George puts his notecards in his lap, turns to me. “Who says I’m mad at you?”
“You’re sure acting like you’re mad at me.”
He closes his eyes for a second, leans his head back against the wall, then opens them again. “Let’s just get through this, okay? And then maybe we can talk tonight.”
Before I can say anything else, the judges call us in. George jumps up, puts a huge smile on his face, and I stand and follow him inside the room.
George’s presentation is first, and I see why he was reviewing his notecards. He’s changed his speech from the regional tournament, putting a personal spin on why our matching app has been so successful at school, including how it has matched him to Hannah. How it’s the first time he’s ever had a girlfriend, and how wonderful it is to connect with a person at your school who you really, truly match with mathematically. For some reason, I think about what Mrs. Bates said about how she fell in love with her husband when she played piano with him at Julliard. How his music was life and passion. Is that how George feels about Hannah, too? It sure sounds like it now.
Last week when we were playing Ping-Pong, he said he didn’t really believe that math can predict love, but clearly, he’s changed his mind since then. Because now he’s telling the judges all about how math did predict love, and how it’s played out spectacularly in his own life. The judges smile at him, and I have to work really hard not to frown.
When he’s finished talking, and it’s my turn, I stumble for a second because it’s hard to breathe, hard to remember what I’m supposed to say, and what I know. My mind is swimming in everything George just said—drowning. But George stares at me, gives me a nod of encouragement, and then I take a deep breath and recite the words I already know by heart, talking about how we came up with the algorithm, how we coded it. How our app is both social and quantifiable.
When we’re finished, we walk out together, back toward the auditorium, where the rest of the team will be waiting, as they’re supposed to announce the winners in there in twenty minutes.
George drops the smile from his face almost immediately. He runs his hand through his hair, messing it up, and he just looks like...George again. “So, will you come over tonight and we can talk?” He speaks quietly now, with none of the eagerness or confidence he just displayed for the judges.
“It’s Friday night,” I say quickly. “I’m sure you have plans with your girlfriend.” It’s the way he referred to Hannah repeatedly in his speech to the judges, and it grated on me, each time. I know they are dating, of course, but I’ve never heard George call her that before, and it feels so weird, so unlike George, that it bothers me.
“I’m not doing anything with Hannah,” George says. “And we really should talk, Emma.”
“I guess if we win...we will have to make plans for nationals...” I’m thinking out loud. The national competition is in Michigan in June, and it’s not something we’ve ever been to before. In my previous years of high school, coding club only made it this far. Only first place gets to go on to nationals, and the closest we came was last year, coming in third. But in spite of the fact we all currently hate each other, our day has gone pretty well. I really believe we have a chance to come in first this year.
“Not about nationals,” George is saying now. But we’ve reached the auditorium, and Ms. Taylor is waving at us from near the front. We reach her before George and I can finish our conversation.
“Well,” she says. “How did the oral presentation go?”
“Good,” George says. “I think the judges liked us.”
“Yeah,” I say. “George really wowed them when he talked about his girlfriend.” I realize as the words come out of my mouth that Hannah is sitting right in front of me. Her cheeks turn as red as her hair, and I feel bad about my mocking tone. What did George say the other day? I’m supposed to be mentoring her? I clear my throat. “I mean...George just did a really good job at putting a personal spin on why our project is so special.”
Ms. Taylor smiles and George looks away, refusing to meet my eyes now. I go and take the last seat at the end of the row, right next to Ms. Taylor, and George goes and sits on the other side of her with Hannah and Robert. Jane and Sam are in the row behind us.
“Whatever happens,” Ms. Taylor leans over and says to me. “You should be really proud, Emma.”
“I’ll be proud if we win,” I say.
“You should be proud no matter what. You did this. You had this idea, and you made everyone else believe. No matter what happens with this competition, or where you end up going to college, you’re going to be very successful in life. I just know it.”
I feel tears stinging in my eyes, and it’s partly her nice words but mostly that I feel I haven’t really earned any of them, and the club is a mess right now.
The head judge walks up on the stage, ready to announce the awards, and I blink back my tears and turn my attention to him. Ms. Taylor pats my hand, excited. We have to wait a few agonizing minutes as he talks about all the amazing effort everyone put into their code and blah, blah, blah. And then, finally, he gets to the awards.
I can’t help myself—I glance down the row at George, and I’m surprised to see he’s already looking at me. He gives me a little shrug, and a smile, and I wish I were sitting next to him because I know I’d feel better if I were, if somehow it felt like we were still in this together. Co-presidents.
“In third place,” the judge says. “Elizabeth High with their project: Recoding Space.” An all-boy team jumps up, and goes up to the stage to claim their trophy.
“In second place,” he says. “Highbury High with their project: The Code for Love.”
“That’s us,” Ms. Taylor says, clapping her hands together. And it doesn’t quite sink in that it’s us until she says it. Second place. We haven’t won. “Go on.” Ms. Taylor gives me a gentle push on my shoulder. “Emma, go up with the others and accept your trophy.” It’s not until she says that, that I realize they’ve all already stood, that they’re walking up toward the stage without me, and I have no choice but to stand and go up there with them.
My head is buzzing and the lights on the stage are too bright, and I feel weirdly like I’m walking through fog as I take my trophy and shake the judges’ hands and go take my place up onstage with the rest of my team. I stand next to Robert, who looks happy, and then look down at my sneakers, unwilling to meet George’s disappointed eyes.
“And first place,” the judge says. “New Haddenfield High with their project: Recode and Recycle.” The word recycle bounces around in my head, and I think about George’s animated Karma Can.