Brie shows Maggs the phone, and her eyes widen. “Oh, my.”
Oh, my. That can’t be good. I grab for the phone, but Brie pulls it away. “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”
I hold out my hand. “Give it. Now.” My heart is racing, and I fear I might puke up my smoothie. Whose name is on that screen?
Maggs snatches the phone and sets it face down on the table. “Forget it. Libby screwed up.”
I glare at them both. Maggs has always been skeptical of my whispering model, but I know better. Libby doesn’t screw up. I reach over and wrest the phone from her grip.
Darius Groves. Certainty: 97% – A Near Perfect Match!
No.
Wait. Make that NOOOOOOO. Capital N, capital OOOOOOO.
Darius Groves is not Ty. In fact, Darius Groves is the anti-Ty.
“This can’t be. It’s not possible.” I shake my head.
Maggs and Brie eye me warily.
“Are you okay?” Maggs asks.
I hold up Brie’s phone and glare. “I’m awesome. Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve just been matched with a criminal.”
Brie rolls her eyes. “He’s not a criminal.”
“Practically a criminal. A deadbeat, for sure.”
“Come on. You barely know him. He might be a nice guy.”
“Right. Because nice guys get expelled from school all the time.”
Darius transferred to Grand View at the beginning of this year. Rumor has it he was kicked out of his old school for fighting. He’s not stupid—he’s in my advanced English lit and calculus classes—but he sits in the back row and zones out and occasionally makes stupid cracks that send all the cretins in the room into hysterics and land him in detention.
“You know, looks-wise, he’s kind of cute,” Maggs says.
“Don’t even.”
“No, I mean it. You should see him in his gym shorts.” She nudges Brie. “He’s ripped.”
“Ah, yes, gym.” I lean forward. “Aren’t you the one who told me he pulled a guy’s shorts down on the track a couple of weeks ago? Who does that?”
“Oh, please.” Maggs offers a nervous smile. “It was no big deal. He was messing around. I don’t think he actually meant to—”
“Hey, Alicea.”
We all startle at the sound of Ty’s voice.
I slap Brie’s phone face down onto the table and press my hand firmly on top of it as though it might flip itself over. “Hi, Ty.” My voice comes out as a squeak.
Becca lingers beside him, a possessive pinkie curled around a belt loop in his shorts.
“You must have just come from dance,” he says, taking in our leotards. “How’s that going?”
“Good. It’s … super fun.” Brilliant, Alicea.
“Alicea is leading the corps in the dance we’re learning,” Brie says.
“Yes. She’s fantastic. So graceful.” Maggs smiles sweetly.
“That’s cool. Maybe I’ll check out your next recital.” With that, Ty circles an arm around Becca’s waist, says goodbye, and ambles out the door. The familiar scent of his cologne lingers behind, and I catch my breath. How was I not matched with him?
I offer Maggs and Brie a smile. “Thanks for bragging on me, you guys. I appreciate it.”
Brie shrugs. “It’s what friends do.”
“I meant every word,” Maggs adds.
“So what do you think about that?”
Brie squints. “About what?”
“The fact that he made a point to say hi. And invited himself to our next recital.”
“Well … ” Maggs hesitates. “I think he was being … nice.”
“Yes, nice. He was being nice. Don’t turn it into something it’s not.”
I stick out my tongue. “It’s not as though I think we’re going to get back together again tomorrow, but you have to admit, it’s a step. After all, he didn’t have to say he’d come to the recital. He volunteered that.”
“He said ‘maybe.’” Brie points out. “And by ‘maybe,’ he meant ‘probably not.’”
Maggs jabs Brie with her elbow. “Actually, I hope he does show up so he can see what he’s missing. Because you, Alicea Springer, are a much better catch than Becca Marsh.”
I smile, though I know Maggs is just being kind. Becca is model-thin, flirty, and can pull off wearing stilettos at the Juice Joint, while I am … none of that. I close my eyes and conjure up Lexi Malloy’s email. Beautiful and brilliant. That’s easier to believe some days than others. Some days I feel as though Ty and I belong together forever, while others, I barely feel as though I’m good enough for—
“Ack. I gotta roll.”
