The Boyfriend App (18 page)

My fingers dangled above the keyboard. I pushed Aidan from my mind and tried to focus. With the backdoor application, I had full remote access to
everything
on Dr. Gurung’s computer—emails, files, photos, you name it.

Don’t use what you know to hurt people.

My dad’s words curled through my mind like smoke. But if my theory was true, and Dr. Gurung was hiding something, it wasn’t breaking my dad’s code to uncover it.

My fingertips touched down. I opened the program on my computer that connected to the backdoor running on Gurung’s computer. I was staring at his desktop open in a window on mine. I needed to be careful—with the way I was remotely logged on through the backdoor, it was possible Gurung could see me messing around on his desktop if he happened to be staring at it right then. So I waited to touch anything until the dead of the night when I figured he had to be sleeping.

The waiting was agony.

At 2:38 a.m., I started with his Word docs. It took me forever to sort through his files. (He wasn’t bad with encryption, but it was an older algorithm and easy to break.) I finally found what I thought were notes from the study. I read through countless pages where Dr. Gurung described the reactions of the fifty mice he used as test subjects. I had to Google some of the medical terms, but I got the basic gist.

For his experiment, Dr. Gurung had placed the mice in two separate cages, each equipped with levers that the mice could push. In Cage A, the lever released an ultrasonic chord progression—the sound Lindsay and I must have heard coming from my buyPhone. Dr. Gurung believed the sound activated a burst of adrenaline, followed by oxytocin, and then dopamine in the mice brains.

In Cage B, there was a random sound frequency. A placebo.

In Cage B, the mice didn’t care about the lever. They hit it a couple times, and when nothing happened, they moved on and did regular mouse stuff.

In Cage A, the mice went ape for the lever. As soon as they hit the lever, Dr. Gurung noted an immediate increase of blood pressure and heart rate. Moments later, the mice engaged in mating behaviors. (Sometimes cuddling and nesting, but usually hooking up.) Then the mice came racing back to the lever and hit it again, starting the cycle all over again.

The mouse orgy lasted for days. Meanwhile, the mice had decreased appetite and decreased sleep (similar symptoms to humans in love). And they had an increase of obsessive behaviors like hitting the lever until their paws bled, and getting it on until they collapsed from exhaustion.

Dr. Gurung deduced that the mice were indeed experiencing a burst of adrenaline, followed by oxytocin and dopamine (the exact neurological changes the human brain experiences while falling in love, or lust).

I ran my hands over my pajama pants. It was true. Inaudible sound frequencies stimulated a cocktail of neurotransmitters to amp up the users, flood them with love and well-being, and keep them coming back for more. So why would Dr. Gurung hide the study results? And why was the study terminated if the results so obviously proved the hypothesis?

I opened Dr. Gurung’s email and searched for
ADRENALINE/OXYTOCIN/DOPAMINE
. Dozens of emails popped up, but nothing suspicious. Mostly answers to questions posed by his students. I searched
NEUROTRANSMITTERS
in his deleted-items folder. Like so many people do, Dr. Gurung deleted his emails but never trashed his deleted-mail folder. Then I came across something big:

From:
[email protected]

A chill passed over my skin.
Blake’s father
was involved?

To: [email protected]

Nikhil,

I’m writing with the opportunity of a lifetime. I’m working with a private investor interested in funding a study of the possibility of sound-triggering the release of neurotransmitters in the brain. I told them you’re the only neurologist they should consider.

Please keep this information confidential, of course.

What do you think, old roomie?

Robert

I tried to breathe, to steady my thinking. But the smell of smoke filtered through my bedroom window and I felt like I was choking.

I read on and on, discovering that it was Public Corporation’s CEO Alec Pierce who funded the study. The study’s secondary investor, Robert Dawkins, roped his college roommate (conveniently, a neurologist) into conducting the study. When the doctor found the results Public needed, Public pulled its funding. So did Robert Dawkins.

I scrolled back up and reread one of the emails from Robert Dawkins to Gurung.

You know what will happen if you don’t cooperate.

It sounded like blackmail.

