The Dating Game

by Kiley Roache

  On the other hand, a mansion in the mountains? My mind swims in sake, and I can’t help but daydream about the majestic scenery, and spending time curled up by the fire, no stress or worries for almost an entire week. A break from it all.

  “So you’ll come?” Her eyes are bright.

  “Yeah.” I let myself smile. “I’ll make it work. Wouldn’t miss it.”

  We close out the restaurant, and as we stand on the curb waiting for our cars, I wedge my phone out of my tiny purse.

  I open iMessage and click on the top name—Robbie.

  Me: Hey, please don’t be mad

  He responds immediately, before I can send the second text.

  Roberto: why would I be mad?

  I continue typing as Braden opens the door for me and I slide into the Uber.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Roberto

  “You’re really gonna flake on the camp?” I ask. I was in bed when she texted me last night, and I woke up hoping it was a dream. But alas, no, Sara really is considering dipping on the coding camp she helped organize to do rich kid spring break. I asked her to come over, thinking I’d have a better chance of changing her mind in person.

  “Like I said, I’m not sure what I’m going to do.” She paces around my kitchenette, picking up an old mug of tea from the table and putting it in the sink.

  “But you’re considering it?” I say.

  She grabs a paper towel to wipe the liquid ring left on the table. Classic Sara stress-cleaning behavior. “It’s a free stay in a mansion, so, yeah, I’m considering it.”

  I exhale and look out the common room window. When she got here this morning, she had what looked like a large bruise on her collarbone. It took me a second to realize it was a hickie. That he gave her.

  I tried not to let the frustration, the nausea I felt thinking about him with her, affect my judgment. Not to confuse those feelings with the matter at hand, about which I have a right to be mad.

  “You were the one who pulled me into this in the first place,” I say, turning back to her. “I asked my neighbor to sign up and everything. You can’t just bail.”

  “I’m not bailing,” she says. She paces across the room, the rubber bottoms of her fuzzy slippers squeaking. “Most of the administrative stuff I can handle before, and then I’m sure I can get someone to cover my shift.”

  “That’s not the point,” I say. “You recruited everyone to do this. It is basically your camp this year. How will it be for morale if you don’t even show up?”

  “Maybe that’s not my problem,” she says, her eyes darting from me and back away frantically. “You’re right. So far I have carried this thing, done way more work than everyone else. Maybe it’s someone else’s turn. I don’t want to be the girl who always does the work for someone else. Why can’t I, just once, be the slacker, the one who skips class to do something fun?”

  I cross my arms. “I can’t believe you’d ditch these little kids for a bunch of people you don’t even know.”

  “I do know them.” She flinches. “They’re my friends.”

  “They’re his friends,” I say.

  “Yeah, and I’m his girlfriend, Robbie. Why can’t you understand that?”

  The awkward silence hangs between us. I feel like she’s punched me. “I don’t know. You’re the one who always hated him,” I sputter. “I’ve been indifferent to him.”

  “Well, I like him now,” she says.

  “Honestly, Sara, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

  “Really, because I’m dating Braden? That’s just dramatic.”

  “No.” I run a hand through my hair. “It’s not about him, although, frankly I think that if someone seems shitty for the first ninety-nine impressions and then gives one good one, then maybe they are still, you know, a shitty person.” I let myself make the dig, even though I know it distracts from my broader point. I can’t help it. “Whatever, date him if you want. But really? First with this app that helps people objectify each other, and now you’re ditching the outreach that was your heart? I thought you were in this to change the world. I thought you wanted to be a female pioneer in the next wave of technology. I thought you wanted to build something useful, something helpful. Is this what you really pictured doing? Hawking a morally bankrupt app so it’ll pay for your spring break trip with the cast of Keeping Up with the Kardashians Junior?”

  “Oh, fuck off,” Sara says. The words sting. It might be the first time I’ve ever heard her swear. “Don’t act like you didn’t build half the app too.”

  “Then we’re both guilty.” I open my arms. “But at least I’ve started to feel bad about it. At least I’ve started to think about getting out. You’re not even fighting it—you’re letting it change what is you.”

  She stares at me in silence, before mumbling, “I need to go now. I have brunch plans.” She stalks toward the door.

  “I’m sure you do,” I say.

  But she is already walking away. On her way out, she realigns my roommate’s framed Animal House poster on the wall so that it is level. Then she leaves and slams the door, sending it back askew.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sara

  I’ve never been nervous going after school to get extra help from teachers. Or chatting with them during recess, or speaking up during class. Honestly, for a good part of my childhood, I was friendlier with the teachers than the other kids.

  But today is different. Because today I’m going to Professor Dustin Thomas’s office hours. Which are by appointment only. And have a wait-list.

  Even though we did well in his class, I’m still scared of him.

  I wipe my palms on my pencil skirt and listen to his assistant type.

  Suddenly, the large mahogany door opens. “Sara, come on in.” Professor Thomas smiles.

