Galgorithm (9 page)

19

I WANDER INTO PERKIN'S BEANERY,
where Tristen and I had our first date, and am immediately surprised to see Adam sitting at a table by himself. He's cleaning his glasses when I walk up to him.

“Yo, man.”

“Hey, Shane.” He looks at me, puzzled, and shakes my hand.

I notice he doesn't have any coffee. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I'm actually meeting Jak,” he says.

“You're kidding.”

“No. I texted her to see if she wanted to get together. I offered to pick her up, but she said just to meet her here at four.”

“Well that's weird,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because Jak asked me to meet her here too.”

“Huh? She double-booked us by accident?”

Wait. It's all starting to come together.

“Ah. No. I don't think it was an accident,” I say. “She told me to meet at 4:15. I'm just really early. I think she wanted me to show up and check in with her depending on how your date was going.”

This is exactly what Marisol and Rebecca did to Reed.

“So, like, as an excuse in case she wanted to bail?” Adam says.

“Nah. More like just a friendly face in case she panics. I wouldn't worry too much. You'll be fine.”

“Ah. Okay. Thanks. So . . . I guess you might as well sit down, then.”

“Yeah, sure. I can't wait to see the look on Jak's face.”

I take the seat across from Adam. He's arranging and rearranging the napkin dispenser and container of stirrers on the table. Clearly nervous.

I look around to make sure that Jak hasn't arrived yet. “So I have to ask,” I say. “Why didn't you tell me that Jak was the girl you had a crush on?”

Adam grimaces. “I'm sorry. I feel really bad about that. Are you pissed?”

“No, I'm not pissed at all.” At least I don't think I am.

“It's just that,” he continues, “you made that whole speech about how I should just do it on my own and I didn't need you anymore.”

“Totally. I get it. But Jak
is
my best friend. I might have been able to help.”

“I know. But I was afraid that if I started talking about it, I would lose my nerve. You know how I am. I think too much and freak out.”

“Oh, I know.”

“I feel bad. Are you sure you're not mad?”

“I'm sure. I'm just surprised it's Jak.”

“You told me I needed to move on. And I've always kind of had a thing for her.”

“Okay. Well, listen, just treat her right.”

“Absolutely. Of course. Thanks for being so cool about it.”

Adam wipes a nonexistent smudge from the face of his watch and rearranges the napkin dispenser once more.

Maybe I am a little peeved that Adam didn't tell me about Jak. I mean, in a way I'm proud that he was able to approach her like that in school without my help. But a little heads-up would have been nice. Then again, now that Tristen and I are an item—not boyfriend and girlfriend, but definitely an item—maybe I should start taking my nose out of other ­people's business and focus on my own.

“She's coming!” Adam says in a loud whisper.

We observe Jak entering the coffee shop, absentmindedly
playing with her Fitbit. Her hair is out of control. I feel like it's close to brushing against the door frame as she passes. She's wearing a thrift store Led Zeppelin T-shirt. I guarantee you she has no idea what Led Zeppelin is.

She notices me and Adam sitting together and does a similar double take to the one she did when she ran into me and Tristen at the mall:
what?
followed by
uh oh
followed by
the hell with it.

Adam starts to fidget even more as Jak approaches.

“Don't worry,” I say. “I won't stay long.”

We both stand up.

“Shane,” Jak says, trying to act surprised. “What are you doing here?” She is a terrible liar.

“Really?” I say. “That's the route you decided to take? Pretending not to know I was coming?”

“I don't know. I was making it up as I went along. You're early.”

I shrug. We high-five.

She turns to Adam. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says.

“So, yeah,” Jak says, “I kinda invited Shane, too, but I thought he was gonna come later, and, I don't know. I'm not good at this stuff.”

“Don't worry about it at all,” Adam says. “We just had a chance to catch up.”

“Yeah, I'm gonna take off in a minute,” I say. Just long
enough to make sure Jak is okay. And I figure it doesn't hurt to see if they have any chemistry.

“Can I get you something?” Adam asks Jak.

“Thanks. Yeah. I just need to think about what I want for a second.”

Adam pulls out a chair for Jak and the three of us sit down.

It's quiet and a little awkward. I lob anything out there to break the silence.

“Jak, are our moms still fighting?”

I keep Adam in the loop: “Our moms are best friends. My mom forgot her mom's birthday. It's a whole thing.”

“I think they made up,” Jak says.

“Good,” I say.

“Are you close with your mom?” Adam asks Jak.

“Pretty close. She's a little crazy.”

I eye Jak.

