Galgorithm (17 page)

37

I FINALLY GET THE COURAGE
to suck it up and head back to school with my head held high.

Okay, that's not really true. I'm only going to school after trying to push my luck and fake sick for one more day. My parents called my bluff. Next thing I knew I was in my Jeep, driving into the eye of the storm.

After I park, I walk the most circuitous route possible from my car to the school. I'm still trying to steel myself to face my peers and possibly—hopefully—run into Jak. I make the ill-fated decision to cut through the faculty lot, and it is there that I see the source of much of my troubles: Mr. ­Kimbrough, slumped in his car once again, moping.

Apparently, my pity for the guy knows no bounds, or
maybe I'm just procrastinating, because I decide to make my way to his car. He doesn't even notice as I walk up to the ­driver's-side window.

“Let me guess,” I say. “Deb ended things.”

He doesn't look at me or say anything but acknowledges I'm correct by solemnly unlocking the passenger side door. Mr. Kimbrough could rightly be blamed for destroying my life. But for some reason I have a soft spot for him. I can't hold a grudge. He deserves to be as happy as the next guy. And I sure as hell don't want to end up like him when I'm in my thirties. I reluctantly get in the car.

“What happened?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath. “Well, thanks to you, Deb finally started responding to my texts. She eventually told me that she had feelings for me, and that she only went radio silent after we spent the night together because it freaked her out that we're coworkers.”

“Ahhh,” I say. At least that's one mystery solved.

“And then we started chatting again,” he continues. “We had lunch one day. I thought we were hitting it off. We had plans to go out.”

“So, what? She found out about the Galgorithm, got offended, and that was that?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Stupid school newspaper. I mean, who even reads that thing anyway? Instead of running editorials about how we
need two-ply toilet paper in the bathrooms, how about using the
Chronicle
to wipe your—”

“Shane,” Mr. Kimbrough interjects. “You don't understand. Deb didn't find out about the Galgorithm from the newspaper.”

“Yeah, well, people were talking about it in the halls, it was all over Facebook . . .”

“No, I mean Deb knew about the Galgorithm
before
it was in the paper.”

“How is that possible?”

“She read my blog, Shane.”

“Okay . . .”

“No, I mean I never told her about Humble Pi. In fact, I kept it a secret from her. After we reconnected and we had lunch, she must have found the blog herself and started reading it
on her own
. She liked my blog, Shane!
My
blog! She liked
me
! And I screwed it up.”

He buries his face in his hands.

“I'm sorry, Bob.” I pat him on the shoulder. “But I still don't understand what you were thinking. I mean, if what I was telling you was working so well, why post it for everyone to see? Why risk Deb
ever
knowing?”

He looks at me. “I don't know! I was just so excited. I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't think anyone would care. No one ever went to my blog. I certainly didn't think Deb had it bookmarked.”

I shake my head. Love will make you do crazy things.

“After I saw you in the computer lab,” he continues, “I tried to head her off. But it was already too late. She told me that she'd read that post the day before. She also told me she was disgusted and that she never wanted to speak to me again. I tried to tell her it was meant to be a joke. But she wouldn't have any of it. Not after I used it on her.”

I feel bad for Bob. I was growing to like Ms. Solomon. I mean, she single-handedly rescued me from Harrison in the student-government office. And she didn't bat an eye when I interrupted her class while searching for Jak. She's good people.

“Again, Shane, I'm really sorry for all the trouble I caused you. You went out of your way to help me, a pathetic old teacher, and I repaid you by totally botching everything. I took advantage of your trust, and I'm really embarrassed by my behavior.”

“It's okay. Things happen.” I sorta believe what I'm saying.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” he says, “I decided to take the entire blog down after all. Who knows how far it's already spread, but at this point I'd rather just be done with it. Also I didn't want to get fired. I'm on thin ice as it is.”

“Huh,” I say. “So the Galgorithm and Humble Pi are both retired. It's truly the end of an era.”

“Yeah, I was sad to hear you'll no longer be . . . advising
the less fortunate,” Mr. Kimbrough says. “That seems like the kind of thing that would serve you well in college.”

“Nah,” I say. “That's not who I am anymore. It's too much of a crutch. Something to hide behind. I need to start taking my own advice and just be me.”

As soon as I figure out who that is. . . .

“So what about Deb?” I ask.

“I don't know,” Bob says. “I miss her. I miss just hearing her voice.”

“Is it worth it for you to try to talk to her again and explain?” I ask.

“I don't think so. I mean, we work together. It was ­probably inappropriate for me to ask her out in the first place. Plus she just got direct deposit. So there go all those Thursdays when I got to stand next to her while she tore open those checks. She was always so happy. I really looked forward to those days.”

