It had market reach, but … “I just don’t think it will impress the judges.”
“Let me look at the information.” He googled the award.
While I waited, I made graphics for my app idea on my computer.
“One of the major categories is reach. This will reach more high schoolers than an app for mental health that their parents have to make them download.”
“Yeah, but it’s not going to change lives.”
“You don’t know that.”
I leveled him with a stare. In truth, I acted more confident than I felt. My life had been changed by a guy—a guy my best friend was on a date with right at this moment. She’d texted me 18 times today about Anthony. That was abnormal, and I was on uneven ground. Change wasn’t always a good thing.
“I’ll make you a deal.” He caught my gaze and held it.
Darn those green eyes! They actually had me considering this. “What deal?”
“I’ll put both ideas on my Insta account and take a poll. I have teen followers from all over the world.”
“That’s not fair. They’ll vote for your idea because they’re your followers.”
He sighed. “I’m not going to tell them which one is my idea.”
“Wait—what if someone steals my idea and enters it? What if we did your idea and got beaten by my idea for the award?”
“Not going to happen. I’ll make it vague enough that they won’t be able to copy.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I’ll just ask if they want an app to help them find a date for a dance or if they want an app that would help with depression.”
I thought about it for a second. “Okay, that could work. But list the depression one first, and don’t say anything about the TACS award.”
“Got it.” He started typing on his phone. “We’ll leave it up over the weekend and have an answer by Monday.”
“How do I know you’re not going to spend the weekend stacking the deck?”
“Because I’ll be stuck at my mom’s annual pumpkin harvest party,” he said flatly.
“Oh yeah.” I’d forgotten she did that. The woman was a machine. Wait … “Stuck?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Don’t you want to go?” It looked like a blast. You know, when I stalked him in the second grade. And maybe a few times after then when I’d been bored and browsed her site.
“It’s expected.”
“What’s expected?”
“Me—in the pictures.” The bitterness that came with that statement caught me off guard.
I bit my lip.
“Sorry. It’s just … never mind.” He stood up and started loading his backpack.
I reached out and touched his hand. He stopped, and we locked eyes. My mind blanked for a second, and I completely forgot what I was going to say to him. There was so much depth in his gaze, so many emotions in there, I could dive in and get lost for hours.
I pulled my hand away, frightened by the loss of control I’d felt. “May the best idea win.” I smiled, hoping he hadn’t heard the way my voice warbled.
He looked at me like he was trying to figure me out. “I’ll see you Monday.”
I watched him walk out, wondering why the room felt so much emptier than it had only moments before.
Chapter Five
“You don’t mind, do you?”
I grabbed two more bags of gummy bears from my top drawer. I was getting low and would need to put in an order with the dorm’s personal shopper. “Of course not.” Why would I mind that Anthony was joining us for our traditional Saturday night chick flick? It wasn’t like it was just the two of us. Sometimes other girls stopped in the common room. Just never a guy.
“I’m so glad,” she gushed, clasping her hands in front of her and turning pink.
“So, tell me how he asked you?” I was still confused about how this coupling thing worked. I reached to the top shelf in my closet for my fuzzy blanket.
She bounced on her toes. “It was while we were eating lunch. We were holding hands, and he said ‘I like having a girlfriend.’” She squealed.
I tugged, and the blanket fell on my head. It took a second to get it off my face. “So, he didn’t really ask—he assumed.”
“Well, the asking was in his tone. Over sixty percent of communication is in tone, you know.”
“I know.” We’d learned the fact together in our psychology class last year. “And now you’re officially a couple.”
“Yes!” She gave a gusty, happy sigh that sounded nothing like my best friend.
She gathered up the blanket, and I locked my door behind me. The gathering room was empty, and I brought up the Hallmark Channel to surf for a movie we hadn’t seen before.
Sydney buried her face in her phone. “He’ll be here in less than three minutes.”
“Great.”
She hopped off the couch. “I’m going to meet him, and we’ll grab some salty snacks from the bistro on our way back.”
“Okay.” I had a plethora of sugar but wasn’t one to stock chips and things. She liked to balance her junk food: equal parts sugar and salt.
I queued up the movie and arranged my blanket on the couch. Then I reconsidered. I didn’t mind sharing a blanket with Sydney, but adding Anthony into the mix made me feel creepy. I bunched the blanket up so only I could use it. Syd could get her own if she wanted to share.
I sat down, tapping my foot for a minute. Where were they? It didn’t take this long to swing through the bistro. I pulled out my phone and checked the poll John had set up online. Things weren’t looking good for my app idea.
My stomach sank. I put my chin on my fist and sulked.
Fifteen minutes later, Sydney and Anthony came in holding hands and taking turns looking at each other.
I hopped up. Tonight wasn’t about school projects. It was a chance for me to make friends with my BFF’s new boyfriend.
“Hey.” Anthony gave me a chin jerk as a greeting.
I checked my hand that had been reaching out to shake his and pulled it back into my hair like I’d meant to do that all along. “Hey. Anthony. How’s the swim team?”
He bobbed his head. “We’re staying afloat.”
