The Dating Game

by Kiley Roache

  This morning I finally texted him back, after about a hundred unanswered messages. I told him I was willing to talk, but wanted to meet in a public space, and suggested the water fountains on the second floor of Business School Building One.

  “It’s away from the freshman dorms,” I say. “Plus I just got out of class near here,” I lie.

  “What’s going on?” he asks.

  I may have also implied that it was an urgent matter.

  “I...um...” I had not thought of a plan to stall him. Luckily, before I have to, Robbie rounds the corner.

  “What’s he doing here?” Braden asks.

  Robbie walks up next to me, and although we do not touch, I feel more relaxed just being in his presence.

  “I thought I was clear on the terms of our deal,” Braden tells him.

  “I haven’t accepted it yet,” Robbie says.

  “What choice do you have?” Braden asks. “You’ve had a week to consider. I’m getting impatient. I don’t think you want to test me.”

  Just then, the door behind me opens.

  “He’s ready for you,” Professor Thomas’s assistant says.

  “Okay, thanks,” I say.

  “What the hell is going on?” Braden asks.

  “Why don’t you come into my office and I can tell you,” Professor Thomas says, stepping into the hallway.

  Braden snaps his mouth shut, his face turning a pale shade of green. He follows us into the office. Even as cocky as he is, throwing a fit in front of a venture capitalist is not something he’ll make the mistake of doing again.

  We sit three across in front of Professor Thomas’s desk. He places a piece of paper in front of us.

  “I have been discussing your company at length with your colleagues over the past week,” Professor Thomas tells Braden. “And have decided to make a substantial investment.” He points to the paper. “Under this agreement, I would invest in the company with the understanding that it will pivot direction. Perfect10 will shut down immediately, with plans to relaunch a reimagined project to the same users in a matter of months, while recruiting new users in the meantime.”

  “I... What?” Braden looks completely confused.

  But Professor Thomas continues, unfazed. “I would purchase ten percent of the company for five hundred thousand dollars. Which would leave Roberto Diaz and Sara Jones with forty-five percent equity each.”

  Braden laughs and looks at me. I stare back, unblinking. “Don’t you mean thirty percent each?” he asks. But he must already know what’s happening, because he grabs the contract off the table. “Why isn’t my name on this?” He holds up the paper, crumpling it with his grip.

  “Because...” Professor Thomas reaches into his drawer and pulls out another piece of paper. “You will sign this and surrender your shares in the company for a payment of ten thousand dollars.”

  Braden scoffs. “Why in God’s name would I do that?”

  “Because if you don’t,” I jump in, quoting Professor Thomas’s wording from our previous conversation, “Then Robbie and I will sue you.”

  “For what?” he says. But his tone sounds more like he is saying screw you.

  “Breach of fiduciary duty,” I say. “For when you knowingly went against expert advice and pitched to Michael Williams when you knew it would likely be detrimental to your company and the holdings of your partners.”

  “And then you lied to us,” Robbie says. “Which also opens you up to charges of fraud.”

  “And before you use your trust fund to assemble the best team of lawyers you can afford,” Professor Thomas says, “remember that my net worth is double your father’s, and that I will be paying all of Sara’s and Roberto’s legal fees.”

  Braden suddenly looks small in his chair, his shoulders slumping and body folding in.

  “So I suggest you take your ten grand now and get out. Before I take much more from you. Including your reputation in this industry.” He places a contract in front of Braden. “You burned an awfully important bridge earlier this year, and I’m willing to forgive and forget. But not if you stand in the way of me acquiring this company, and taking it in the direction I want, which does not include you. If you don’t, then you’ll know what it’s like to have me as an enemy, and I’ll wish you luck trying to find work in this town.”

  Braden and Professor Thomas stare each other down. I hold my breath. My heart pounds against my chest.

  Braden exhales, a low rumble from his chest. “Do you have a pen?” he asks.

  Yes! My heart soars. Suddenly I feel more awake, like someone shot adrenaline straight into my heart. It’s all I can do to not stand up and happy dance.

  Braden signs the paper in an aggressive scrawl as Professor Thomas cuts him a check. He leaves the room without even glancing at Robbie or me.

  “All right.” Professor Thomas places Braden’s contract in a drawer and shuts it with a snap. “Let’s get down to business.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Roberto

  “Dad, check your email,” I say into the phone. I’m walking back to my dorm but I couldn’t wait until I got there to tell him. Plus, I was hoping to catch him during his twenty-minute lunch break.

  Sara went immediately from the meeting to her afternoon class, because, of course she did.

  “No veo nada. What am I looking for?” he asks. I picture him in front of his computer at home, wearing his reading glasses, as he always does, although he is checking on his phone. “I only have Target coupons.”

  I try not to laugh. “Refresh the page, Dad.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  I wait for the reaction.

  “Oh!” he says. “Is this a plane ticket?”

  “It’s a ticket voucher,” I say. “So we can work around your work schedule, but it’s enough to go to Mexico at any time of the year, even last minute. And because you don’t have to drive, you can go even if you just have a weekend. Dad, my professor just invested half a million dollars in our company.”

