Crow Flight

by Susan Cunningham

  “You came over here?” Felix’s voice rose, suddenly strained.

  “Yeah, about a month ago.”

  “He never told me. The jerk.” Felix breathed out, loud, as though trying to calm himself. “I mean, it’s one thing to mess up my life, but to do this to you? He’s crazy. Completely, totally crazy.”

  Maybe Felix really had wanted to see her.

  “I’m sorry, Gin. That’s really, really awful. But, you know, I think you should do the crow model anyway.”

  Gin’s skin prickled, and her breath quickened. It was exactly what she wanted—to continue with the crow model and end up with an incredible final project. But she knew it was exactly what she couldn’t do. “He was pretty clear that I couldn’t. Proprietary data and all. I—we—could get in big trouble. And I don’t want to make him mad. I mean with Harvard and you . . .”

  “I hate him,” Felix said. “He makes everything impossible.” There was another long break, and Gin waited, eyes closed, trying to make sense of everything.

  Finally, Felix spoke, his voice more rational this time. “Here’s the thing about my dad. He gets all upset about stupid things. I get that he doesn’t want the data out there in the world. But it’s only numbers on crows hanging out. You can’t build some big AI program by watching crows—you have to know AI. This is a high school project. And even if something crazy happened, like we published a paper, we wouldn’t have to make all the data public. Anyway, he’d never need to know. It’s for school. How would he even find out?”

  A pit swirled in Gin’s stomach. It wasn’t right, she knew that. But Felix made it sound so . . . easy. “I don’t know.”

  “I could still help you. We need to find some way to share files. Give me a few days to figure it out. Look, my dad has taken pretty much everything away from me. I don’t want him to take this, too.”

  Gin closed her eyes, picturing Felix. His eyebrows knit up in concern, his mouth set straight with determination. She tried to consider his proposal logically, but all she could think of was the fact that if he helped, he’d have to stay in touch. And that felt impossible to turn down.

  “I’ll think about it.” Maybe Felix was right—maybe Grant Gartner had overreacted to the whole thing. “I’d like to. And I guess I could always work on both. The traffic model and the crow model.”

  “You need to do the crow model. It’s going to be good. Exactly the sort of thing you should have on your resume, that will let you accomplish all of those awesome goals. Unless of course, all you want is an orange soda. That would change everything.”

  She closed her eyes, wishing he were there.

  “Look, I have to go, but I’ll be in touch. One way or another, I promise. It might take a few days. So keep working on the model. And I miss you. Okay?”

  “I miss you, too.”

  He hung up, but she kept the phone to her ear for a second, listening to the silence, as though to capture those last few soundwaves coming through the phone line. And she opened up the files for the crow model and started to work.

  At her internship Friday, Gin felt lighter. Her stomach churned with worry about Felix—after all, he was still officially cut off from the regular world—but it felt easier to accept now that she’d talked with him. She’d heard his voice and he had said that he was, all things considered, okay.

  The office was quiet as the full-timers had left for the day. Streetlights popped on, their light dull in the early evening, while scattered windows across the street glowed.

  Lucas rolled his chair to the side of her desk to ask for help with an equation, but before he rolled back, he paused.

  “So I was wondering about that dating model you were writing. Any chance it’s ready for testing?”

  “Love Fractal?”

  “Yeah, Love Fractal. Just the other night, I was talking with my friend Allen, and he was going on and on about how he knew there was a girl out there who would like to date him, but he didn’t know how to meet her. And I mentioned that you had this model, and that it might need to be tested, and . . .”

  He paused, waiting for Gin’s reply. She knew Love Fractal wasn’t completely ready. But maybe nothing was ever completely ready. That was the point of testing. And talking to Felix and considering the possibility of working on the crow model made her feel gutsy. Plus, if it did take Felix some time to call again, another distraction wouldn’t hurt.

  “Sure. I think that would work.”

  Lucas clapped his hands together. “That’d be awesome. The guys will be so excited.”

  “You think they’ll want to try it?”

  “Absolutely, they’d be happy to do it. You know gamers, they love testing out programs. And these guys could definitely use a date. Or at least the hope of a date. Or the hope that there might be the hope of a getting a date.” He stopped. “You know what I mean, right?”

  Lucas’s excitement was catching. Maybe this was exactly what she needed. “I do. You think Sunday is too soon?” If she waited a whole week, she might change her mind.

  Lucas cracked his knuckles and turned back to his computer. “No way. That works. I know the perfect place.”

  Within minutes, Lucas had posted to three local gamer sites, inviting high schoolers to test a prototype of a scientifically based meet-up service.

  Once it was published, Gin pushed any second thoughts out of her mind. “You think anyone will show up? It is last minute.”

  “These groups are so big, last minute doesn’t matter. Someone’s bound to come. It might only be a few people—”

  “Which would be perfect.” She felt more settled. A few test runs might not be so bad after all. “All I need to start the verification process is a handful of data points. Thanks.”

  “Anytime. We gamers are always ready to help each other out. Just let us know, and we’re there.”

