Please, Emma, just look at the changes I made. Log-in is EmmaW. And password is your favorite pizza toppings, CamelCase. Please, just try it.
I don’t see the point, but George seems like he’s not going to leave it alone until I agree. Fine. But will you come to the dance so I can apologize and we can talk?
He sends me a thumbs-up, and I click on the update and settle into my seat in front of the trophy case, waiting for the newest version of the app to upload with the very bad cell signal we get at school.
Finally, it does, and I open it and log in as George told me, my name and “mushroomsAndOlives” for the password. The first screen is the same, with George’s two yellow hearts, holding on to the words The Code for Love in between them. If I want to get to the next screen, to see whatever changes he’s made, I’m going to have to click to take the survey. Which I haven’t done yet myself, and definitely don’t want to do now. But George really wants me to see his changes, and somehow I feel like I’ve messed up so badly I owe him at least this much. So I sigh and click on the survey.
Instead of the survey, though, something entirely different pops up: an animated version of a guy with messy blond hair and glasses, wearing the same gray Converse George always wears. Is this supposed to be George?
Animated George walks across my phone screen and holds up a sign that says: Emma, click for the real code for love. Wait...what is this? Did George put in an Easter egg for my account?
I touch the sign with my fingertip, and animated George walks to the next screen.
When you can’t stop staring at the way she chews on her pencil in calc...
An animation of a girl with blond hair and a navy blue sweatshirt, chewing on her pencil, comes on my screen. I chew on my pencil like that when I’m thinking. Wait, is that my Wednesday sweatshirt? Is this supposed to be me?
I tap the screen, and on the next one, it says, The way her eyes light up when she solves an equation.
It goes on, screen after screen...
The way her voice sounds when she says your name, and it makes you feel like you’re someone special.
The way whenever you’re with her, you feel happier than you ever do.
And when you’re not...you miss her the second she’s gone.
The way she smiles when she beats you at Ping-Pong, and you want her to beat you again just to see her smile. An animated Ping-Pong ball goes back and forth across the screen, and I feel warm just thinking about playing with George.
I’m smiling as I click on the Ping-Pong ball, and on the next screen, animated George and animated me are dancing together. I remember the way I felt, dancing with him for real in the fall, the way I leaned into him, and he smelled and felt and sounded just right and comfortable, and how for a few seconds we held on to one another and everything felt perfect.
What if you just feel something for someone...deep in your gut, that’s different than the way you’ve ever felt about anyone else? George said once. Is this what he meant?
“Emma.” I hear George’s voice, and I think it’s coming from the app. Until he says it again, louder. “Emma!”
I look up, and he’s running down the hallway, breathing hard. He’s not dressed for the dance—he’s wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and his Converse—like he hadn’t planned on coming at all until I texted him. “Did you see the app?” he says, breathless.
I turn off the screen of my phone and put it back in Izzy’s clutch. Then I stand and walk toward him, only stopping when I’m right in front of him, when we are standing face-to-face, eyes to eyes. George touches my arm, my body warms, and all the stress and worry of the past few days falls away. “I saw it,” I say.
“Did you like it?” he whispers, still breathless, or maybe terrified of what I’ll say next.
“I loved it,” I say quickly. “I mean...I don’t know about the accuracy of your algorithm in this version, but that was some pretty impressive animation.”
“Yeah?” He smiles, his whole face relaxing, and he’s the George I met in sixth grade again, challenging me to an equation during math Olympiad, the George driving my car too fast to the hospital, promising me that Dad was going to be fine. The George ordering me mushroom and olive pizza in his kitchen and teasing me about how gross it is. The George lobbing a Ping-Pong ball across the table at me, trying so hard to get me to miss. “What was your favorite part?” he asks now.
I put my arms gently around his neck. “I liked when you had them dance, at the end.”
He wraps his arms around my waist, and the music is close enough that we can hear it but far enough away that we can hear each other breathing, too. And we sway back and forth for a few minutes, saying nothing. Inside the gym, the slow song stops, and something fast comes on. But neither one of us move apart. Instead, we just stand there, still slow-dancing, still holding on to one another.
I put my head on George’s chest and listen to the sound of his heart beating against my ear. And I think about what everyone said: Dad fell in love with Mom’s eyes. Izzy likes that John makes her laugh. Mrs. Bates says there’s no way to quantify passion. And Izzy says she can see how George feels about me, just by the way he looks at me.
I like George because he understands me, because we understand each other. Because he’s smart and so easy to talk to, and because when I’m upset he makes me feel better. Being with him, I’m comfortable and happy and safe. And maybe there is no math, no numbers, that can predict any of that, or especially not the way I am feeling right now, right in this very moment, leaning into his heartbeat in my ear.
“I wanted to tell you how I felt for so long, but I just didn’t have the words, Emma,” George says into my hair.
I move in closer to him, hold on tighter. “Who needs words when you have code?” I finally say.
“And this.” George wraps his arms tighter around me, and I think what he means is what he feels, what we both feel. There are no words, no math, no code. Just the two of us, here, together. Maybe this is what Izzy meant when she told me, If you feel something...just let yourself feel.
George puts his hand on my chin, and tilts my face toward his gently. We stare at each other, and I know he’s about to kiss me. For the first time in my life, I am certain I want to kiss someone, and I’m certain he wants to kiss me back. I really want to kiss him. I want to know what George’s lips feel like on mine and how he tastes. I want us to breathe together, for a moment.
And then I don’t want to wait for him to do it, either.
I stand up on my toes, lean in just an inch closer to him and I kiss him first. The music and the sounds of the gym and all the other couples we matched with our code all fade away.
There is just me and George.
Kissing him is better than beating him at Ping-Pong or at math, and I already know, when Izzy asks me later, I won’t be able to explain why. Except that I am warm and light. Really, really happy. Whatever is happening now is completely unquantifiable. It is passion and music. And there are no words, no numbers, to describe it.