“Out of curiosity, did you—”

“Notice any Pavlovian conditioning? No. Not at all. But I did enjoy getting to spend that time with her.”

“Got it. Thought so.”

“Seeing her around school lately has been tough. Knowing I hurt her. Knowing I had a chance but I ruined it. I realize it sounds corny and we didn't date that long . . . but I think I was falling for her.”

“Hey, Bob. Never say never.”

“I just wish I hadn't acted like the square root of two.”

I shake my head. “What?”

“Irrational. I wish I hadn't been so irrational.”

I pat Bob on the shoulder again. I'm surprisingly glad he hasn't lost his sense of humor.

38

I WAIT UNTIL MR. KIMBROUGH
has gathered himself, and then we get out of his car together. When he's finally ready to head into school, though, I leave him to double back to grab my phone, which I forgot in my own car.

When I get close to my parking spot, I see a magnificent sight: Tristen, with her back to me, bent over next to my car, in those short jean shorts I love so much. But my initial arousal very quickly turns to dismay—
what the hell is she doing?

I jog the last twenty feet to my car, calling her name. She quickly stands up and coyly hides something behind her back. I immediately expect the worst.

“Tristen,” I say when I reach her, “please don't tell me you're slashing my tires or something crazy like that.”

She shakes her head no.

“Then what are you doing?”

She shows me her hands: She's holding a pen and a piece of paper.

“I was leaving you a note. Your tire is low.”

Now I feel bad.

“Oh. Um, thanks.”

Then I hear the
sssssssssssss
of air leaking from my front right tire, right where Tristen is standing. I take a closer look. The valve has been loosened.

“Were you leaving me a note . . .
after
you let the air out?”

She shrugs.

My relationship with Tristen has been a roller coaster. First I underestimated her. Then we totally connected. Unfortunately, that coincided with me starting to crush on Jak. I've been trying to end things with Tristen, but instead have fallen into a trap as old as time: By pushing her away, I've unintentionally made her like me even more. Most disconcerting is how erratic Tristen has been behaving lately, for instance right now.

“You're back at school!” she says, as my tire continues to leak. “Are you feeling better?”

I recall that Tristen is the one who first discovered Humble Pi and showed it to Brooke. Which means Tristen could have known for weeks that I used the Galgorithm on her. Maybe she's just upset and this is her way of acting out.

“Listen,” I say, “I know you're mad. And I
totally
get it.”

“I'm not mad.”

“You're not?”

“No!”

“Then why are you letting the air out of my tire?”

“Duh. I want attention.”

I have to hand it to her. At least she's stone-cold honest.

“But you saw the article in the
Chronicle
right? You know what I used to do? You know about the Galgorithm?”

“Of course. I know all about it.”

“And that makes you feel . . .”

“Super turned on.”

“Turned
on
?”

“Totally. I mean, how cute are you to help all those lonely guys? Like, who does that? Plus you know all these things about women. Like, stuff we never tell anybody. That's so hot.”

“You do realize that everyone else is mad at me, right? Marisol broke up with Reed over it.”

“Oh, she's just being silly,” she says dismissively.

“You don't care that I used all that stuff on you?”

“I wish you would do it more. That's why I didn't say anything even though I knew the article was coming out.”

“Tristen, you could have warned me!”

“Shane, I
like
the Galgorithm.”

Wait a minute,
I think.
The Galgorithm!
Maybe that's the way to resist Tristen. Maybe I take all my old tips, and do them in reverse. Yeah, that could work! What's the opposite of “be
different, notice her, tell her”? Be the same, ignore her, don't tell her? That doesn't make any sense! What's the opposite of “be positive, never apologize”? Be negative . . . always apologize? What? No. Oh my God. What am I doing? I've gone completely insane.

“Shane,” she continues, “do you remember how I was raising money for dolphins in the Congo?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course.”

“Well, this summer, after my Habitat for Humanity trip, I think I'm gonna travel there to actually
see
the dolphins. I want you to come with me. It'll be totes amaze.”

“Me and you, alone, in the Congo?”

“Well, technically Gabon, but yes.”

“Um . . .”

“Just think about it.”

It's time to put my foot down.

“I'm sorry, Tristen, but no. This is over.”

“Whatever you say . . .”

“I'm serious. We can't be together.”

“Will you unlock your car, please?”

“Why?” I'm so confused.

“Just unlock it.”

“Argh.” I foolishly click my keychain and unlock the doors.

Tristen smirks, then opens the back door, grabs me by my shirt, and pushes me into the car. For someone with such spindly forearms, she's surprisingly aggro. Before I
even know what's happening, she's straddling me in the backseat.

“Tristen, wait.”