  I smile back, but it feels mechanical. Am I supposed to show this much teeth?

  “Thank you for meeting with me, sir.” I stand in front of a visitor’s chair, waiting for him to sit first.

  “No need for the formality,” he says. “I like to be tough in class to teach you guys something. But the students who pass get to call me Dustin. And considering you all were my first A-plus, you can probably call me Dusty or something.”

  “Okay...”

  “But don’t.” His expression turns serious. “Don’t call me Dusty.”

  “Noted.” I nod.

  “So what brings you here, Sara?”

  “I was wondering...what your thoughts were regarding...the market regulating itself? I mean, shouldn’t companies fill whatever demand there is for a product, and then consumers have the responsibility to, you know, take it or leave it? Because it’s not like it’s on the company to decide what a right or wrong product is—they’re just supplying the option, giving people the choice. And frankly, isn’t that just more freedom, having more choice?” I realize I’m bouncing my knee rapidly up and down. I stop and fold my hands over my lap.

  He studies me. “I’m not going to lie, darling. It sounds a bit like you ate the collective works of Ayn Rand last night and are now vomiting bits and pieces onto my desk.”

  I recoil.

  He continues. “But my inclination would be...no. I think that enough companies have literally poisoned unknowing consumers for us to wonder if regulation is obsolete.”

  “Right.” I nod.

  “I don’t like abstractions though. Or analogy. What are you really worried about? I doubt you came here just to discuss theory.”

  I exhale. “Robbie thinks that Perfect10 is bad for people. That it lowers the level of discourse in the dating pool. That it encourages people to degrade each other.”

  Okay, maybe that’s not exactly what he said. Maybe I filled in the blanks a bit with my own worries. But Robbie is the one who put this in my head, so he will be the one to tell Du
stin Thomas that the first A-plus ever in his class was for an evil product.

  To my surprise, he nods. “Yeah, I could see that.” He rests a hand on his chin. “You did the assignment correctly. I said to build a product and pitch it to me like I was a VC. You built a product and pitched it to me, and I could see how it would make money. So I gave you an A-plus, because it’s the first product in the years I’ve been teaching the class that I could see one of my colleagues investing in. I could see how it would grow, how it would make money. You did it. You completed the challenge. You did not, however, build a company I would have invested in. Preying on human insecurity to make a buck is a viable strategy for a company, but not something I want in my portfolio.”

  My heart sinks. Part of the reason I ran with the idea, pursued it beyond the class, was that I thought we had a stamp of approval from him.

  “No shame in what you’re doing,” he says. “I’d just rather invest in something that appeals to our better natures.”

  “Like what? A dating app that helps people find a real connection? Like, one that gives you points for hanging out together and having meaningful conversations?”

  “Yes, maybe.”

  “But that wouldn’t be profitable,” I say. “As soon as someone finds love, they leave the app and you lose a customer. Two customers! It’s basic math.”

  “You’d be surprised, Miss Jones. People are willing to pay more for good things than to avoid bad things.”

  What he’s saying completely contradicts our business model. But I smile and don’t say that, because he is, after all, a genius.

  “Now, if you ever build something like that, you should give me a call.”

  I thank him and stand up to leave.

  “And one more thing, Miss Jones,” he says as I reach the door. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the state of love. Well, at least what your app can do to it. I don’t think it’ll be going anywhere, since Hart pissed off Mike Williams.”

  “How do you know about that?” I blurt out without thinking.

  “Hart called me before the meeting,” he says, as if I should know. “I told him not to go. But of course, just like his father, he’s hardheaded as the devil.”

  What? I knew Braden was being led by his ego when he took that meeting, but I didn’t know his ego had led him straight past the advice of another VC.

  “Um, right. Okay, thank you,” I turn to leave but stop myself. “We do have other interest. From Thatcher Bell.”

  “Bell would want something like this.” A wry smile crosses his face. “Well, if he does offer, I just hope he doesn’t run into Williams at the Rosewood or golf club before you close.”

  When I step out of the building, I check my phone to see I have five missed calls. Two from Robbie, and three from Braden. What the heck?

  I debate who to call back first and determine I probably have some obligation to my boyfriend, even though I’ve been aching to patch things up with Robbie.

  It rings exactly once before he picks up. “Hel—”

  Braden cuts me off. “Thatcher Bell just emailed. They want us to call them right now to talk numbers,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Sara, they’re making an offer.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Roberto

  “Hoooly crap!” Sara says as soon as she walks in the door. “Are we about to become millionaires?”

  Braden smirks. “I mean technically since I was born—”

  She swats his arm. He smiles mischievously and puts his arm around her waist. It feels like an invisible hand is squeezing my chest. One with claws too.

  “But yes, I think we just might be,” he says.

  I don’t want to assume anything before we hear it from the horse’s mouth. We have no idea how much or how little it could be.

  Sara leans her head on Braden’s shoulder, and my stomach turns. The time before she got here was weird enough when it was just me and Braden sitting in his professionally decorated room.

