up inside of me. “Who’s going to believe in The Code for Love if even the club members don’t?” I say.
George nods, like he gets what I’m saying now. “We made a good app. And we should be proud of the coding we did. I’m proud of it. I think we have a real chance of winning the state competition. And I know Jane and Sam believe that, too. But come on, Emma, you don’t really believe that math should tell you who to love, do you?”
I think of what Izzy said: Math is one thing. Love is another. But Izzy doesn’t understand the algorithm the way I do, the way George does. “I do believe that,” I say. “Why don’t you, George?”
He shakes his head. “What if you just feel something for someone? What if there’s no mathematical sequence to it at all, but you feel something for her deep in your gut, that’s different than the way you’ve ever felt about anyone else?” He stares at me, his eyes so intensely focused on my face that my cheeks turn hot, and I have to look away. I look down at my sneakers.
“So what are you saying, George? Sam is with Jane because...of a feeling in his stomach?” I tilt my head back up to look at him, and he’s still staring at me, his green eyes wide and a little glassy.
He shrugs, opens his mouth, then closes it, like he’s not sure he should say more. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “I don’t know what Sam and Jane feel. But what about you, Emma? Haven’t you ever felt something that can’t be quantified?” he asks softly.
He meets my eyes again, and holds on to them, like he’s challenging me to say more, to say something else. Maybe he wants me to tell him that I don’t think he and Hannah are a good match, or that I agree with him that it’s possible math can’t always figure out love, no matter how perfect our code is. Or maybe he wants me to say that sometimes I feel something unexplainable deep in my gut when I’m around him. But so what? Even if I do, it doesn’t mean anything.
Instead, I say, “Math matched eighty-seven happy couples for the dance next weekend. And then, there’s Sam and Jane.”
“Sam’s supposed to take Laura to the dance,” George says quietly. Then he adds, “And taking someone to a dance doesn’t mean you love her. Doesn’t mean she’s the one you’re supposed to be with.” His eyes refuse to let go of mine, and I feel my cheeks growing hot again. It’s unnerving.
Finally, I look away first. I glance toward the window, and the sky is turning purple and blue with the oncoming night. “I think the snow stopped,” I say. “I should get home.”