“No more talking.” She starts kissing me. Keep in mind it's seven forty-five in the morning.

“Tristen, there are people around.”

“I don't care.”

I can't believe Tristen is behaving like this. She was so normal for so long. And she could have any guy she wanted!

She kisses my neck and nibbles on my earlobe. She knows that's my spot.

“Tristen . . .” My resolve is crumbling. I hate how weak I am.

But, I rationalize, I also deserve someone who wants me. I deserve this.

I kiss Tristen back. I pull her closer. She starts to moan.

I'm only human.

I run my hands along her back and her sides. She moans some more.

“Hooooo. Hooooo.”

It's kind of a strange moan. I disregard it and kiss her neck. She moans again.

“Hooooo. Hooooo.”

She sounds like an owl. I don't care. This is happening.

“Hooooo. Hooooo.”

And that's when I realize she's not moaning “Hooooo,” she's saying “Whooooom,” as in “whom.”

“Whooooom. Whooooom.”

I stop caressing her. I stop kissing her.

“Are you saying ‘whom'?”

She starts to grind on me. “Yeah,” she says breathlessly. “Whooooom.”

I grab her shoulders.

“Why? Why are you saying that?”

“I know it's important to you.
I
want to be important to you too.”

I take my hands off her.

This isn't right. For so many reasons.

Jak would never pull a stunt like this. Jak would never have to try this hard. Even if she won't speak to me right now, Jak is the only girl for me. I cannot continue to let Tristen distract me from that. Tristen is fun. But Jak is the One.

“Whooooom,” she repeats.

39

THIS TREE HAS A LOT
of history. It emerges from the ground right at the corner where Jak and I go our separate ways when we walk home from school together. The middle school in Kingsview is only a few blocks from the high school, so we walked the same route past this tree for six years before we got our licenses, and then the tradition resumed when Jak got us Fitbits. On many of those walks, Jak has playfully tried to push me into this very tree. It's gnarled and knotty and has a bunch of hearts carved into it by lovers or pranksters or both.

After managing to extricate myself from Tristen's clutches, which took a lot of negotiating and a few whistles from some passing freshmen, I didn't even bother going to class. I had too much on my mind. I just left my car in the lot, still leaking
air, and have been walking the route from school to my house over and over again, for hours. By now, though, school has ended. I'm waiting by the tree for Jak to drive past in the hopes of flagging her down and begging her forgiveness.

I must repair my friendship with Jak. That's the most important thing in the world to me. But, should I get the chance, I also need to tell her how I truly feel. This may not be the perfect moment, but there may never be a perfect moment. I can't keep it inside any longer.

I spot Jak down the block, driving her dark gray Prius, and step out into the street. As she gets closer, I get cold feet. I want to run. But something keeps me in place, rooted to the ground, just like the tree.

Now Jak is close enough to recognize me, but I can't really see her reaction inside the car. I wave my arms. She could easily drive around me, or she could stop. Relief washes over me when I hear the electronic
whooosh
of the Prius decelerating. She pulls over and stops on the side of the road in front of me.

She gets out of the car and approaches, scowling.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to talk to you,” I say.

“How long have you been out here?”

“All day.”

“You're an idiot.”

“I know. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Will you give me a minute?”

She glances at her wrist and sighs overdramatically. She's not even wearing a watch. “Ugh. One minute.”

I take a deep breath. “Jak. I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I kept secrets from you. I'm sorry I hurt you. I really, truly am. Everything I did I did with good intentions. You know that. You know me.”

Her face doesn't change.

“Words.”

“Words are all I've got right now, Jak. But I swear to God, I will do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes, to make it up to you.”

“If this whole Galgorithm thing was such a big part of your life,” she asks, “then why did you keep it from me?”

“I don't know.”

“Why didn't you tell me everything that you were really doing? Why did you have to have this stupid alter ego I didn't know about?”

“Everything just spiraled out of control. I should have told you.”

“That's not good enough, Shane. That doesn't make any sense. That's so dumb.”

“You're right.”

“I want to know what happened with Adam.”

I suddenly can't find the words.

“What did you do?” she asks.

“Umm,” I mumble.

Why am I so eloquent in my head!

A car zooms by and momentarily distracts us.

Jak resumes her focus on me.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Jak, I can explain.”

I tread carefully, knowing that whatever I say next I cannot unsay. Once this is out of the bag, nothing will ever be the same.

“Why did you hurt me like that, Shane?”

“Because I love you.”

I have to catch my breath. I said it. I did it.

Jak looks more confused than anything.

“What?”

“I love you,” I repeat. “I told Adam I had feelings for you, and that's why he got weird. The truth is I love you. I'm
in
love with you, Jak.”

“Like . . . you
love me
love me?”