  There was still no word from Felix by Saturday. But Gin ignored her building worry by focusing on Love Fractal. She made a few changes to the model, even tried to add in a few “soul bits.” She wrote a waiver for each participant to sign, saying that they knew results weren’t guaranteed, that they wouldn’t pursue matches who weren’t interested, and that they agreed not to hold her accountable if anything went wrong. The information in the database was all public information—the sort of stuff businesses might use to figure out who would want to buy anything from Gatorade to Gucci bags—so a simple waiver should be enough to cover her.

  Lucas would be there to help check people in and explain the test, so Gin could oversee the testing process. With a half-dozen test subjects, they’d be done in less than an hour. It’d be simple.

  When she arrived at the coffee shop on Sunday afternoon, there was a line of people out the door and down the block. She shook her head—leave it to Lucas to choose a popular meeting spot.

  She pushed her way inside and spotted Lucas at a table in the corner. As soon as he saw her, he ran up.

  “Can you believe it?” he asked.

  “Believe what? That we picked a super busy time at a super busy place?” She couldn’t help sounding annoyed.

  “No, it’s just this afternoon.” He was talking too fast.

  “Then I guess we chose a good time.”

  “You’re not getting it.” Lucas turned Gin around, so she was looking at the line of people. “All of these people are here for you. To try out Love Fractal.”

  The people in line were mostly male, probably ages fifteen to eighteen. A disproportionate number wore black t-shirts with obscure logos and had shaggy hair and pale skin. Gamers.

  “Wait. All of these people are here for the test?” Gin’s mouth was suddenly dry.

  “They sure are.” Lucas leaned forward and back, almost bouncing in his shoes. “I told you that gamers like to support research. Or maybe they all really need a date.”

  Gin felt the blood run out of her face. It was way too many people. Love Fractal wasn’t ready for this, not even
close.

  “Lucas, I—”

  “Need some help? I know.” He was checking power connections on three laptops set up on a series of pushed-together tables. “But with these extra laptops, I figured we could have several people going at once. Keep the line moving.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “Don’t worry about anything. If it takes too long, they’ll leave. And if you get enough data in the first hour, we’ll say the test period is over. This is your thing—you can make it whatever you want.”

  Lucas made it sound manageable. And maybe it was. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do. And a bigger data set never hurt anything.

  “Okay.” She kept her focus on the laptops, not on the huge line of people. “Let’s start. You’re okay doing the check-ins?”

  “Definitely. And my friends can help.” He pointed to the line, and two guys near the front waved. “You sure you don’t want to charge anything? You could make some money.”

  Gin shook her head. “Definitely not. This is still the prototype phase. The results they get could be terrible. And be sure you let them know that none of this is guaranteed.”

  “Got it.” Lucas gave two thumbs up. “Nothing guaranteed.”

  Gin took another deep breath and glanced down the line. There were dozens of guys, all hoping that her program would show them their ideal date. All of them could be disappointed. But maybe the hope of finding someone was enough.

  After hundreds of cups of coffee and a sunset that had mellowed into a steely sky, the last test subject finished. It was black outside, and Gin stood near the window, almost pressing her face against the glass as she looked for any stragglers.

  A total of 224 subjects had taken the test—212 guys and twelve girls. It was astounding. Actual research projects often got fewer participants.

  All of the participants were gamers, which meant the data would be skewed, but at least it would be representative of a particular population. It could be a goldmine. She’d have regular check-ins with willing participants—a week later, a month later, six months later—which meant the data would keep coming in.

  She shut down two of the laptops but kept the third open to review the data. Each test subject had been matched with three potential dates from the pool of high schoolers. The test subjects didn’t receive any names or email addresses—first, Gin would contact each match to see if they wanted to participate, giving them a photo and profile on the person they had matched with to help them decide.

  Even if no one wanted to participate, Gin would still have scores of data to use. Already she could see how the test subjects had judged the photos. There were some images that were generally pleasing, but other than that, there was a range of looks that people liked. This would be fascinating.

  Lucas sat down and pushed a latte and bagel towards her. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  “Yum. Thanks.” Her stomach growled as she took a huge bite of the warm bagel, which was spread thick with cream cheese. “And thanks again for all of your help. I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

  Lucas blushed. “I was happy to do it. So what do the numbers show?” He leaned over her laptop.

  “It’s hard to say now. But you can see here how everybody rated the different images. Interesting how varied it is, right? And I have a great pool of answers to the questions. It’s going to be amazing.”

  “If you wanted, you could tweak your program to cater to gamers. They’re obviously interested in this stuff.”

  “Not a bad idea.” Gin stared at the data, rows and rows of it. Then she looked at Lucas. “Wait, did you ever take the test?”

  He fidgeted with an empty coffee cup. “No, but maybe I will.” He looked down at the table, almost like he was nervous. “It’s just that . . . I might already know what I want the result to be.”

  He looked up at her and she saw it in his eyes—hope. Her stomach fell. This was not at all what she had planned. And now that she wasn’t even talking to Hannah, the last thing she wanted was to lose the one friend she did have.