  He is quiet for a moment, and I wonder if I’ve lost cell service. Or if he didn’t hear me.

  He clears his throat, and I realize that he may have not been speaking because he did not want me to know he was choked up. “Mijo, I am so proud of you,” he says. “And not just because of all your success,” he says. “But because the first thing you thought to do was for family.”

  “You and Mom have done so much for me,” I say. “And I wanted to do something, even just something small, to thank you guys,” I say. “And trust me, this is just the beginning. I plan on buying you and Mom a giant house one day.”

  “Okay, but make sure you are still keeping your grades up, even while you have all this app stuff happening. No olvides tus prioridades.”

  I smile at the ground. I guess old habits do die hard. I don’t know how much I’ll have to achieve before my parents don’t check in to make sure I’m taking my studies seriously. It annoyed me when I was in middle school, but now, it sounds like home.

  “Of course, Dad.”

  * * *

  That night, Sara and I finally have our first real date. I wear a new button-down shirt, spritz on cologne I haven’t used since prom and knock on her door at exactly 6:30 p.m.

  She’s wearing a floral sundress and shiny gold flats. We head into town and get burgers and milkshakes at a ’50s-style diner. And it’s like a first date and a fiftieth date all at once. We talk about me surprising my parents with the tickets and our classes and the company and what’s happening on our favorite TV shows, and it’s like nothing has changed and everything has changed.

  We arrive back at our dorm just as it becomes fully dark outside. “What should we do now?” Sara says, as we approach my room.

  I unlock the door and step inside. It is quiet, which makes sense for a Friday night, when most of my suitemates ar
e out somewhere. I peek into my room, but my roommate is nowhere to be found.

  “Whatever you want to do,” I say.

  She steps toward me, toward my bedroom. She peeks in the door, toward the two beds, both lofted into the air.

  “There’s been something I’ve really been wanting to do...” Sara says, a mischievous smile on her face.

  And so, we build a blanket fort.

  “I feel like the loft beds create a perfect opportunity,” Sara says, as she reaches up to tuck my blanket into one of the slats.

  I set down two cups of Baileys and hot chocolate on the desk and wait for further instructions, since she is clearly the one art directing this adventure.

  She turns around. “Can you tie that there?” she asks, holding a blanket corner. “I can’t reach.”

  I nod and we switch places. She takes a sip from her hot chocolate. I reach up and tie the blanket to the slat of my bed.

  With a poof, a pillow smacks me in the butt. I turn around to see Sara, my throw pillow in her hand and a sparkle in her eyes.

  “What was that for?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “You have a cute butt.”

  I roll my eyes. Gesturing toward the makeshift tent that now connects the two beds, I ask, “Is this what you had in mind?”

  She nods and bends down to step inside the fort, mug in hand.

  I follow her. Inside, some of the florescent light from my overhead fixture filters in, but mostly it is shadowy and dark blue. Sara has laid my comforter across the floor and added a few pillows we had stolen from her room as well.

  We both sit down. I take a sip of my drink, the sweetness of the hot chocolate mixing with the slight burn of the alcohol, and then set it down carefully on the blanket.

  “This is exactly what I needed,” she says, leaning back onto the pillows. “I feel like a kid again.”

  “Hopefully you didn’t have Baileys in your hot chocolate as a kid.”

  She rolls her eyes, but a smile plays at the edge of her lips. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “The blanket fort is definitely a throwback. A small break from being baby CEOs.”

  “Oh,” she says. “That reminds me. We never officially laid out what our jobs would be, besides Braden as CFO I guess, which doesn’t even matter now.”

  I had just assumed Sara would be CEO as we move forward, since she’s been the de facto leader from the beginning. I thought maybe I would head up app development or something.

  “I was thinking I could be COO,” she says. “I really like all the organizational and operations efficiency stuff.”

  “But you’ve always been the leader...”

  “I’ve been the organizer,” she says. “I’m good at that. The planning and execution of stuff. But you’ve been the real leader. The moral leader. You were the one who first realized we were going astray, so you should be the one to lead us forward. You have the vision for it.”

  Her eyes on me, unblinking, I feel truly seen. Sara doesn’t just have a crush on me, she understands and appreciates the beliefs I hold at my core.

  “Alright,” I say. “I’ll take the job. As long as you’re by my side.”

  “Always,” she says.

  Sara leans toward me until her lips are just centimeters from mine. My heart pounds against my chest. She leans forward and brushes her lips against mine, and I am flooded with excitement and relief somehow at the same time. I kiss her back, and it’s like letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  Epilogue

  Roberto

  two months later

  “That’ll be $4.65,” the barista says. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to five-dollar coffee.

  I scan my phone and thank her as she hands me my cup. They are super busy today, as students caffeinate and cram for their last finals before heading home for the summer. I make sure to add a good tip.

  Across the room, a familiar face catches my eye. Braden is sitting at one of the tables near the milk and sugar station with a laptop in front of him. But he is not typing. Instead, he is looking at me. I decide I don’t need Splenda that badly, and head for the door.

  “Robbie!” he yells after me. “Wait!”