“Yes.”

“Is this a joke?”

This is not as romantic as I envisioned it.

“No! It's not a joke. I love everything about you. Your legs, your brain, your eyelashes with the split ends. Everything. That's why I got involved between you and Adam.”

Jak doesn't say anything. I take some solace in the fact that her expression has morphed from angry to befuddled. It's a start, I guess.

“Where is this coming from?” she asks finally.

“I don't know, Jak. Where does it ever come from? All I know is that I love you and that's why I did the stupid things I did.”

“How long have you felt this way?”

“When we were in the bathtub together, after the party. That's when I first started to know. But a part of me thinks it was always there. Maybe even from the beginning. From the first bathtub.”

“No,” she says.

“No what?”

“No you're not
allowed
to be in love with me, Shane. We're best friends.”

“I can't help what I feel, Jak. The question is, do you feel the same way? Because I think you do.”

I'm looking for any change in her eyes, her breathing, anything.

“Shane, after what we just went through, how could you possibly ask me something like that? Our friendship is hanging by a thread.”

“I need to know.”

“I told you, years ago, after Voldemort, that we could never be together. You were a train wreck. I can't go through that with you.”

I shake my head. “I never got to tell you,” I say. “I saw Voldemort that day I found you hiding out in the gym. The day everything went down. . . .”

“You did?”

“Yeah. At the mall. Even she thinks we should be together.”

“Why should I care what that skank thinks?”

Though it's not helping my argument right now, it does warm my heart to know that Jak is still defending my honor after all these years.

“Even the kids at school think we should be together,” I say. “They call us #Shak.”

“Shane, I don't care what other people think.”

The phrase “I don't care what other people think” gets thrown around a lot. But Jak actually means it. She walks the walk. It's another thing that, although it's working against me now, I truly admire about her.

“Jak, you never answered my question.
Do you feel the same way?
”

“No,” she says, finally. “I don't.”

She looks down at the ground so that she doesn't have to face me.

It can't be. Pressure builds in my sinuses and I feel like my head is gonna implode.

“You just don't want me to be mad at you anymore,” she says. “That's all this is.”

“That's not true!”

I'm still trying to search Jak's face for any clue that she might be holding back. But she has no tell. I'm starting to feel nauseous.

“Well,” I manage, “
are
you still mad at me?”

She shrugs.

“Jak, you said you thought we had something special. We
do
have something special. It's just more special than friendship. It's even better.”

“We're going away to college in a few months.”

“I know,” I say. “And why do you think we like never talk about that?”

“You're with Tristen.”

“It's over.”

No reaction.

“You can come up with a million reasons why we shouldn't be together, Jak. But there's only one reason why we
should
: We love each other.”

“I don't know what you want me to say, Shane.”

“Tell me you love me too.”

She shakes her head no. Is she telling me no? Or is she trying to convince herself?

She looks away once more.

“I don't. Not in that way,” she says.

I stare at her. Try to make sense of what's going on in that big brain of hers. It's the worst possible outcome for me, but I think she's telling the truth.

I'm devastated. I feel sick. I sit down on the curb and hang my head between my knees. I can see Jak's white Chucks shuffling in the street in front of me.

After a moment she sits next to me on the curb.

After another moment she asks, “Are you okay?”

Her voice is steady. Her tone is concerned. She might even still be a little annoyed with me. But she's not mad.

“No, I'm not okay,” I say. “I'm in love with you. Don't you understand that? I'm opening up to you.”

I'm distraught. I knew this was a risk. But bracing for it doesn't change how terrible this is.

“I'm sorry, Shane. I can't change how I feel. Besides, this is exactly what I was worried about. One of us getting hurt. And things getting weird.”

“I promise that won't happen,” I say, to no avail.

I'm trying not to hyperventilate.

“I would be disappointed if I were you too,” Jak says. “I'm the bomb.”

This finally manages to elicit an involuntary grin out of me.

I look at her. My feelings haven't changed. I still want her more than anything. Maybe I don't blame her for rejecting me. Maybe I'm just glad she's talking to me again. If she hasn't forgiven me outright, she's at least softened her stance. And I have to be grateful for that. If and how we move forward from here, though, is anyone's guess.

“Come on, Incredible Sulk,” she says. “I'll give you a ride home.”

She stands up, using my shoulder for balance. Her touch sends shivers down my extremities.

She walks over to her car, then stops and turns to me.

There are three little words that I'm praying for her to utter.

“Are you coming?”

Those aren't them.

Jak is soldiering on. I can't believe this is happening.

I rise from the curb unsteadily and start to walk to the car, but not before glancing at all the hearts on the tree on the corner, and trying to accept that Jak and I will never share one.