I slide Brie’s phone across the table to her, jump up, and rush toward the exit. I need to get home to my computer and delete my survey before Darius logs on and finds out we’ve been matched.
That is, if it’s not already too late.
Ms. Arken hands me a stack of calc problems. “Pop quiz. Pass these down your row.”
A chorus of groans rises up as I take one and twist to hand the rest to the girl behind me. As I turn back around, my eyes meet Darius’s. I glance away, probably too quickly. Was he staring?
I swear Darius smiled at me as I walked into class today. In the short time since he started at Grand View, I have rarely seen him smile. He must know. And of course, he knows I know. This is a disaster. My breathing grows shallow, and the problems on the sheet in front of me blur into a mass of incoherent numbers and symbols. A bead of sweat forms at the nape of my neck and trickles down my back.
“Darius, is there a problem?” Ms. Arken’s voice interrupts my mini-meltdown.
I risk a glance back to find Darius slumped at his desk, the only person not tackling his quiz.
“Dropped my pencil,” he says, pointing in my direction.
I look down to find that, sure enough, his pencil is beside my desk. Ms. Arken levels a skeptical stare at him, and then at me. My cheeks burn. No way did a dropped pencil travel the length of six desks and three rows. He had to have rolled it here on purpose.
I reach down, pick it up, and hold it out, but Darius makes no move to come get it. His mouth twists into a half-smile, and he folds his arms across his chest. I have the urge to throw the pencil at his head, but instead, I hand it to the girl behind me. “Can you pass this back?”
I try to return my attention to my quiz, but my brain is jumbled, and when Ms. Arken calls time, I still have three questions unanswered. Ugh. As everyone passes their papers back up the row, I feel a tap on my arm.
“Psst. Alicea. I need to talk to you.” Aiden Jackson leans across the aisle toward me, a pleading expression in his eyes. “Think we can meet up for a few minutes after school?”
I frown. I barely know Aiden. He’s on Ty’s soccer team, but we’ve never hung out. “Meet up about what?”
He glances around to make sure no one else is listening. “My match. I need your help.”
“Sorry.” I shake my head. “Not happening.”
“Please?” He sits up straight as Ms. Arken passes by. When the coast is clear, he leans over again. “You’re the Boyfriend Whisperer. You have to help me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t. That’s not how whispering works anymore.”
“What do you mean that’s not how it works? What did I pay you for?”
I glare. “You paid to take the survey and find your match. After that, you’re on your own. I stay out of it.”
“But—”
Ms. Arken clears her throat and throws Aiden a death-stare, shutting him down. Thank goodness. I steal another glance back at Darius. I have enough problems dealing with my own supposed match. The last thing I need is to get tangled up in someone else’s.
Maggs, Brie, and I have lunch together on B Days. So does Ty. I love B days. Or did. Turns out Becca is also in our lunch period. I’d never noticed before, but now that she’s clinging to Ty like ivy to the towers of Princeton, it’s impossible not to. I clutch my tray of chicken nuggets
and march past them.
“He knows,” I announce as I set down my tray and slide into my seat.
“Who knows?” Maggs asks.
“Knows what?” Brie adds.
“Darius Groves. He knows.”
“What?” Brie’s eyes widen. “Why do you say that? Did you mention something to him?”
“Of course not, but I can tell.” I share the saga of the “dropped” pencil. “Plus, he keeps staring. And smiling. And possibly winking.” I note their skeptical expressions. “I’m serious. I think he winked at me as we walked out of calc.”
“I don’t know about the winking,” Maggs says, “but the staring I can believe. Because, look at you, girl. Is that a new eye shadow?”
I smile. I did wear a new shade today, a smoky gray that brings out the blue in my eyes. Ty always said he loved the color of my eyes, and I was planning to talk to him this afternoon about next week’s recital. I even brought a flyer to give him, if only he weren’t so … wrapped up.
