Chapter 5
Chapter Five
I take a deep breath and glance away; the earrings I’d put on earlier sway with the motion.
The message from this anonymous person could prove to be the perfect distraction, or more likely, another disappointment tonight.
Braden stood me up for our first official phone date since he moved.
It’s unthinkable. The earrings come off and get tossed back in the jewelry box, landing with a loud clink in the otherwise silent room.
The glossy papers pinned to the vision board reflect the blue light from my tablet—specifically, the photobooth pictures of Braden and me. Our smiling, carefree faces usually make me happy. I look back down at the tablet screen when the ping of a response sounds.
This distraction is off to a slow start, but it’s all I have to work with. Finding something else to do would take more energy than I have.
Ok, where to take this from here? My fingers drum against my thigh for a few seconds.
Maybe I should let this person take the lead?
Everyone at school has been on this thing all day, so it’s possible this person has already navigated this initial awkwardness more than once.
Or should I ask some basic investigative questions to get the lay of the land? More information is always better.
80085 [Me]: Am I your first connection?
31415: Nah, got another one earlier.
31415: But I think you’re the one I’ve been waiting for.
Okaaaay. Two 'hey' messages and he's already decided I'm the one? This person is trying to be smooth… and failing. Like how a freshman guy would act trying to impress a girl for the first time. Since this is just for fun, it’s worth it to play along, at least for a while.
80085 [Me]: Oh yeah? Why is that?
31415: Because your handle says boobs.
I squint at the screen in the darkness. Did they really just say that?
80085 [Me]: Excuse me?
31415: It says 80085… you know, like how kids spell boobs on a calculator when you turn it upside down. Feels like fate to me.
Unbelievable. Here I am, thinking I’d find something—distraction, amusement—to take my mind off the reason my hair is perfect and no one, certainly not anyone with gorgeous brown eyes, will see it, but instead I get…
this. This could be ignored. I definitely could, maybe even should, close this app and never open it again.
Instead, I’m annoyed, and annoyance feels easier to lean into than sadness tonight.
80085 [Me]: And yours is the first five digits of pi. Maybe you’re unnaturally obsessed with math. Or perhaps you eat way too much pie, and the AI thinks you should cut back. See how easy it is to make things up?
31415: Feisty. I like it.
80085 [Me]: Contrary to what you might think, I’m not here for your entertainment. I couldn’t care less if you think I’m feisty or if you enjoy said feistiness.
Yes, that statement contradicts my continued participation. I choose not to dwell on that. This entire endeavor is for a distraction, and it’s working. I grab a random hair tie off my desk and throw my hair in a loose ponytail, then wander back over to climb into bed.
31415: Alright. Let me ask you a question then…
31415: I must warn you, it’s very important.
My eyebrows lift in anticipation. Mr. Pie must be waiting for dramatic effect, because the moments keep ticking by with no new message—unless he decided to ghost me. Maybe I’m a very ghostable person.
Not sure why he’s a “he” in my head. He sounds like one. I’m rolling with that for now.
31415: Twizzlers or Red Vines?
A scoff slips out. This is the big, meaningful connection promised during the assembly?
This connection is about as deep as a sidewalk puddle.
So far he’s offered elementary-level jokes and candy comparisons, and not even good candy like chocolate.
My brain is taking mental notes about the very ‘constructive’ feedback I’m going to give at the end of this beta test.
80085 [Me]: Red vines, obviously. They are superior in taste, texture, aesthetics, and packaging.
31415: In aesthetics? How do you figure? They’re both red and twisty.
80085 [Me]: Twizzlers have an unnatural shine to them that is undesirable in one’s food.
31415: I see. So what about other foods that are shiny? For instance, M&Ms? Are those undesirable?
80085 [Me]: Of course they are desirable.
For foods that are coated in a hard candy shell, it’s expected that they would have a sheen to them.
There are also other foods that are shiny and pleasant to the palate such as apples, which have a naturally occurring wax layer to prevent fungi.
But who wants to eat something that has been manufactured to look (and taste) like actual candle wax? No thanks.
31415: You’re very passionate about your snacks. What’s your favorite M&M flavor?
I pause. I’m pleased to see Mr. Pie knows the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’ and has used the appropriate word in the correct places. Maybe he’s not a total simpleton. Granted, he’s probably not nearly as smart as Braden, as few people are.
