Felix had included a selfie. Raised eyebrows, goofy smile, as cute as she remembered, if not cuter. It looked like he was in his room. Most importantly, he seemed entirely okay. Happy, tan, strong. Like Felix.
Maybe there was nothing to worry about. She breathed out, long. And she wrote back: Thanks for the proof. It’s good to see you. I miss you. I agree—this will be fun. Though it’d be even better in person.
She took her own selfie—not her best picture, as it was four in the morning, after all. But she did pull off a slightly sad yet cute expression. Like she was pining for him.
With a click, her message and photo flew back to him. She only wished that she could do the same.
// Thirty-Six
Green grass was pushing up through the muddy March earth and flowers popped in pinks, whites, and yellows. Maybe that’s how everything was with Felix. Like spring.
Except for the fact that he was still virtually missing. Gin asked him every chance she got whether he was still okay, and he always said he was. And she figured the fact that he was still writing to her was a good sign.
They wrote back and forth on his secure site at least twice a day. Felix described his new tutor, who was following his dad’s “Platonic” study program that required lots of old books and virtually no time with technology. Gin wrote him about school and her models and her cat. It didn’t feel like they were dating—they hadn’t even been in the same room for months—but it felt like something. Which was better than nothing. When it came to Felix, she’d take whatever she could get.
The crow model was coming along extraordinarily well. Each time Gin looked at it, she felt a squeeze in her heart, like she knew it was going to be big—even if no one else ever saw it. And working with Felix was almost too easy. Like a choreographed dance. Every time Gin puzzled through the results of one scenario, Felix would figure it out. Then he’d run more scenarios and try more logic, until he ran out of ideas, and Gin would take over.
Gin was deep into the data now, and she kept expecting to stumble on an odd pattern, something that would explain all of it: the crows, Mr. Gartner’s reaction to their project, Felix’s virtual disappearance. But the only pattern she could find was the same one she already had seen—that in training, the crows would stop at different locations, staying up to an hour or two at a time.
The crows had to be doing something. If eagles could be trained to take down drones, and rats could be used to sniff out land mines, it wasn’t farfetched to assume the crows had a purpose. But she still didn’t know what.
The spy theory seemed unlikely now that she knew the crows were stopping all over the city. Maybe the training was research for the AI program. Or maybe the crows just liked certain areas and hung out at those for longer periods of time.
But she had more to worry about than an unlikely crow conspiracy. There were plenty of things that she did know—such as the fact that Love Fractal data was still coming in. So far, thirty-one users said the results had given them the courage to ask someone out, eighteen said that they had been pleased with their first dates, and 112 said they would recommend the program to a friend.
Even more exciting, word of Love Fractal was spreading. Gin hadn’t done any advertising, but already, a few high schoolers had found her and asked if they could give it a try. Several offered to pay. She couldn’t help mentally running the math: if 10 percent of the high schoolers in Fairfax County schools alone each paid twenty dollars, she could fund her college education, or at least cover tuition at Harvard if she got in.
One night, after she had posted an updated version of the crow model, her phone lit up—Lucas. She started to let it go to voicemail—she hadn’t talked with him much after that day at the coffee shop, and they’d danced around each other at work—but if she didn’t answer, she’d just have to call him back.
“Hello?”
“Gin, I’m glad you picked up.” Instead of sounding awkward or shy, Lucas was excited. “I know no one actually uses phones. But I knew you were gonna want to hear this. And this way, I can hear your reaction, which I’m sure is going to be good. You know?”
“Sure, Lucas.” His enthusiasm made her smile. “So what’s the news? Did they finally bring peanut butter M&M’s to the snack table?”
“It’s better than that. Exponentially. Literally exponentially.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. So, Love Fractal has gotten popular. Like anything in social networking when it starts to take off. It turns into this crazy curve you can’t get off even if you wanted to.”
“That’s nice to say, but how do you know? It’s not like it’s been written up in magazines or anything.” She walked over to her window and opened it wide. The evening air was heavy and damp and smelled like lilacs.
“I know because there’s this huge hacker convention in DC this summer. People come from all over the country. The guys in charge heard about your model and liked what they heard. So they want you to come and present it.”
She put a hand on her desk. “Wait, what?”
“And it pays. A few thousand dollars, at least. They’ll call and give you all the details. I said I thought you’d do it. But I’m sure you’ll do it, because it’s one of those opportunities that, statistically speaking, is very improbable.”
Gin paused, closed her eyes, tried to think. It was good news. The chance of a lifetime.
“Gin? You still there?”
She opened her eyes and felt the phone in her hand. “Yes,” she said. “I am. I just . . . I guess I can’t believe it. This is good. Right?”
“Exactly. Really good. And well deserved.”
She sat down on her bed, trying to think. The doors this could open, the opportunities this could create, not to mention the money she could make . . .
“Wow, Lucas. I don’t know what to say. Except thank you. You helped make it all happen.”