  “Because,” he continued, gaining confidence, “I’d want it to be—”

  “Well, the offer is always there.” She closed her laptop and stood. “You can take the test anytime. I know there’s a great girl out there for you.” She glanced at her phone, and hastily packed her bags. “I’ve got to get going, my parents will be worried. But thanks again for all of your help.”

  Before Lucas could say anything else, she left.

  This test works. Really works. I’m seeing this girl who actually likes me. We click. Five stars for Love Fractal.

  You should sell this stuff—it’s legit.

  Like Corky says when he passes level 500 of Thronesville: This is for real. Nice work. Ellie and I both thank you.

  Two weeks out, the feedback was coming in constantly. Email after email, even a few calls. There were several unhappy users, but for the most part, people liked Love Fractal.

  It should make Gin overjoyed, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that it had been two weeks since she last heard from Felix, two weeks without a text or an email or a call. She kept her phone on her all the time, the volume turned up even while she slept. She studied images of the Gartner estate on Google Earth, read articles about Odin and Grant Gartner, and even trolled through Felix’s social media pages, looking for any activity, any clue as to what was actually going on.

  There was nothing.

  So, in an effort to keep herself from going completely insane, she dove further into her work. She coded her traffic model, line by line, making it as robust of a model as any she’d ever built. She worked on the crow model, too, tweaking the rules and running scenario after scenario, even though there was a good chance she’d never even show it to Ms. Sandlin. And she spent days and nights analyzing the Love Fractal data, until she was deep in the world of numbers, all of which were aligning to predict one thing—love.

  Even if Love Fractal never found her a match, at least she was proving what she always knew to be true: that love and logic did go hand in hand.

  // Thirty-Five

  It was late on a Wednesday night. Gin was sitting on her bed, finishing a write-up for an AP Chemistry lab, when she heard the tap at her window.

  She jumped, heart racing. But then she smiled, the anticipation rising in her chest.

  It had to be one of Felix’s crows.

  She walked to the window, collecting herself, and slowly opened the shade. And there, perched on the windowsill, her feathers catching a bit of shine from the streetlights, was Catherine.

  Gin took a quick breath, her hand fluttering to her chest. “Oh,” she said, careful to keep her voice to a whisper.

  Gin pushed the window open, and Catherine ruffled her feathers. Gin crouched down, moving slowly so she wouldn’t startle her. “Hello there,” she whispered.

  She panicked for a second—surely Grant Gartner would notice that Felix had sent Catherine to her house, and surely that would be grounds for getting Felix in even bigger trouble—then she saw that the slim metal tracking band that should have been around Catherine’s leg was missing.

  Catherine cocked her head to the side, as though to get a better look at Gin, and dropped a small paper triangle down on the windowsill.

  Gin reached out, slowly, and the bird hopped to one side.

  Taking a deep breath, Gin opened the paper to find Felix’s small, block print.

  Sorry it took me so long. I’m in the technology dark ages here. Dad says it’s “good for me.” But I’ve found a work-around. You can message me at the website below. And attach the latest model—I’d still love to help if you haven’t finished the whole thing yet. I miss you, Gin. Still hoping we can talk soon. Felix

  She ran her finger over the words, imagining him scratching them out in pencil, letting her finger pause on the part about how he missed her.

  She copied down the web address, and on the other sid
e of Felix’s note, she wrote him back.

  I’ll send something over right now. Are you okay? I think you are, but let me know. I’m still worried. This is all just . . . different. I could tell someone—Ms. Sandlin maybe?—if you need anything. As for the model—I’ve made progress, but there’s more work to do. I’d love your help. And I miss you, too. Lots. Gin

  She folded the note back up into its tight triangle and dropped it on the windowsill. Catherine hopped closer. Then in one fast motion, she dipped her beak down to collect the note and took off.

  Her dark shape nearly disappeared in the night, but Gin could see her, beating her wings toward Felix. And for a moment, all Gin wanted was to be that bird.

  If she could see Felix, it’d go a long way to calming her nerves. Then she’d know—really know—that he was okay.

  She sat at her computer and went straight to the URL. She messaged that she missed him, asked him to let her know if anything was wrong, and explained what she had done with the crow model so far. She attached the latest version and waited.

  She did a quick calculation on how long it would take for Catherine to get back to Felix and figured thirty minutes was a good guess. But there was no guarantee he’d be able to get online right away.

  She refreshed the URL a few times, just in case, and googled things like “controlling fathers” and “children grounded for a month.” Nothing was helpful, so she busied herself with some mindless homework. An hour later, with still no response, she turned on a movie. And when that was over, she started to read.

  She fell asleep at some point, waking at four in the morning, her bedroom lights still on. She stumbled to her computer and refreshed the URL one more time. There was a short message.

  Got it. This will be fun to work on with you. Though anything would be fun to work on with you. And yes, I’m 100 percent okay. I promise. No need to call social services. It’s just my dad being himself. I’m sending a photo for proof.