Braden. The blue shirt comes off and I slip on my nightgown that’s on the end of my bed. I chuck the blue shirt into the darkness of my room in the general direction of my laundry basket, not caring if it lands inside it or not. Then I slip under the covers and refocus on my tablet.
80085 [Me]: I make no apologies for knowing what I do and don’t like. As for M&Ms: milk chocolate. Can you go wrong with a classic? It’s universally loved and universally available. All the other flavors come and go. Milk chocolate is forever.
80085 [Me]: What about you?
31415: Whatever is the most outrageous flavor available at the store. S’mores, pretzel, fudge brownie, caramel cold brew. I like to live on the edge.
My nose wrinkles. That’s insanity! Specialty flavors aren’t always great, and the worst part is realizing you paid for disappointment when the classic would’ve made you perfectly happy.
80085 [Me]: Well, if we ever meet and happen to be buying M&Ms together, don’t come crying to me and ask for some of mine when you buy a wild flavor and absolutely hate it because it’s disgusting. I know what I like, but I’m also protective of my snacks.
31415: Noted. And we will meet one day.
Oh, no. No, thanks—that makes my skin crawl. But why? It’s not like this person can force me to reveal my identity or to meet up. The app can be closed and forgotten at any point in time.
That’s enough distraction for today. I shut it down, then set it on my side table. Without the light of the screen or the dinging of the messages, the room is black and silent.
By the time I’m settled with my pillows just so, my phone lights up on the side table right next to the tablet: a text.
Braden: Sorry, babe! Some idiot microwaved metal and started a fire in the dorms. We all had to wait outside for the fire department to come and I left my phone in the building. Next time. Miss you <3
I ‘heart’ his text then put the phone face down.
It makes sense, right? Braden wouldn’t skip out on our scheduled date for no reason. Still… it hurts. He’s across the country without me, and the distance is starting to feel like a wall. Lately it feels like I have no idea what’s happening in his life, even though he hasn’t been gone that long.
But doesn’t that make sense? He literally lived in the house behind mine, and we saw each other daily at school.
Growing pains with our current arrangement are only natural.
He’s three thousand miles away and in a different time zone.
It’d be silly to think there wouldn’t be any hiccups, even with careful planning.
We can come back from this. We just have to work out the kinks in our plan. I'm sure of it.
The next morning, I call Braden after morning swim class.
The phone feels heavy in my hand while I walk across the dewy grass.
The phone rings. And rings. The morning air feels unpleasantly sharp in my lungs after the humid warmth of the aquatic center, but the sun is bright so I tip my face upward, enjoying the feel of it on my skin.
Voicemail. Disappointment hits me once again, but I shove it aside—today has to be better.
First period goes by quickly, then it’s time for AP Lit.
I force a lightness into my step as I claim my seat and prepare for class.
The ambient sounds of chairs scraping against linoleum flooring and backpacks being unzipped feel soothingly routine.
At least until I spot her. Somehow overnight I’d erased the detail that Analiese Price is in my literature class.
My eyes are drawn to her as I pull out a chocolate truffle and pop it in my mouth before the teacher arrives.
Analiese’s glossy, midnight black hair is in a low ponytail, and her almond-shaped eyes are a little puffy.
She looks tired—less smug. I hate that a part of me enjoys noticing.
What does that say about me? Probably nothing good.
My tablet pings. Oops, I forgot to put it on silent! When I look down to turn down the audio, there’s an alert:
You have a new connection!
Again? I glance up from my tablet and see that the teacher still hasn’t started class, so I swipe on the notification to open the chat window with my connection.
80085 [Me]: Hey.
Same opening as last time. It worked, right? Why reinvent the wheel? There’s no grade for creativity on this thing.
55378: Hey. Your number spells boobs. You would think they’d remove some numbers from the coding when running a beta with high school students. They aren’t known for being mature.
80085 [Me]: I know! Thank you. Someone with sense. Now I’m stuck with this number because you can’t change it.
55378: Personally, I think this entire thing is a terrible idea. Did they not consider the drama and distraction this is going to cause?
80085 [Me]: Exactly! I can’t imagine this ending well, but I guess making money is more important than student grades.