“Anytime,” he said. “So, if you want help getting ready, let me know, okay? I can be available anytime. Besides when I’m at school or at work or doing homework or at a gaming meetup. Otherwise, I’m free.”
“Okay. I will.”
“I’ll see you at work, okay?” he said. “And Gin? Congratulations.”
After she hung up, she sat by her bedroom window, looking out at the broad grassy lawns and aging colonial homes. She still felt an ache in her chest—to see Felix or at least talk with him. Or maybe it was for things changing. For family she barely saw—her mom, her sister. For the fact that she hadn’t talked to Hannah in forever.
She grabbed her phone and started texting Hannah. But she couldn’t get past the first line. Too much had happened. Too much time had already passed. She couldn’t bridge all of that with a short message.
And she didn’t have time to worry about all that. If anything, she should be more focused than ever. She could tweak Love Fractal, inputting details on whether different matches worked and running other series of algorithms. By the time she presented the model, it’d be better than ever.
In fact, she could start immediately.
// Thirty-Seven
“In the spirit of the second-largest Christian holiday, today we’ll be watching a movie.” Mr. Ryan was at the front of the class, half-lunging to one side, chalk in hand.
A movie was exactly what Gin needed. She was supposed to find out about Harvard soon and had been checking her email over and over, so often she could barely think. She finally had to stash her phone in a zippered inner pocket of her bag. It took all of her discipline not to pull it back out. Maybe, during the movie, she’d let herself check once.
“But first, let’s consider our quote of the day.”
In the corner of the board, Mr. Ryan had written the quote in neat yellow letters, all caps:
“Shortly before dawn he went out to them, walking on the lake. He was about to pass by them, but when they saw him walking on the lake, they thought he was a ghost. They cried out, because they all saw
him and were terrified. Immediately he spoke to them and said, ‘Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.’”—Mark 6.
It was quiet as everyone read. Quiet like a lake, like a ghost.
“A man who can walk on water.” Mr. Ryan hopped up just enough to sit on the edge of his desk. “Who can defy the natural order of things. Who heals people, performs miracles, and later rises from the dead. Think about that. Has anything else ever risen from the dead? Cells that had stopped working, had shut down and started to decay—just started moving again?”
“That’s crazy,” someone said, and the class laughed.
“Exactly.” Mr. Ryan clasped his hands together, pointing to the student who had answered. “And many feel it is just that: crazy. But it is also intriguing, isn’t it?”
He paused, looking around the class. “Not only these claims of this man—or God, depending on what you believe. But the claims of all the great spiritual leaders of the world. Anyone who has ever searched for more than the material world and believed that they found it. On one hand, it’s crazy. But on the other, it’s the only sane thing around.”
Mr. Ryan sighed, his lean frame slumped for a second. “Look. I’m about to put this movie on. And you’ll watch it for the next forty minutes. We’ll learn a little more these next few weeks. And then the year will end. You’ll be on your way. Off to summer jobs, to college, to your lives.”
Someone whistled, and there was a splatter of claps through the room.
“But here’s the thing. You owe it to yourselves to think through these questions, just like all of the ancient people we’ve learned about did. Is there something more than the material world?” He paused, looking at them one by one.
“Do the work. No one’s going to do it for you, and it might be the most important work you ever do. Because, if there is this whole other world, a world that many people long ago based their whole lives on—the immaterial, or spiritual, or whatever you want to call it—don’t you want to know?”
The class was silent. And suddenly, all Gin could think of was Felix. If he were there now, he’d be nudging her. “See,” he’d whisper. “This is what I’m talking about. A whole other dimension. It feels right.”
But Felix wasn’t there. And as though a boom of thunder had rolled through her body, Gin felt fully what she’d been trying to ignore. This whole situation—Felix disappearing from school, not calling her, barely staying in touch; Mr. Gartner warning her not to use the crow data, not to talk to Felix—it really, truly was wrong.
There had to be something else going on. And she had to figure out what it was. Because no one else might ever even look.
The email was there after sixth period. Harvard admissions.
So this was it. Her future was right in front of her.
Her finger hovered over the screen, and she paused. Maybe she should wait. At least until school was over. She could sit in her car, somewhere private.
Then again, whether she had been accepted was already determined. A solid, immutable truth. This was no Schrödinger’s cat. Ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away or change. And she wanted to know.
So she stepped back under the stairwell, as much privacy as she could get, and clicked.
Dear Regina Hartson,
On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to Harvard University . . .
She clapped her hand over her mouth.
And she knew—as sure as her bones, as sure as the concrete steps clamoring with students above her—what she needed to do. It was only a first step. But that was exactly how everything began.
// Thirty-Eight
It was nearly ten at night. Gin’s dad had fallen asleep in the chair in his office; her mom was on her way to her shift at the hospital. And Gin was sitting in her bedroom, clicking through Harvard’s website, trying to calm her nerves.
Because Felix was coming over.
She had messaged him as soon as she got home from school, after everything had clicked that afternoon, and told him that she had to meet with him. That it couldn’t be delayed, that they had to make it happen. Not only because she wanted to see him, but because she had to talk with him about the crows. And he had said yes. That, somehow, he’d find a way to make it work.
