Chapter 10
PIPER
The whole ninety percent compatible thing haunted me for days. Every shift at Dora’s, I’d catch myself pulling up his profile on my phone, rerunning our compatibility test. Same result every time. Ninety percent. I tried adjusting variables, tweaking the algorithm, even adding new parameters.
Ninety. Fucking. Percent.
Today’s tutoring session is torture. Ethan, being infuriatingly true to his word, hasn’t mentioned our match once. He’s being helpful, patient, appropriately distant. Everything a professional tutor should be.
I hate it.
“You’re being weird,” he says, not looking up from my story grid. “You’ve rewritten this paragraph six times.”
“It’s not right yet.”
“It was right four versions ago.” He finally meets my eyes. “What’s going on, Pip?”
You joke-proposed to me over compatibility scores, and now you’re acting like it never happened, and my brain won’t stop calculating the statistical probability of us actually working together.
“Nothing. Just tired.”
He studies me for a moment, and I see him decide not to push. Professional. Appropriate. Ugh.
Thankfully, the clock hits twelve, ending our session.
“You’re getting better,” he says, packing up. “The improvements you made to the theme park story are genuinely great. We’ll definitely get that grade up.”
I blush and turn away, pretending to organize papers that don’t need organizing. When did I become someone who blushes at academic validation?
“Thanks,” I mumble.
He holds the lab door for me, and we spill into the corridor’s fluorescent assault. I’m half-mumbling a goodbye, ready to flee to somewhere I can breathe without smelling his stupid cedar cologne, when someone skids around the corner.
“Whoa—sorry!”
A stack of ecology textbooks goes flying. Ethan catches the top one with his stupid quick reflexes; I grab the next. Alex Ford emerges from behind the book avalanche, all freckles and chaos energy.
“Piper!” She tackles me with a one-armed hug, the remaining books making it more assault than affection. “Oh my god, it’s been forever!”
“Hey, Alex.” I can’t help but smile. “Still trying to single-handedly save the planet?”
We were roommates freshman year—never best friends, but we bonded over being the only two people on our floor who didn’t think 3 AM was an appropriate time for hall parties.
“Someone has to.” Her gaze ping-pongs between us, brown eyes lighting up with recognition. “Wait, you know Ethan?”
“He’s my tutor,” I say quickly.
“She’s helping me not fail Creative Writing,” Ethan adds, which is backwards, but whatever.
Alex practically vibrates with excitement. “Perfect! Then you both have to come to my party! This Saturday at my place. Full house bash—music, drinks, terrible decisions. I’m forcing Freddie to DJ, which means lots of throwbacks.”
“I don’t really know if…” I start.
“Please?” She deploys the puppy eyes. “I never see you anymore! Remember our David Attenborough marathons? Remember how we rated guys based on their mating display potential?”
“That was mostly you—”
“Piper gave everyone scores out of ten based on scientific criteria,” she tells Ethan. “It was amazing. She had a whole spreadsheet.”
I’m going to die. “That’s not—”
“I’d love to see that spreadsheet,” Ethan says, grinning.
“Anyway!” Alex continues, “Party. Next week. I’ll text the details. Oh, and it’s costume! Tara’s still deciding the theme because she claims it’s ‘an art form that requires meditation and possibly wine.’”
Before I can object further, she’s gathering her books. “This is happening. You can’t stop destiny.”
She says ‘destiny’ and Ethan catches my eye. I see him fight a smile.
“Gotta run! Saving the world waits for no one!” Alex practically sprints down the hall, books wobbling precariously.
Silence settles between us.
“So,” Ethan says, rocking back on his heels. “Party.”
“I don’t really dance.”
“Everyone can dance.” He grins. “But if you won’t, that’s a good thing too. My moves have been known to cause swooning. Very dangerous. We should maintain a safe perimeter.”
“Your ego is astronomical.”
“It’s confidence. There’s a difference.” He starts walking backward down the hall. “Besides, we’re strictly tutor-tutee, right? Sacred bond. No dancing with ninety-percent compatible matches allowed.”
There it is. The elephant he’s been ignoring all session.
“You said you were done joking about that.”
“I was. Am.” But his grin has an edge now. “Just two professionals who happen to be scientifically perfect for each other. Academically speaking.”
“Ethan—”
“See you Thursday, Pip. Try not to run any more compatibility tests on us. You’ll wear out your algorithm.”
He salutes and disappears around the corner before I can respond.
I stare at my phone as Alex’s text comes through.
Alex
Party deets! Next Saturday, 12 Hawthorn Ave. Costume required (deets coming tomorrow)!!!!!
My thumb hovers over the keyboard. Over a week is plenty of time to come up with an excuse. To maintain appropriate boundaries. To stop thinking about stupid compatibility scores.
Instead, I type.
I’ll be there.
Because, apparently, I’m also ninety percent likely to make terrible decisions.
The hallway seems brighter as I head to my next class, and I absolutely refuse to analyze why.
The next day, I’m relaxing on the couch when my phone buzzes and Alex’s name pops up.
Alex
NEXT SATURDAY - party moved to Freddie's place! Costumes required, ABC!
Riya sees it before I can hide the screen. “Is that—oh my GOD! Did you just get invited to a Cool Guy House party? And when were you going to tell me, huh? Do you have a plus one?”
“It’s not—Alex is my old freshman roommate. We’re barely friends, but we got on well.”
“Who cares? You’re going. We’re going. This is happening.” She’s already mentally planning outfits, I can tell. “What’s the costume theme? Oooo ABC—that means Anything But Clothes.” She waggles her eyebrows.
I don’t admit that I had no idea that’s what it meant.
“I’m not going.”
“You’re absolutely going. When else will we get to see inside the Cool Guy House?” She flops dramatically. “Please? Pretty please? I’ll do your dishes for a week.”
“You never do dishes.”
“I’ll strongly consider doing dishes.”
I roll my eyes at her.
“It’s Saturday, anyway. Isn't that when Dec is coming?”
She frowns.
“Shit, yeah. Oh well, you have to go for the both of us then.”
Another text buzzes through.
Ethan
Hey Pip. Can we meet Thursday afternoon instead of the morning?
“Pip?” Riya reads over my shoulder because privacy is dead. “He has a nickname for you? That’s actually adorable.” She grabs my shoulders. “Piper. Listen to me. A hot guy just texted you. About rescheduling. This is basically a marriage proposal.”
“It’s literally administrative—”
“He could have emailed. He texted. With a nickname.” She’s building a whole conspiracy theory, I can see it happening. “What does he smell like?”
“What? I don’t—” But I do. Cedar and coffee and something that makes my brain fuzzy. “Why would I notice that?”
“Because you’re human? With functioning hormones? Despite your best efforts?”
I close my laptop harder than necessary. “I need food. And silence. And possibly a new roommate.”
“You need to text him back,” she corrects. “And say yes to Thursday. And ask if his hot friends are single.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Get me a surprise, please! Something sweet!” she calls as I grab my jacket.
“Fine,” I mutter, but I’m already typing back.
Thursday works.
Good, see you then Pip.
“You’re smiling at your phone,” Riya observes from the couch. “That’s new and concerning and exciting.”
“I’m leaving for real now.”