“I know,” she says instantly. “I'm a little crazy too.”

“Hey, I didn't say a word,” I add.

Adam emits one of those fake giggles you do when you're feeling left out of the conversation. I don't really want to go, but I realize I'm stepping all over his game. When Jak and I are together, we tend to drown everybody else out.

“Okay,” I say, standing up. “You guys enjoy.”

I sense a flicker of disappointment in Jak's eyes.

“Take it easy, Shane,” Adam says. He shakes my hand.

“Later, hater,” Jak says.

I leave as she and Adam begin consulting the chalkboard menu.

Jak smiles like a goofball.

Adam, I can't help thinking, is a lucky guy.

20

I'M SITTING WITH REED AT
one of the cement tables in the courtyard in front of school. He's hit a bit of a rough patch in his quest for Marisol. Like Mr. Kimbrough, Reed made the mistake of not confirming a second date at the end of the first one. I blame myself for not hammering that into his head. But I thought he could recover and Marisol would be receptive to a return engagement. Instead she has been stonewalling him.

I've decided to shake things up a bit. Unbeknownst to Reed, Tristen is meeting me here in a few minutes to say hello. She's bringing along Marisol; they both run in the junior-class popular crowd. I'm hoping that getting Reed and Marisol talking face-to-face will jump-start things between them. It's too easy for her to blow him off via
Facebook or text. In person that bag of bones can be rather charming.

Right now, though, Reed is pretty down in the dumps. I take my clients' successes and failures personally—probably to an unhealthy degree—so I'm just as bummed as he is. But it's my job to rise above and steer the ship.

Reed is glumly looking through his little notebook for answers, but I tell him, “You're not gonna find what you're looking for in there.”

“Maybe Marisol isn't interested anymore,” Reed says. “Maybe that kiss on the cheek meant goodbye. Maybe she's too good for me.”

“Reed, Marisol puts her pants on one leg at a time, just like you. Stay positive. You're doing great.”

“If you say so.”

“Listen, here's what I want you to do the next time you see Marisol:
Be yourself.
Forget everything I've told you. Forget the Galgorithm. Forget your notebook.”

“But I never got
any
girls being myself.”

“That's ridiculous. I know you pretty well by now, Reed. And you're awesome. If you saw in yourself what I see in you, you'd be singing a whole different tune right now.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I say.

Usually I tell my clients to try to
remember
everything I've taught them, not to forget it. But Reed is getting too bogged
down. He needs to learn to think on his feet. Heck, in four months I'm graduating and he's gonna have to fend for himself anyway.

“By the way, I have some news for you,” I add.

“What?”

“I'm kinda sorta seeing Tristen Kellog.”

Reed's eyes light up.

“Tristen? Like”—he makes the international symbol for big boobs with his hands—“Tristen?”

“Yup.”

“You, sir,” Reed continues, “are a god among men.”

One fringe benefit of seeing Tristen is that it gives me even more credibility with all my clients. Not that Reed hadn't already drunk the Kool-Aid.

“How did
that
happen?” he asks.

“I'll tell you about it later. Oh, and another thing: Tristen is on her way right now, and she's bringing Marisol.”

“What?”

Tristen and Marisol are indeed approaching us from the other side of the courtyard.

“Is this an ambush?” he says.

I feel bad, but I know that putting Reed on the spot is the right move. He needs to be taken out of his comfort zone.

“Reed, don't panic. Just be yourself. This may be your last chance, so
do what your heart tells you to do
. Okay?”

“My heart is telling me to puke.”

“Don't do that.”

“It's also telling me to run.”

“Go with whatever your third instinct is.”

Reed gulps. He hides his notebook, and we stand up as Tristen and Marisol arrive. I notice that Tristen and I are not on lip-kiss-hello terms yet. Marisol and Reed share a slightly awkward but still warm greeting.

“Tristen,” I say, “have you met Reed?”

“No, I don't think I have. Nice to meet you, Reed.”

Wow, there are still girls in Reed's own class who ­actually don't know he exists. It's almost impressive. It also makes me wonder if Marisol has ever even mentioned him to ­Tristen before.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Reed says to Tristen. “Marisol, you look pretty today. I like your shirt.”

“Oh, thanks.” Marisol is not much of a blusher, but I definitely think I see a touch of red. Reed is not holding anything back. By the way, Marisol is wearing a plain white T-shirt, so that compliment came out of nowhere. I'll take it.

“What are you guys doing?” Tristen asks.

“Just hanging out,” I say.

“I was actually helping Shane with his Euro homework,” Reed interjects.