Syd giggled as she set two bags of chips and a container of popcorn on the table. “I told you he was funny.”
“Yeah.” I smiled as encouragingly as I could under the social strain pressing down on the three of us. “That’s great.” I motioned to the couch. “You guys ready to watch?” Watching a movie was perfect. No one had to talk. We could just enjoy a good story, go aww at the right times. It was good.
They settled into one end of the couch and left me on the other.
A few minutes into the movie, I heard smooching noises. I squeezed my eyes shut. No. No. No. That’s what curtains were for. I pulled the blanket up to block out my view.
Girl’s night was officially ruined, and boys stank!
Chapter Six
Sunday morning, I stormed the parental castle with a vengeance. I’d been monitoring the votes on the poll John set up, and his idea was in the lead. By a lot.
“Dad?!” I yelled into the speaker system in the front entryway.
“We’re in the breakfast room,” came Mom’s calm answer.
I knew they would be; I just wanted the satisfaction of yelling. My perfectly planned sophomore year of high school was crumbling before my eyes, and it was all Dad’s fault.
I stomped down the hall, through the receiving room, past the television room and the study, and traversed the formal dining hall while I stewed.
There were three players in my quickly-turning-into-a-tragedy year: Dad, John, and Anthony. Anthony had called Sydney first thing in the morning, and the two of them disappeared behind a curtain in the library before I had a chance to tell her goodbye.
I’d planned to be grown-up about her new relationship, but share-shmare. Her overly adoring looks his direction made me want to throw something.
“Hey, pumpkin.” Mom hugged me as I entered the room. She smelled like orchids and blueberries.
“Hi.” I hugged her lightly. I might be in a crisis, but I couldn’t let on. Dad could smell teenage angst a mile away. He must have caught a hint of it in my tone before, because his eyes were alight with interest. I swear he thrived when others around him were falling apart. The last thing I wanted to tell him was that I had lost my best friend to a kid with a big nose and resented the heck out of the fact that our Saturday movie night had included a six-foot-one swimmer.
I could avoid the subject, because today’s brunch was all about goal setting. I’d gotten the text yesterday that I should arrive with some goals in mind. We did this every year at the start of school. I used to love it. We’d write a list, look ahead at where I wanted to be. It energized me for the coming year. Even Mom and Dad set goals. Last year, Dad wanted to be published in PsychologyNOW magazine six times—he made eight issues.
I had a goal, all right—to let Dad know he’d messed up.
It was easier to hide things when I didn’t come home, but weekly brunch was one of the conditions of me moving into the dorms last year.
I expected them to see the benefits of having me out of the house. Over the summer, they’d had to hire another driver to juggle our three schedules, and our chef almost quit under the stress of working out family dinner times each week. It was exhausting for all of us.
I could see the lack of stress in the glow on Mom’s face and in Dad’s chill posture as he sipped Mexican hot chocolate, one of his favorite fall-time indulgences. Dad got up to hug me too.
I made his hug even shorter than Mom’s. “I have a bone to pick with you.” Better to get it all out in the open rather than spend the next thirty minutes with him trying to tease it out of me.
“Pick away.” He flourished his hand toward my seat and pushed the plate of blueberry pancakes my way.
I stacked two, adding a pat of butter in between. “I have a lab partner in computer science this year, thanks to the board.” I added a knowing lift to my eyebrow, telling him I blamed him for every decision the board had made since the beginning of time.
He chuckled. “Good. I’m glad they followed through.” He tapped his fingertips together. “Which brings us to the topic of goals for the school year.”
“Uh—no, it doesn’t. You haven’t explained why I’m stuck with party boy during the most important year of my high school career.”
Mom tipped her head indulgently. “So far.”
“Exactly.”
She chuckled like I’d missed a joke, but I knew exactly what she was thinking. Next year would be just as important as this year, because I'd be vying for spots at the top colleges. Senior year, all I had to do was maintain what I’d built, so I got a pass.
“This year is the most important, because if I don’t win the TACS award, I don’t have a shot at the colleges I’ve been dreaming of for over half my life.”
“Exactly. Your mom and I watched you this summer. You spent more time with your laptop than you did with friends. We’re worried.”
I poured strawberry syrup over my pancakes and chose not to comment.
He looked at Mom, and she nodded for him to continue. Great, it was a united front. Those were always fun.
“You’ve—well, we really worked hard to develop your brain, and in that process, we didn’t focus as much on your social development.”
I swallowed my bite with some difficulty. “Are you telling me I have a social disorder?” That would be just like my dad. He’d observe me over a summer and pronounce me messed up in some way—but don’t worry, he’d know the therapy needed to fix me.
“No. No.” He paused like he had to think it over. “We don’t think so.”
“Wow.” I took another bite and chewed furiously.
“We would like to see you make more friends, though.” He picked at the blueberry muffin on his plate. Blueberries were brain food, and we ate them a lot.
I looked at Mom to see if she agreed with Dad’s pronouncement.
She patted my arm. “Intersocial skills are just as important as computer skills if you want to succeed in this world. And a good group of friends is beneficial for a teen.”
“I have friends,” I protested.
“You have one very good friend,” Dad countered.