It had settled in her, like an itch that wouldn’t go away, this idea that the crows simply were not normal, were not a hobby—but were something more. She just didn’t know what. And she needed Felix’s help to figure it out. Even though Felix’s private share site was set up with multiple layers of security, she had to tell him in person.
She glanced at the time, which was exactly ten, and heard a small ping at her window. Not the light tapping of a crow’s beak, but more like a pebble hitting the glass. She clicked off her desk light, set her computer to sleep, and closed her laptop—it was dark outside, and she needed to be able to see—then opened up the window to the warm night air.
There, standing below her, with his hands at his sides, wearing loose jeans, a thin hoodie, and leather flip-flops, was Felix.
He waved, and she waved back. He pointed up, made a climbing motion, and shrugged. It wasn’t like the movies—Gin had no tree or sturdy trellis leading to her bedroom window. She held up one finger, asking him to wait for a second, and tiptoed down the stairs to the front door.
Her dad was a sound sleeper, and he likely wouldn’t even care if Felix came over. But even so, she peeked in his office to be sure he was still asleep. Then she opened the front door slowly and motioned for Felix to come inside.
He stepped in gingerly, and they stood there. It was all Gin could do to keep from leaning in, holding him tight. He took her hand, the feeling fluttering through her, and she silently led him up the stairs.
They didn’t say a word until they got to her room, where she closed the door, quietly.
“So this is it?” he whispered. “Your pad.”
To have him there, in her room—it felt tingly and charged and impossibly good.
He walked around, quietly laughing at her “I’m So Meta, Even This Acronym” poster and her Far Side comics and even her Weird Al poster—“Who else can sing a cool song about shapes, right?” he said—then he studied her computer set-up. “This is nice. You put it together yourself?” he asked, still whispering.
She stood by his side and whispered back, “Yeah.”
“I like it.” His face was soft, his eyes crinkled at the edges. He reached a hand out and touched her cheek. Gin put her hand on his, and they tangled their fingers together and leaned even closer.
“I’ve missed you,” he said. “Really, really missed you.”
“Me too.”
He kissed her, soft, on one cheek and the other. And then her lips. And every bit of Gin rushed with feeling, as though a current was storming through her, stealing her breath with it.
He pulled back slightly and ran a finger along her eyebrow, her cheek, her lips. She closed her eyes—it felt so good, she couldn’t even look.
“Is this okay?” he whispered.
She let out a quiet laugh and nodded. Because it was more than okay. It was exactly what she wanted. Everything she’d been missing.
She knew then that no matter what happened, she wouldn’t be able to just forget about Felix. It was the same with the crows. They were all stuck in her mind, her heart. “Yes,” she said. “It’s really, really nice.”
He held her arms in his hands, tight, and she wrapped her hands around his waist, setting them at the curve of his back.
They kissed again, harder, as though the months they had spent apart required a close, insistent urgency.
Felix ran his fingers under the hem of her shirt, overwhelming her body with warmth. She let her hands slide up his back, which was taut and strong, traced the long, smooth curve of his spine. They shuffled towards her bed—still kissing—and for a second, she panicked, wondering if he expected anything more, worried she wouldn’t be able
to turn him down even though she knew it wouldn’t be what she wanted, not when they weren’t even together. But when they got to the bed, he sat down and tugged her towards him so she was facing him, sitting. They held hands and looked at each other, smiling.
“So, Gin Hartson. How are you?”
She laughed and shook her head. “It’s so good to see you. I forgot . . . I mean, not really, but it’s just . . . it’s good.”
He held her hands, rubbing his thumbs over them, and her stomach squeezed into itself.
“I’m sorry again. About everything. I wish I could make it different.”
She pressed his hands tighter. “Me too. Do you think it ever will be different? Or, will you be working on your Platonic studies at your parents’ house for the next decade?”
He smiled, his eyes bright. “Well, I’m almost 18. And, believe it or not, I’m planning to go to college too. And there’s only so much my dad can do once I’m there.”
“So a few months . . .”
“A few months, and I’ll be free. To go anywhere.”
“I got in, by the way.”
“To Harvard?”
“Yeah.”
He pumped his fists in the air, then he leaned back and shrugged. “Well, I’m not surprised. I always knew you could do it.”
She grinned but rolled her eyes. “You were the only one. But thanks. And you can tell your dad ‘thanks,’ too. I guess.”
“He didn’t do anything. Besides tell all those Harvard admissions people what they already knew. That you’ll do great things.”
A nervousness bubbled up in her stomach, and she looked down at her quilt, pulling at a loose thread. The longer she waited to tell him why she had wanted him to come, the harder it’d be. “So, there was something else.”
“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows. “This wasn’t just a way to see me? Which, by the way, I should’ve made happen much earlier. I just needed a little time for my dad to relax about everything. But, what is it?”
Crow Flight Page 20