“What?” I legitimately have no idea what he's talking about.

“You know, since you're failing history, I need to tutor you.”

“You're failing history, Shane?” Tristen asks.

“No. We're not even in the same class.”

“That's how bad it is,” Reed says. “He didn't know how long the Hundred Years' War was.”

This catches Marisol off guard. She giggles and almost spits out her gum.

And now I realize what's happening. Reed is turning the tables on me for his own benefit. Poking fun at me to make himself look good.

“Right, Shane?”

“Right,” I mutter. Now who's getting ambushed?

“He once told me it's really freezing in Moscow, and that's why they call it the Cold War.”

Marisol laughs again at my expense.

I must admit, Reed can be quite clever. And I'm happy to be the fall guy. But he's testing my limits.

“I mean, Tristen,” Reed continues, “what do you see in him? He thought World War One was started by Franz ­Ferdinand. The band.”

Now Tristen and Marisol are both laughing
with
Reed and
at
me. I think that's enough.

I grab Tristen's arm. “Why don't we, uh, get outta here or take a walk or something?”

“All right,” she says. Then, turning to Marisol, she adds, “He's funny.” She's talking about Reed.

Pickup artists much more professional than me call this
“social proof.” It's basically when a girl gets approval about a guy from the people around her. Marisol just witnessed Reed getting social proof from Tristen, the prettiest girl in school. That's no small accomplishment.

Tristen and I say our goodbyes. Tristen and Marisol still have the giggles, and I can't get out of there fast enough. I nod to Reed as we exit, as in:
I did my part; now it's time for you to do yours.

As me and Tristen are walking away, Tristen says to me, “Oh, that's
Reed
. You know what, Marisol said she had gone out with a guy, but I didn't realize that was him.”

So Marisol
did
mention Reed after all. Even better.

Tristen reaches out to hold my hand. In the moment, I almost don't fully appreciate it.

“You know he was kidding about me failing history,” I say.

She doesn't seem to care either way.

When I casually glance back to see how Reed is getting along with Marisol by himself, I am absolutely astounded. They've been on their own for thirty seconds. We're on school grounds. It's the middle of the afternoon. And it's now clear to me what Reed's third instinct was, after puking and running.

Reed and Marisol are making out!

21

JAK WOKE UP THIS MORNING
to find two more complimentary passes to Sweat Republic in her e-mail. I figure it was either a display of persistent marketing or a misguided apology for our odd encounter with Sarah with an
h
. Regardless, Jak decided it was a sign that we should continue our workout kick. So we geared up in headbands and Under Armour, drove to the gym, walked the floor several times to determine just how we were gonna kick off this most sweat-tastic of days, and then beelined to the smoothie bar, having completed exactly zero exercise. My Fitbit just reads
YOU DISGUST ME
.

We ordered our smoothies from a bewildering menu inside and are now drinking them outside, sitting in silver metal chairs under an umbrella on the sidewalk. From here we can observe our fellow Sweat Republicans—as I'm sure
they're not called—enter and exit the gym (sorry,
more
than just a gym).

This QT is long overdue for several reasons. The rest of Jak and Adam's coffee date went well, and they went out again. I'm happy for Jak but slightly concerned that things between us have been a little . . . let's just say “off” lately. Certainly the presence of Tristen and Adam in our lives has begun to put a crunch on our already dwindling time together. But it's more than that. Crushes have come and gone in the past, and it's never before affected me and Jak's status as partners-in-crime. I can't quite put my finger on what's wrong, but I'm glad we have this chance to catch up.

“What did you end up getting?” Jak asks me.

“Black pepper mango pumpkin.”

She looks at my smoothie. “Why is it brown?”

“I don't know,” I say. “I thought it would be orange.”

“How does it taste?”

“Honestly, it's the best thing I've ever had in my entire life.”

Jak smiles.

“What's yours?” I ask.

“Jicama honey basil.”

“Gross. And?”

“I don't even know what jicama is, but this is so good I want an IV directly in my bloodstream.”

“Basically, they should close the gym part and just open up a chain of smoothie bars.”

“I would invest,” Jak says.

She sucks down half her smoothie in one go. She's still wearing her headband, and it's nice to see her without all that hair in her face for the first time in, well, probably years.

“So,” Jak says, “let's get down to business. I need all the dirt on Tristen. Tell. Me. Everything.”

“Things are going well. You know, we haven't had a conversation or anything about it, but I'd say we're seeing each other.”

“Oh I figured
that
.”

“Well, that's really everything.”

Jak doesn't say a word.