Yeah, I wasn’t going to mention that I’d been bumped down to second place on her list of people to call in an emergency.
“Working with someone on this project that’s important to you will teach you how to compromise, how to resolve conflicts, and how to overcome difficulties.” Dad scooted forward, warming up to the subject now that he’d established that I was a loser without friends. I loved Sunday brunch so much. “You’re sixteen now.”
Barely.
“You should expand your horizons, meet new people, date.”
“Date?” I clamped my mouth shut. There was no way he could have known the way my thoughts were traipsing through the clover field lately. “Since when do you care if I date?”
“Since you’re sixteen and homecoming is just around the corner,” said Mom. She was a regular on the school website, and they’d posted the theme, “A Night in Camelot,” on Wednesday. Glittery gold posters popped up in the hallway Thursday.
“Oh my gosh. Just because I’m not going gaga over some dance doesn’t mean I’m not normal.”
Dad’s palms flew up. I’d hit one of his buttons. A big one. In our house, normal was a considered a curse word. “You know there’s no such thing as normal. But there are developmental stages, and at this point, you should be experiencing lightheadedness, butterflies in your stomach, and maybe even nausea when you see a certain someone.”
“Dad, I’ve known the guys at my school since I was five.” Which was part of the reason Sydney’s new obsession with Anthony was throwing me off. We’d watched him glue macaroni to his pants.
“Not all of them,” Mom said. She smiled over her cup of cocoa—blueberry cocoa for her.
“Enough of them. It’s like living with brothers.” I shuddered. My life really was upside down. I had the only parents on the planet who wanted me to lose my head over a boy.
Dad stroked his jaw. “We’ve decided that your goals this year should focus more on the social aspects of being a teen.” He got up and went to the whiteboard, leaning on the easel they’d brought just for this breakfast. Using the red marker, he wrote “social” at the top. Under that, he wrote “go on a date.”
“Dad! I don’t have time to date.”
“Really?” asked Mom, her face pinched with worry. “Do we need to talk to the academy about workload? Are you taking too many core classes?”
I panicked. They could not reduce my workload. It was the only constant in my life at the moment. I needed math and science and English. They were normal and didn’t change. Pi started with 3.14 every day of the week. “No. It’s nothing like that. I just don’t want to expend the energy on something as trivial as … as … flirting, when there are more important things to focus on.” I begged her to understand.
“You can ask a guy out, or he can ask you, but you need to make this happen.” Dad underlined “date.”
I rolled my eyes. “This is ridiculous.” No wonder I moved out.
“We’ll follow up with you next week.” He capped the pen and sat down, grabbing another muffin.
He didn’t say it out loud, but if I didn’t make progress, they’d intervene. That would be mortifying on so many levels. For all I knew, Dad would start a support group at school, with him as the trained professional counselor. I’d spend one afternoon a week discussing my social failures in front of my peers.
I pushed my half-eaten pancakes away. On top of having to carry my partner in computer programming and figure out how to share my best friend, now I had to get a date. How in the world was I supposed to do that?
Chapter Seven
I dragged my feet getting to class the next
Monday. It was the first time I hadn’t run into computer science with a smile on my face.
John’s idea had won. By a landslide.
I guess kids cared more about getting a date to the big dance than they cared about mental health issues. Who knew?
I kind of had an idea why, but I doubted most kids were under the parental pressure that I was. If all else failed, I’d program myself a date in the app—just to get my dad off my back. I only hoped the judges felt the same way as the seventeen thousand teens who voted, because I would hold up my end of the bargain and write a dating app.
Heaven help me.
“Hey.” I set my bag on the floor and took a seat at our blob desk.
John was deep into his laptop but looked up, a smile on his face. I wish I could say it was a self-satisfied smile, because then I could hate him for being right. But it wasn’t. He just looked happy to see me which made my stomach flutter like it was trying to lift into my chest. “Hey,” he replied.
I cocked my head. Had his voice always been that … husky?
The bell rang. I used it as an excuse to pull my eyes away from his.
“All right.” Hubert strode to the middle of the room, clapping his hands for attention. There was an electronic whiteboard on one wall, but the desks were set up for the teacher to stand in the middle of the room. I wouldn’t mind a conversation with the architects/designers of the school. It was hard to focus when your teacher constantly spun in a circle. “Today is a lab day to work on your projects. You should have an idea. I want to see some real progress made—outlines and beginning code on the screen before the bell rings.”
A collective moan filled the silence after his instructions. I smiled. This was the best kind of class—one where I could get my fingers on a keyboard. Mr. Hubert went back to his desk, and everyone started talking at once.
I turned to John at the same time he turned to me. His hair was tousled, like it had been windblown on the way to school. The Academy was on an island on a lake in the shadow of Mount Rainier. Many of the students lived in houses along the lakeshore. Some even commuted on boats to the private dock each morning. Was John one of those kids? He didn’t live in the dorms; I knew that much. The location of his house was top secret to keep paparazzi and other bloggers from posting pics of events before his mom had a chance to post them. Enough people knew where he lived, but they’d signed nondisclosure statements.
Don't Kiss Your Lab Partner Page 3