Public had access to hundreds of top-notch neurologists across the country. Maybe I’d watched too many movies, but something told me whatever blackmail-worthy information Robert Dawkins had on Nikhil Gurung was the reason he was selected to complete the trial—so that he could be effectively shut up once he’d handed Public the sound frequency that triggered the love hormones.

And there was nothing I could do about it. Hacking into private, secure accounts was illegal. I couldn’t reveal what Public had done to Nigit’s father without exposing my trespassing.

My hands arched above the keyboard. Maybe there was a way to get Public back for what they did to Nigit’s dad. For what they did to teenagers. Maybe there was a way to reverse engineer the software and turn the tables, to outsmart
the brightest minds in the country
, as the Public reps called themselves in press releases.

Just because I didn’t dare reveal Public’s technology didn’t mean I couldn’t use it to beat them at their own game.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

.....................................................................

chapter nineteen

D
ays later, sunlight streaked through my bedroom window and made the textbooks, computer manuals, and old socks scattered across my floor look like they’d caught fire. The bottle of Mountain Dew on my desk was empty. Public Party was open on my computer, telling me Carrie Sommers commented on Aidan’s post about a brand-new zero-day vulnerability that left a computer system highly susceptible to exploit.

So glad ur getting in touch with ur vulnerability, babe!

On my
War of the Worlds
calendar (a gift from Nigit) I’d marked today’s date with red sharpie: DANNY BEATON CONCERT. INDIANAPOLIS, EIGHT P.M. PUBLIC ANNOUNCES WINNERS, NINE P.M. My window was still cracked, the fresh air pumping into my lungs.

Outside, Roger’s butt was up in the air. His head was hidden beneath a Volkswagen Jetta and wrenches were scattered on the gravel around a yellow toolbox.

Ernie, my neighbor’s Labradoodle, raced across the parking lot and nosed Roger’s bare leg. He kicked crazily, rolling from beneath the car and shouting a slew of swearwords while the dog’s owner came running with a leash.

My world outside looked the same—or, at least, a variation on a common theme. But inside my room—no, inside
me
—something had ignited.

I clutched my buyPhone and glanced at the BFA 2.0 icon on my home screen. Once you understood the science, Public’s BuyWare was remarkably simple software. The ultrasonic chord progression had gotten messed up when I smashed my phone, becoming both audible and continuous. Public had been using the software in controlled, short, inaudible bursts—intensifying the user’s desire for Public products, but not enough to make them go head-over-heels in love like Lindsay and me when my phone emitted one continuous buzzing chord progression. For the BFA 2.0, I’d altered the program so that instead of the buyPhones emitting the ultrasonic chord progression using the sequence Public did (one-second bursts every thirty seconds) the phones would now emit one continuous progression. I figured this
had
to be the way to get the maximum love effect.

Instead of GPS automatically triggering the ultrasonic chord progression when the user was in the vicinity of a Public store, I compiled the code into an app format so that after download, User A could activate a hormone burst in User B by pointing her phone at him and his buyPhone and pressing a button on the screen marked
IT’S ON
.

I’d programmed the app so I could manually enter a guy’s number and activate his phone. But I needed it to work for a girl who didn’t know her dream guy’s cell number. That’s how I came up with pointing the phone. Once User A’s phone was oriented in a direction, the antenna would identify the closest phone within forty feet of him.

Public was using BuyWare when users laid eyes on their products either in an actual store (which they tracked by using the phone’s GPS) or in a virtual store. (As soon as a user logged in to his or her account on buyJams or Public.com, the BuyWare on his or her phone was activated. Public took the chance that—like most people—the user’s phone was nearby while he or she was browsing Public or downloading music on buyJams.)

And my and Lindsay’s reaction to each other had happened when the phone emitted the buzzing sound while we were the object-in-sight. So if my theory was right, User A (Lonely Girl) had to wait until the precise moment of eye contact with User B (Dream Guy) to elicit the love reaction. Activation timing worked like a phone call: Dream Guy’s phone was activated with one touch of the
IT’S ON
button, and he experienced the hormone surge until Lonely Girl pressed
IT’S OVER
. He was in love with her for as long as she wanted the connection to last.