“You want to know about her boobs, don't you?”

She shrugs.

“I told you I don't boob-touch and tell.”

“Aha! So you
have
touched them!”

“That's not fair. You tricked me. Fine, yes, I've touched them.”

“Well?”

“Tristen is a very interesting, well-rounded person . . . who just also happens to have very well-rounded boobs.”

“Ha! I need to tweet: ‘Shane Remains the Mane! #tristenaccomplished.'”

“Don't tweet that.”

“What, you don't want the world to know you're dating the hottest girl in Kingsview?”

“She's also a good person.”

Jak bursts out laughing. My face doesn't change.

“Oh,” Jak says. “You weren't kidding.”

“No, I wasn't kidding. You think I'm that superficial?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Well I'm not. Tristen is cool.”

“This is the same Tristen Kellog who writes about jeggings in the
Chronicle
?”

“Yes. Why? Do you not like her?”

The million-dollar question.

“I like her,” Jak insists. “But you promise you're not just dating her because her body is both a temple and a wonderland? It's like a temple
in
Wonderland.”

“I promise.”

I guess I feel a little better having asked Jak flat-out about Tristen, although I still don't totally believe her. It's strange; it's not like Jak to be territorial. No one wants me to get over ­Voldemort more than she does. Maybe I'm looking too far into it.

“I'm just watching out for you, Chambliss,” she says. “You're a boy, so you have a brain the size of a pea.”

“Yeah, maybe like a really big pea.”

“Good one,” she says sarcastically. And then she polishes off her smoothie.

“What about you?” I ask. “What's going on with Adam? Spill it.”

“You know, we're hanging out. He seems all right.”

“Come on, Jak, don't get shy on me now. Details.”

“Well,” she says, “he complains a lot, which I can appreciate. He's really tall, which I like. I mean, he wears these ­stupid-looking glasses that someone must have told him looked good.”

Ouch. “I think they're hip,” I offer.

“Nothing is hip if you have to say, ‘I think they're hip.'”

Fair enough.

“But besides that, I dig him,” she says.

“I'm surprised, Jak. Usually you can come up with more flaws than just a pair of glasses.”

“What can I say? I'm getting soft in my old age.”

“Have you . . . hooked up?”

I'm surprised by how nervous I am to hear the answer to this question.

“Maybe we kissed or whatever.”

Hmm. There you have it. Reed is kissing Marisol. Adam is kissing Jak. I'm so proud of my clients. Well, more so Reed. I'm not sure how I feel about Jak and Adam yet. He's right for her, but is he, like, perfect for her? I don't know.

“You promise you're not hanging out with Adam just because you're—”

I catch myself.

Jak is quick to pounce.

“What were you about to say? Lonely? Desperate?”

“No, no, no not at all.”

“Wait, are you
jealous
?”

“No!” I insist.

“Because you're the one who told me that guys talk about me with their penises out in the locker room.”

I laugh, and this breaks the tension.

“I know,” I say. “I didn't mean anything like that. I was just being dumb.”

I finish my smoothie.

“I miss this,” Jak says. “You. Us. Sitting around talking about nothing. The last few months you've been like totally distracted. We need to do this more.”

“I agree.”

She reaches across the table and takes my hand. It's an odd gesture, but it's also really nice. We look at each other and smile—a smile only two best friends can share.

“It feels so good,” Jak says wistfully, “to be holding the hand that touched Tristen's boobs.”

I grab my hand back. “Come on, Jak.”

She cackles.

“I'm sorry, Chambliss, but—”

“I know, I know. It was a perfect moment and you had to ruin it.”

I shake my head. Jak is just so darn pleased with herself right now.

“Hey, remember we were joking about going to one of
these house parties before the school year is up?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says, “to drink a lot and make poor decisions. I remember.”

“There's gonna be a big kegger next week. We should go. If you're feeling up to it.”

“So a house full of alcohol and people being friendly?”

“Yup, that's basically the definition of a party.”

“Shane, I know you usually don't go to these things because—”

“You get anxious and freak out.”

“Exactly. And that's pretty cool of you to have my back. But for you, I think I can handle one party. I'm game if you're game.”

“I'm game if
you're
game.”

“Then it's settled,” Jak says. “We're in. I'm kinda excited. Is someone gonna spike the punch? Does everyone put their keys in a fishbowl and go home with a stranger?”

“If you're going to a party in an eighties movie, then yes.”

“What? I don't know.”

“It's probably just gonna be a lot of standing around,” I say.

Jak smiles at me.

“Now
that
I can handle.”