Chapter 11 Benny
The metal door of the ice-skating rink’s snack bar squeaked as Benny and Red trudged in, helmets under their arms, skates clomping awkwardly across the rubber mats.
Their cheeks were red from the cold, and Benny’s nose was running, but his grin was huge.
He’d nailed his toy toss, and Red hadn’t fallen once during practice, so a solid victory.
They snagged the closest bench so Red didn’t wobble right to the floor. Benny helped him get out of his skates and then got their shoes from the locker.
“You hungry?” Red asked. “Because I smell buttered popcorn and hot chocolate, which have no right being together but pretty much seems like heaven right now.”
Benny nodded enthusiastically. “Throw in a soft pretzel, Grandpa?”
“Oh, child, you know me too well.” Red pulled out his wallet and handed Benny a twenty. “I’ll get a table.”
Benny scampered to the counter, bought the treats, and turned around holding a cardboard tray, scanning the tables for—
Oh, wow. Olivia had watched the rehearsal? He’d seen Aunt Cindy and Uncle Jack, who’d taken a skate break to cheer them on, but not Olivia.
But there she was, at a table with Grandpa, yammering away. Not that Benny would call it yammering, but Red Starling sure would.
He headed to the table and set down the cardboard tray. “I didn’t get you anything,” he said to Olivia. “But do you want half of the pretzel?”
“No, thank you,” she said, flipping back one of her braids, which were like dark, curly spaghetti that was somehow neat and wild at the same time. “I’m here for business, not pleasure.”
Benny straightened his glasses as he slid into one of the other chairs, bracing himself for whatever she was up to now.
He picked up his pretzel, pulling it apart to share with Grandpa, ready for the first warm and salty bite.
Olivia slipped out of her puffer jacket, mittens dangling from the sleeves as she tossed it on the empty chair like she’d been invited for a long stay.
“What’s your business?” Grandpa asked, regarding her with a mix of amusement and fear—rightfully so—over the rim of his cup of hot chocolate.
Reaching into her jacket pocket, Olivia snapped out a piece of paper with color-coded graphs. Oh, no. When she color coded, she was not fooling around.
“I’ve been doing research,” she announced, flattening the sheet on the table. “Real, peer-reviewed, scientific research.”
Red snorted into his coffee. “That’s what you two said before the vinegar-and-baking-soda volcano flooded my garage.”
“That was experimentation,” Olivia corrected primly, shooting a look at Benny. “This is data. We were still learning, right, Benny?”
They were last spring when they’d been paired by the teacher for a project. Olivia had been “the new kid” at his school that semester, but they’d met over winter break at a dog training camp.
Ever since, she’d been Benny’s best friend, even though sometimes she made him crazy. They laughed more than they fought, and both loved the same books, movies, and, usually, experiments.
Then this whole dumb thing with her dad and his mom started and it changed everything because he felt like he was doing something Mom wouldn’t like. But Olivia was so…forceful.
Olivia’s eyes gleamed. “And what we’re learning now is romantic success factors.”
He nearly choked. “Olivia! I told you—”
“Hear me out,” she said, raising a hand for silence. “Tomorrow night, your mom and my dad are building that gingerbread house together for Mistletoe on Main, right?”
He nodded, hating where this was going.
“This is our big opportunity,” she said.
“We had our big opportunity,” he replied. “We made it happen by negotiating with the Eleanor lady.”
“Selling my soul and dignity in the process,” Red chimed in as he dipped his pretzel in mustard.
Olivia plowed on, leaning in to make her point. “We cannot waste what I am now calling Operation Mistletoe Phase Two: The Scientific Method of Love.”
The changing operation names mystified him almost as much as the girl who made them all up.
“Come on!” Benny complained. “Phase One probably cost me the cell phone I want for Christmas. You won’t be happy until there’s coal in my stocking!”
She tsked, unfazed by his fears. “Nobody really does coal, Benny. It’s old English folklore.”
Grandpa leaned back, that amusement in his eyes deepening. “Well, young lady, you should know that Benny’s mom has made it perfectly clear that she does not want you messing with her personal life.”
Benny almost hugged him. “That’s right, so—”
“No one is messing with anything,” Olivia said, brushing off the warning. “I promise! All we’re going to do is test a few very simple hypotheses, Mr. Starling. We’re dipping our toes into chemistry and human physiology.”
“In other words,” Benny said, “meddling.”
“We are examining the effects of certain outside criteria on the chemistry of the brain that makes a person think they are in…”
“Don’t say it,” Benny ground out. “Do not say—”
“Love.” She grinned at him, then at Red. “It’s all very scientific. And no one is going to get hurt, I promise.”