Now all I needed to do was test it.

My mind raced through experimental options and imaginary outcomes on the ride to school. Lindsay prattled on about tonight’s Danny Beaton concert, debating what time we needed to leave South Bend to get to Indianapolis by eight, avoiding the topic of Public’s contest altogether. She still thought I was crushed and hopeless. Still down on my luck.

Not exactly.

I kept both hands in my hoodie’s pockets—one clutching my rabbit’s foot, one clutching my buyPhone. As we pulled into Harrison’s lot, I knew everything could change—if I let it. If I had the guts to let loose Public’s sketchy software (for love, not consumerism—I wasn’t violating my dad’s rule if I was creating
love
) everything could be different. My app could create happiness. It could catch on like wildfire and win the contest and fix everything.

“Are you even listening to anything I’m saying?” Lindsay asked as she pulled next to Nigit’s Prius. The car sighed as I stared blankly. “I overheard Jolene say Blake’s dad got them front-row seats for Danny Beaton, too,” she said, turning off the ignition. “Can you believe that? They’re like two thousand dollars a ticket. My metabolism is cranking up when I think about the grossness of them sharing the front row with us tonight.”

I cobbled together some words of reassurance as we trekked across the parking lot. My buyPhone felt like a scandal in my pocket, like I was transporting the Ebola virus, or fertilized endangered panda embryos, or Oscar results. I whipped it out to make sure the keyboard was locked for the thousandth time.

“Are you all
right
, Audrey?” Lindsay asked. The tribal wooden beads she wore looked heavy enough to give her a neckache.

I nodded. We crossed the front lawn and entered Pothead Cliché World, where Kevin Jacobsen played Hacky Sack with his red-eyed friend Greg, who permanently kept Visine in business. Nerves pricked my skin. As long as Kevin Jacobsen had enough brain cells left to activate the dopamine reward pathway, he was the perfect target. He hadn’t realized I was alive during the four years we’d gone to school together. If the BFA piqued his love interest, I’d know it was for real. Well, for real in that it could create a false emotional response. Maybe that wasn’t so real. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this.

My phone was warm in my hand. There were a hundred reasons not to do it. But I’d already lost everything I wanted—what if this was the only way to get it back?

I unlocked the screen as we passed the
Eros Sleeping
statue. Lindsay was still going on about Blake & Co. crashing our front-row Danny Beaton party. “Lindsay, shut up for one sec, okay?” I whispered, pointing my phone at Kevin. Better to do it now while there were no teachers around in case I’d botched the ratio of ultrasonic emissions. “Hey, Kevin!” I called.

Kevin pulled himself from the thrill of the hacky sack. His buyPhone’s outline was visible through his thin cords. His eyes passed over me, looking disappointed that I was neither (A) hot, nor (B) holding a bong.

My fingers trembled over the button. Then I pressed it.

it’s on.

A green light ignited in his pants. One quick, barely visible flash.

Kevin blinked. His eyes glazed over, but that was typical.

Come on, Boyfriend App the Second. Work.

“Yo, man,” his friend Greg said, cackling. Greg stood three feet away from Kevin—far enough that he wouldn’t be susceptible to the sound waves coming from Kevin’s phone. The more I studied the software, the more safeguards I found. Public wasn’t stupid. The sound waves traveled just far enough from the phone to reach the user. At the distance a parent would stand from their teenager in the Public store, the sound waves would be ineffective.

Kevin’s hand curled open, dropping the hacky sack like someone injected him with cyanide. My heart went wild in my chest as he took an unsteady step toward me.
“Audrey,”
he said, his eyes never leaving me as he stumbled across the courtyard. He stretched his arms out like I was a rare Costa Rican pot leaf. “You’re so out of this world, girl,” he said, moving to embrace me. He smelled like a nauseating mix of aftershave, cigarette ash, and pot. His hand gripped the side of my hoodie. His face moved closer until he and his goatee were inches from me and I could make out a tiny nick where he’d cut himself shaving. Holy
crap
.