55378: The siren call of capitalism. We’ll be sacrificed on the altar of Holden Lovell’s wallet. I will not volunteer as tribute.
80085 [Me]: I won’t either. But since they forced this on us, I will be giving them a heaping pile of feedback at the end.
55378: Oh, me too. Not that they will read it. Something tells me they don’t actually care what we think. It’s all about the bottom line.
A smile stretches across my face. I like this one. Unfortunately, class starts, and the conversation has to be shelved for now.
After the period ends, Jenna appears in the hallway with Amanda.
Their arms are linked and their heads are leaning in close to each other–Jenna’s blonde hair contrasting with Amanda’s red curls.
Amusement is splashed across their expressions as if they are sharing something terribly funny with one another. Something twists in my chest.
“Aves! Some girls from volleyball are coming over tomorrow after school to celebrate ending our first week. You in?”
“Yeah, you should come!” Amanda echoes with a bright look.
I smile stiffly in return. She means well, but for some reason it rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’s the weird day I’m having. Or that I’m covering for my parents. Again.
“I wish. My mom’s working a shift so I need to be home with Hunter.”
Jenna pouts. “But you are coming to my birthday party next weekend right? If your mom’s work schedule ruins that I’m going to die. It’s my eighteenth. The big one.”
Yes, I’m aware. I’ve been hearing about it for months. It seems the main significance of the milestone for Jenna is that she will be able to date college guys. Or older, based on how she talks sometimes.
“No need to die. I cleared that day with my mom weeks ago. We’re all good.”
Jenna squeezes me in a quick hug. “You’re the best! See you at lunch.”
They're gone before I stop watching. Connection Services matched them.
Of course it did. A small, stupid jealousy flares—like they've been stamped 'compatible' and I'm standing outside the door.
Which is ridiculous. Matches are suggestions, not destiny, and judging by my own pairings, the algorithm is questionable at best.
After sliding into my seat in AP Calculus, I pull out my tablet and see a message from Mr. Pie.
31415: How’s your day going, 80085?
Seriously? How is it that the same AI that connected with me 55378, who seems intelligent and articulate, also connected me with this person? And why must everyone reference my unchosen and unchangeable screen name like that? Maddening. My fingers start furiously tapping a response.
80085 [Me]: Seriously? Still with the number? How would you like it if I called you boobs?
31415: I mean, I wouldn’t be mad. It would be a little weird since I don’t actually have that ‘equipment.’
80085 [Me]: Well, then you are misinformed.
80085 [Me]: Even if you are male, men have the anatomy necessary for lactation and given the right hormonal environment can produce milk. And what is that ‘equipment’ other than vessels for lactation?
Boom. Science. Who can argue with science?
A quiet snort comes from behind me. When I turn, Jake is sitting in the back of the classroom, clearly amused by something.
He’s slouched in a chair with his sneakers casually propped on the empty chair in front of him.
Before I can figure out what’s caught his attention, my tablet quietly dings again.
31415: Why do I have a feeling you did speech and debate club?
Uh, because I did. And I rocked at it. The only reason I’m not doing it this year is because it’s something Braden and I did together. It wouldn’t be the same without him.
31415: Well anyway, I still need a name to call you by.
80085 [Me]: I’m not telling you my name.
31415: I wasn’t going to ask you to. What should I call you… M&M? Feisty? S&D (speech and debate)? Snack girl?
80085 [Me]: I hate all of those, though Snack Girl would be the least offensive because snacks are life. And just so you know, since you seem invested in nicknames, you’ve become Mr. Pie to me.
31415: Mr. Pi* — caught your spelling error for you. I can roll with that. I *heart emoji* math.
31415: I’ll find a good name for you, don’t worry.
Class starts, so the app gets closed and attention shifts to the lesson. When the teacher announces the date of our first test, a cute little ‘test’ sticker goes into my planner two weeks from now.
A glance at the next few weeks shows Jenna and Jake’s combined birthday party scheduled for next weekend.
Mental note: buy gifts. Jenna is usually easy to buy for—a new top, some of her favorite makeup, or a gift card for a manicure (a necessity after volleyball season).
But Jake? I can’t remember the last time I bought a gift for him.
It was probably a lego set or something a million years ago.
Somehow I doubt that's still appropriate. I’ll come up with something.