  I glance over my shoulder. He is hurrying toward me, backpack in one hand and laptop tucked under his other arm. And for some reason, I do wait. I guess I’m bad at looking someone in the eyes and then turning away. Even someone like Braden.

  He is breathing heavily when he reaches me.

  “I’m on my way somewhere,” I say. Because it’s true, but also because I don’t want anything to do with whatever he thinks is about to happen. “I need to keep moving, but you can walk with me for a minute.”

  He nods. “How are you?” he asks.

  “Pretty good... You chased me out of a coffeehouse to ask me how I am?”

  He looks down at the pavement. “I, um.” He clears his throat. “Also wanted to see how your mom was doing.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” I say. “But she’s good. She’s going to appeal her case in court soon.” I stare him down. The entire time we were kind of friends, when we saw each other every day, he never asked about my family. Why the sudden interest?

  He nods. “Listen, man, what I did...when I offered to, um...”

  “Buy my girlfriend away from me? And in the process insult me? Try to manipulate me through my socioeconomic status and my mom’s immigration status?”

  He winces. “I thought of it more as a way to...create a bearable working environment for myself. But yeah, sure, what you said.” His voice is shaky. “It was wrong, okay? I know that now.”

  Impressive deduction. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

  “Anyway,” he continues. “I want to do something to make it up to you. And I know you have money now, but I’m sure you could also invest it back into building the company or something...so, I want to offer you my family lawyer, free of charge, for the remainder of your mom’s case. He’s done immigration work for us before, since my mom’s family is from France. Anyway he’s good—really good.”

  He holds out a business card. Which I assume doesn’t include a threatening note this time. I look down at his hand and pause for a long moment before taking it.

  “I know it doesn’t undo what I did,” Braden says. “But it’s the least I could do to say I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, it is,” I say. “The least you could do.” I clear my throat. “But, uh, thank you, Braden.” I gesture to Business School Building One, on our right. “This is my stop, I’ve got to go.”

  “Oh, okay,” he says. “I’ll see you around.”

  I reply with a slight nod as I push open the door and power walk my way to the second-floor conference room, taking the stairs two at a time. Through the glass wall, I can see that Sara and Yaz are already here, along with the camera crew. Sara suggested bringing her friend in soon after we closed the deal with Thomas. Yaz knows more about the business side of things, because of her experience at Instafriend. But unlike our previous CFO, she also understands programming, and can talk to us about what we’re building.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say. I set my bag down and take a seat. My skin tingles. I’m not sure if it’s nerves or excitement.

  “It’s fine. We were just about to start,” the reporter, Nancy Lang, says. I’ve watched her on the local news for years, so I feel like I know her well, although we’ve met only one time in person, when she requested this exclusive interview for the relaunch. “Okay,” she says. “We’ll do a sit-down with all three of you here, and then individual interviews, followed by some B roll around campus, in your dorm rooms, on the quad and in classrooms and so on,” she says. “Sound good?”

  “Sure,” Sara says.

  I nod. I try to remember exactly how messy my room is right now, and wonder if there�
��s time to text my roommate to tidy up. But of course, in front of the camera I just smile, because what am I going to say—sorry, but my laundry is on my floor, we can’t film?

  “Let’s get started.” Nancy’s crew helps rig me up with a microphone, and then spends a very long time adjusting the lighting in ways so small that I don’t notice a difference, although they definitely do.

  “Okay, I was thinking you guys could tell us a little bit about the app, and then I’ll ask you a few questions.”

  I nod, and a red light clicks on above the camera.

  “So, Roberto and Sara, as I understand it, you were at the helm of one of the fastest-growing dating apps in the world. And then, in what seemed like an instant, you took it off-line. Why?” she asks. “What happened?”

  Sara looks to me and I nod; she can answer this one. She’s had more of a journey answering that question for herself.

  “Well...” She repositions the way she’s sitting. “We realized that the product we were making was not having the sort of impact we had hoped. Our initial product, which was called Perfect10, hinged around individuals having a ranking of desirability. And we started to see the detrimental effects it was having on almost all our users. When we realized this, and that the problem was at the core of the algorithm, we had no choice but to shut it down,” Sara explains.

  “What’s more,” she continues, “the app wasn’t doing what it initially promised, which was to help people find love. Finding true love is not about hundreds of people thinking you’re desirable, but about connecting deeply with the people who are right for you. No one is objectively more lovable than someone else. It’s about finding the right person and building a strong partnership with them. So we set out to build a new product, something that will promote that sort of connection.” She turns to me.

  “We’re in the process of launching our new product,” I say. “Which at the moment we are calling ImperfectMatch, since both parties are imperfect, as all humans are, but also implies that when they fit together, they can become something greater than they are alone. We’ve found that the biggest problem with most dating apps is judgment based on superficiality. The dating profile does not accurately reflect how humans connect in the world. Most people wouldn’t meet someone in person and ask them to list a personal résumé for evaluation. Instead, you spend time with someone and see how they treat people, what their sense of humor is like and what their interests are. These things are more important to building a deep connection,” I say.