Benny dropped his head into his hands. “Olivia, you can’t make people fall in love. That’s…that’s…” He turned to Red. “Isn’t it illegal?”
“I don’t know about illegal,” his great-grandfather said, eyeing Olivia like he’d never seen a specimen quite like her. “But it’s certainly…ambitious.”
“Don’t encourage her, Grandpa.”
She flicked her fingers like Benny was a fly. “He knows genius when he sees it, and this, my friends, is the work of a mastermind.”
“Look, Olivia, I know you’re smart, but a master—”
“It’s from ChatGPT,” she interjected. “Who is a mastermind.”
“Chat…Jeep-tea?” Red scowled. “Who in tarnation is he?”
“Oh, mine’s a female,” she quipped. “I call her Le Chat”—she drew the word out and pronounced it weird—“which is French for cat, so how cute is that? Anyway, to answer your question, Mr. Starling, it’s an AI program—artificial intelligence.
The program helps people solve problems, like math or coding or romance. ”
“We’re not allowed to use it in school,” Benny said. “That tells you it should be off limits in the rest of life, too.”
Red just shook his head. “Kiddo, if you need a computer for romance, you’re doing something wrong.”
“Not if the romance is a problem and Chat can solve the problem.” She feverishly tapped her finger on the paper like a woodpecker on a tree trunk. “Here are my top ten ChatGPT-approved, scientifically backed ways to increase human affection in winter environments.”
Benny groaned, already knowing he was going to hate these ideas. Or his mother would.
Olivia sat up straight and put the paper in front of her as if she were giving a speech to the class.
“Number one: in controlled temperature environments, people are more affectionate when they’re warm, which I think the bakery kitchen will be, so check that one off. We do want to keep it exactly two point three degrees warmer than usual.”
Red frowned. “Two point three? Why not two point four?”
“It would mess with the variables,” Olivia said solemnly. “Number two: apparently, vanilla scent increases oxytocin production. So, let’s strategically spill a bottle of it before they start working.”
“All bakeries smell like vanilla,” Benny said. “We don’t have to waste my mom’s very expensive Madagascar vanilla bean extract.” He shuddered to think how she’d feel about that.
Olivia tipped her head in concession, giving him hope he could talk her out of this madness. “I can snag some from my dad’s shop.”
Or not.
He threw a look at Red, hoping for some backup, but he was more invested in his pretzel, listening as he ate.
“Next is strategic seat placement during the g-bread house assembly,” she continued.
“Strategic…seat?”
She gave Benny the same look he got when he couldn’t figure out a math problem as fast as she could, which was rare but did happen. “Eye contact must be encouraged and, if possible, constant,” she explained.
“Why?” Benny asked.
She sucked in a surprised breath. “Do the words dopamine, adrenaline, cortisol, and endorphins mean nothing to you?”
“Sounds like a law firm I’d never hire,” Red chimed in.
She laughed, her eyes bright as she looked at Benny. “You’re so lucky to have such a funny grandfather.”
“Great-grandfather,” he corrected.
“Well, that’s redundant,” she said, giving Red a sweet smile.
“But my point stands. Listen.” She snapped the paper and read, “‘Within seconds of locking eyes with someone attractive, key regions of the brain light up. Ventral tegmental area and nucleus accumbens release dopamine, the feel-good neurotransmitter. The amygdala processes emotional salience—’”
“What’s that?” Benny asked.
“I don’t know, but I think grownups do.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Red mumbled.
“Anyway, it makes them ‘hyperaware’ of each other,” she said. “The nervous system kicks in, and the bonding chemistry goes through the roof with feelings of closeness and—get this—a sense of melting.”
“That’s ’cause the temperature is two point three degrees too warm,” Red said, cracking Benny up enough that they had to high-five.
“I get that you two think this is amusing,” Olivia said.
“But I, for one, am serious. That means we arrange everything so they are sitting directly across from each other at a prep table. Chairs with no escape routes. Also, music is critical, but slow Christmas songs only on the playlist, which I will handle. Slow jingles equal romance, high-tempo jingles equal chaos.”
Benny curled his lip. “This whole thing is chaos.”
“Now here’s one to consider—adrenaline association. If they experience danger together, they’ll confuse adrenaline with attraction. So I’m thinking we let something burn in one of the ovens, set off the smoke alarm—”
“No!” Benny and Red spoke at exactly the same time.
“We’ve set off alarms before,” his great-grandfather said.