I lean in toward Maggs and Brie and lower my voice. “The sooner I can get back together with Ty, the sooner my Darius Groves problem disappears. That’s my priority.”
Brie groans.
I turn to her. “I know Ty’s not your favorite, but—”
“It’s not just that.”
I purse my lips. “Then what?”
She pauses, as though choosing her words carefully. “You’re always saying Ty is so perfect, and maybe he is, but that doesn’t mean he’s perfect for you. And then Libby finds your match, using an algorithm you created, and you call him a ‘problem.’ I don’t get it.”
“Brie.” Maggs’s tone is soft.
“I’m just saying that maybe you should reconsider. Besides, have you noticed the full-court PDA happening over at Ty’s table?” Brie points her carrot stick at me. “You’re the one who insists Libby never makes mistakes.”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. I grab my tray. “You know what? I’m not hungry. I think I’ll go to the library and do some studying.”
“Alicea.” Maggs gives me her puppy-dog eyes. “Don’t be like that. You know Brie is trying to—”
“I know. I’m not being like anything. I just need to brush up on my French vocab.” I hurry away, dumping my nuggets in the trash on my way out the door. As soon as I hit the hallway, I take off and run toward the nearest girls’ restroom, where I proceed to wipe off every trace of my stupid smoky-gray eye shadow.
I’m mad at Brie for thinking I don’t deserve Ty and belong with someone like Darius. I’m mad at Maggs for taking Brie’s side. I’m mad at Becca for hanging all over Ty, and I’m mad at Ty for letting her. But most of all, I’m mad at Libby. How could my own program betray me like this?
Later that afternoon, Aiden grabs my arm as I’m about to board my bus. “Five minutes. Please?’
I pull away. It’s chilly, and I’m wearing a too-light sweater. I can feel the heat emanating from the bus door, and I want nothing more than to get on, sit down, and bury my head in a game on my phone. “I told you. I can’t help you.”
“But—”
“But nothing.” The dejection on Aiden’s face makes me feel bad. Almost. “Who is it, anyway? Your match?”
“I’m not telling you. Not if you’re not going to help me.”
I refrain from reminding him that if I truly cared, I could go home and look it up in my database. I sigh. “Aiden, this person is your match. Libby says so, and Libby is never … I mean, she’s … ” I turn away. “You have nothing to worry about. Go for it. It’s meant to be.”
I hurry onto the bus and slip into my usual seat in the third row on the right side. I used to believe it when I told people their match was meant to be. Now, I’m not so sure.
Ms. DuBois resembles a tiny, furious bull as her foot stomp-stomp-stomps against the dance floor. She has a right to be angry. This rehearsal has been a disaster, mostly because of me. I’ve screwed up half a dozen times in the first twenty minutes.
I take a deep breath, assume second position, and prepare to perform our demi-demi-grand plié combination. I step into an en pointe and twirl to the left and … slam into Hannah.
“Hey!” She tumbles backward into Jalika, who falls into Maggs in a mini human-domino display. “What the heck?” Hannah rubs her shoulder.
“Ladies, ladies. Enough.” Ms. DuBois glares at me, and I can practically see the steam curling from her nostrils. “Alicea, what is the problem? It is as though your head is in the clouds while your feet are stuck in cement.”
My face burns, but I say nothing. It’s a fair critique.
“Into my office.” Ms. DuBois points and instructs the other girls to run through the combination on their own.
I scurry in and park myself on a bench against the wall, eyes on my feet, braced for the lightning storm to come. Ms. DuBois rarely gets angry, but when she does, it’s scorched earth.
“Life Saver?”
I peer up to find her holding out a roll of the fruit candies, her eyes showing no hint of the rage that flashed moments ago. I take one and pop it into my mouth, uncertain whether to trust this sweet gesture. “Thank you.”
She takes a seat behind her desk and regards me for a long minute over her glasses. “I’ve seen significant improvement in your technique over the past few months. As well as your positioning.”
“Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”
“I know, and that is why I chose you to lead the corps for this dance. But today … you are not yourself. What is the problem?”
“Nothing. It’s … I’ve been distracted. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“What is distracting you?”
I shrug. “Personal stuff.” No way am I telling Ms. DuBois about Ty and Becca and Darius, no matter how gentle her tone or how many Life Savers she plies me with.
She sighs. “We all have personal stuff, Alicea. We need to—”
“I know. Put it aside. I will, I promise.”
“That is not what I was going to say.” She stands and comes around the desk toward me. “Dance requires us to give of our whole selves, and that ‘personal stuff’ is part of who we are. Do you understand?”
I nod, though I have no idea what she’s talking about. We just saw what happens when I bring my baggage to the dance floor, and it’s not pretty.
“You need to let it in. All of it. Make space for the personal stuff, and let it work for you.”
I nod again and add a small smile for good measure.
She sighs and claps her hands. “Chin up. You turned the wrong way, but your technique was perfect. Until you collided with Hannah.”
That elicits a real smile. Ms. DuBois rarely jokes. It’s always good to see her sense of humor. I stand to go. “Thanks. And I’ll think about what you said.”
She reaches up to brush a stray tendril of hair from my face. “Trust yourself more, Alicea. Not only your mind, but your instincts, your gut, and your heart. Trust, and make them work for you.”
As we emerge from her office, twelve sets of eyes turn to stare. Maggs mouths, You okay?
I nod as I take my spot in the center of the line. I am okay. In fact, I’m more than okay. Ms. DuBois is right. I need to trust my heart and my mind and make them work for me.
My heart is telling me I should be with Ty and should do whatever it takes to get him back.
And my mind just realized how I can make that happen.
I close my eyes and hit PRINT. My stomach rolls in rhythm with the laser jet. I swore I’d never do this, but then again, I never dreamed I’d be matched with Darius Groves while watching Ty fall for Becca. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
When I first launched Libby, I sent her to some of the most popular kids in class for free. I figured that would bring in clients who hoped to get matched with them. I hated to include Ty, but since I’d sent the survey to most of his teammates, I kind of had to. I worried he’d find a match with someone other than me, but to my re
lief, he hasn’t. His highest match to date is sixty-two percent, and it’s with Brie, who doesn’t like him, already has a boyfriend, and would never even have taken the survey if I hadn’t asked her to beta-test the mobile version for me.
One thing I promised my clients was that I would never read their responses. In fact, their answers were encrypted so that I couldn’t. But today in dance class, with Ms. DuBois urging me to use my heart and my mind, it occurred to me that since I wrote the code, I could also rewrite it.
“Yo, Geekazoid.”
My brother’s voice startles me. I jump up and grab the pages off the printer.
His eyebrows shoot up. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.” I sit down and flip them over in my lap.
Andrew thinks Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises is silly. Of course, he’s making nine dollars an hour mopping floors at Italiano’s to put himself through college while my job at this point mostly entails logging into my account to see how much money has been deposited. And it’s usually a nice sum.
He steps toward me, still eyeing the sheets in my lap. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing. Go away. And maybe try knocking next time?”
“Fine.” Andrew grins, backtracks, and knocks on my already opened door. “Yo, Geekazoid. Mom just called. She and Dad have a meeting tonight at the gallery, so we’re on our own for dinner.” He rests his hand on the doorknob but makes no move to leave.
“And?”
“And … there’s some leftover chicken in the fridge, but I thought maybe we could order a pizza.”
“Sure. Whatever.” Now leave me alone.
“The thing is … ”
I roll my eyes. I know exactly what the thing is. “Seriously?”
“It’s not that much. Italiano’s is having a half-price special.”
“Then why can’t you afford it?” I reach over, open my desk drawer, and grab a ten. “I know, I know. Poor college student.” I hand him the money. “Here. Anything but anchovies.”
Andrew smiles, grabs the bill, and heads out with a mumbled, “Thank you.”
The Boyfriend Whisperer 2.0 Page 2