  But it turns out this is worse. I should have kept my mouth shut about my opinions about him, about the company. What good did it do? Now I’ve lost Sara as a best friend, and there she is, literally in his arms.

  I shake my head. I need to keep my eyes on the prize. The potentially giant dollar sign that would be a lottery ticket for my family, and my ticket out of this godforsaken company.

  They can have all my shares. Hell, they could have them for five hundred dollars, just to make up for the time I spent coding. But a few million doesn’t sound bad.

  “What are we waiting for?” I say. “We’re all here. We should call.”

  “All right, let’s do it,” Braden says.

  Sara is grinning like a madwoman.

  We huddle around Braden’s phone as it rings over speaker. It feels like there is no other sound in the world but that drawn-out beeping, and then pausing and then beeping. Every syllable buzzing with anticipation.

  “Hello.” Bell’s voice interrupts the ringtone. A wave of excitement washes over me. I feel like I might jump out of my own skin, I’m so amped. By contrast, Bell’s voice sounds so normal, so casual.

  “Hi, it’s Braden from Perfect10.”

  “Oh, hey man, sorry, it’s hard to hear you, I’m on the golf course and the cell service is shit.”

  “Oh, well we can call you back later if...”

  “No it’s fine.” He laughs. “I didn’t pay half a mil to buy in for them to rush me. Now is good.”

  Braden looks over the phone at Sara and me.

  I raise my eyebrows and shrug. I have no idea how to do this. Don’t ask me.

  “We were, uh, really happy to hear you guys are interested in, uh, angel investing,” Braden settles on saying.

  “Well, that’s actually what I needed to speak with you about,” he says.

  My stomach plummets.

  “We’re definitely interested in the product,” he says.

  My spirits rise again.

  “And my partners love the idea and what you’ve done so far, but they aren’t...totally comfortable with the idea of putting so much money into a company run by teenagers.”

  We all look at each other. There’s a bit of static on the line.

  I lean toward the phone. “So what does that mean?” I ask cautiously.

  “It means that we’re willing to make an offer, but not a seed investment. We’re willing to offer five million for ninety percent of the shares. You will retain the rest, but operations will be put in the hands of Instafriend, another company in our portfolio. We’ve been invested in them for years, and they have the experience to run this sort of thing.”

  Oh my god. Five million dollars. Holy shit.

  Sara’s eyes meet mine and she lets out a squeal.

  Braden shoots a look at us and takes the phone off speaker before pressing it to his ear.

  “I see,” he says a few times, in response to words I cannot hear. I don’t really mind though. I’m deciding which tropical island to take my parents to first.

  “Well, we’ll consider this and get back to you,” Braden says.

  My attention snaps back to him. Part of me wants to say, Are you kidding me? Take the money now. But I know we need to at least have a lawyer check out the deal first. Which is probably why it’s good that I’m not the one on the phone.

  He hangs up and Sara lets out a louder version of her earlier squeal, this time with the accompanying dance. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes!”

  And hey, I’m not usually a happy dance kind of guy, but I almost feel like joining her. Or at least, I would, if I wasn’t looking at Braden and trying to figure out why he is frowning.

  Sara is jumping up and down when Braden clears his throat. Her feet land on the floor hard, her mood sinking. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

  “Didn�
�t you hear what they said?”

  “Yeah, five million dollars, Braden.” She looks at me. I shrug. I feel the same way she does.

  “They want us to give up the company.”

  “So? We still get to keep some, and we also get five million dollars.”

  “So, they’re being ridiculous,” he says. “Not totally comfortable with college kids running their company? What BS is that? How old do they think f-ing Mark Zuckerberg was?”

  I look back and forth between Sara and him. “I mean, I think Zuckerberg is more the exception than the rule—”

  “We’ve handled everything quite well so far.” He talks over me and steps over Sara’s foot as he paces the room. “For God’s sake, we’ve built a five-million-dollar company already.”

  “But it’s only a five-million-dollar company because they value it that way,” I say. I lean against his roommate’s bed, my energy fading. “Without them, we don’t have anything.”

  “We have our users,” he says, “Our momentum...”

  “I’m sorry.” I laugh. “But I can’t exactly pay my dad’s electric bill or my tuition on momentum, Braden.”

  Braden shakes his head. “You need to think bigger than that. This could be a billion-dollar app.”

  “At which point we’d make a ton more off our shares,” I respond. “But this way we know we get paid, even if the thing fails.”

  Braden stumbles back like I slapped him. “Why do you think it will fail?”

  “Why are you so sure it won’t?” I ask. “This was a class project we were hoping for a C on, and now you’re acting like we’re sitting on the goddamn Google algorithm.”

  “How do you know we’re not?” Braden’s voice is louder now.

  I push off the bed and move forward a few steps. “Because people are always going to want to search for things on the internet. We invented a fad, and we might as well cash out now.”

  “It’s not a fad, it’s—”