Galgorithm (18 page)

40

I WAS A REALLY CUTE
little kid. Jak, not so much.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop, staring at a scanned version of the picture of me and Jak in the bathtub as babies. I'm freakin' adorable. Jak's nose is scrunched up and her face is already sour like she hates the world. I smile every time I look at the picture. But now there is an undercurrent of sadness. It reminds me that this is as far as our relationship will ever go.

I search for #Shak on Twitter. There are a lot of posts about Shakira. Those hips don't lie. But if I scroll back far enough, I find a handful of tweets from Reed and his friends that reference me and Jak. Most of them are in the vein of “get a room.” But taken together they paint a poignant picture of how outsiders view us: essentially, star-crossed lovers in total
denial. Some are from years ago. I kick myself for being so blind. But I also realize that without Jak as a willing participant, the whole thing is futile anyway.

My one saving grace is that Jak is no longer giving me the cold shoulder. Our friendship is far from mended—she's still peeved at my duplicity, and my proclamation of love has not served to make things any less awkward—but at least we're communicating again. I wish that fact would do more to mitigate the excruciating pain I feel about getting rejected by her. What is the lesson I'm supposed to take away from all this? That when you finally let down your guard, shed your armor, and put yourself out there, you get screwed six ways to Sunday? I don't imagine you'll ever see that on a motivational poster of a kitten.

I stare blankly at my computer screen for a while, letting my mind wander into dark and depressing places, but snap out of it when I hear my parents arguing in the living room downstairs. They get into tiffs here and there, but they're not loud and vociferous like some of the other parents I've witnessed, so it's kind of disconcerting to hear them go at it.

Mom and Dad are on Facebook, so eventually they found out about the Galgorithm scandal. But I stridently downplayed it and was able to convince them that it wasn't that big a deal. Parents never want to believe that their kids are ever in any real trouble, and so I fed them the narrative that the whole escapade was just a bad joke gone too
far, and that it had blown over (which at least has a morsel of truthiness to it). I haven't told them anything about the situation with Jak.

I hear even louder shouting coming from downstairs, and now I'm starting to get a little nervous. Maybe the tenor of their arguments
has
been getting a bit more vitriolic over the past few months. What's gonna happen when I go away to college and I'm not here to keep an eye on things? I'm still not over the fact that Hedgehog and Balloon are finished. If there is even a hint of a crack in my parents' marriage, I'm just gonna give up.

I wander downstairs to discover that the shouting isn't coming from the living room, but the basement, which is one floor below that. I find my parents on their hands and knees, digging through a storage closet in the back of the room.

“Peter, I'm telling you, it's not in that box. I already looked in that box!”

“Did you
really
look, though?” my dad responds. “'Cause I'm ninety-nine percent sure that's where it is.”

“Yes, I'm sure, and I don't appreciate that tone.”

“Well, we've been at this for twenty minutes now, ­Kathryn, so I really don't know what kind of tone you expect!”

“Guys!” I interject. “What's going on?”

Mom pulls her head out from the closet.

“Oh, hi, honey!” she says.

She actually doesn't seem to be that upset at all.

“Dad and I were feeling a bit nostalgic, so we're looking for that album we recorded together in college.”

“Found it!” Dad says, emerging from the closet triumphantly clutching a CD.

“And was it in the box that I already looked in?” Mom asks.

“Nope,” Dad says sheepishly. “You were right. I was wrong. Don't get too used to hearing me say that.”

They smile at each other. All is not lost.

My dad also digs out an old stereo with a CD player. We set it up on top of a nearby dresser and pop in the album.

I hear a beautiful voice singing an a cappella rendition of “Motownphilly” by Boyz II Men. I've heard my mom hum around the house before, but never anything like this.

“Mom, that's
you
?”

“There were a lot of talented gals in that a cappella group,” Dad says, “but your mom was the best. I remember that day like it was yesterday.”

“It didn't hurt to have you staring at me from the sound booth.”

They make googly eyes at each other.

“But even after all that, it still took you guys five years to get together?” I ask.

“True love takes time,” Dad says.

This gives me no comfort.

Mom pauses the CD. “You sure everything is all right, honey? You've been moping around for weeks now.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It's just that . . .”

Should I say something? I don't know. It's so embarrassing talking to my parents.

“Girl stuff or whatever,” I mutter. “I just wish I understood what they were thinking.” That's about as much detail as I can bear to provide.

My parents give each other a knowing look.

“I've known your mother for more than two decades,” Dad says. “And I still have no clue what she's thinking. I have no idea what she's thinking right now.”

“It's true,” Mom chimes in.

“Besides,” Dad continues, “why would you
want
to understand women? That's half the fun. I love that your mother is so inscrutable.”

Mom and Dad kiss.

“Avocados, by the way,” Mom says.

“What?” Dad says.

“That's what I was thinking about. I need to buy avocados.”

“See,” Dad says. “Avocados. I never would have guessed that. The key to understanding women is not to try.”

Hmm. Maybe my dad is the real Svengali.

“Are you having gal problems?” he asks.

“Dad, no one calls them
gals
.”

“Yeah, Dad,” my mom says.

“Whatever you call them,” Dad says, “Shane, just remember this: We all put our pants on one leg at a time.”

“I know. Thanks, Dad. I'm not sure that applies here, though.”

It may have taken them a while to figure it out, and they may claim to have no idea what the other is thinking, and the road may be rocky at times, but my parents have achieved the type of relationship that I can only dream of.

It's inspirational, but also depressing to think that I will never experience it myself.

41

I'VE BEEN FEELING UNSETTLED ABOUT
how I left things with Adam. Our little talk outside anime club unleashed a torrent of consequences that he and I never really discussed. I'm a bit uneasy about how it all went down. And since Jak has not returned my affections, I asked Adam if he could meet up so I could figure out how we got to this point in the first place.

The courtyard in front of school is mostly deserted. In order to chat with Adam I had to wait until after ECX (Extracurricular Extreme, which is now officially a thing). All the normal students have long since gone home or are gathering at the baseball field behind the school for today's consequential playoff game against Valley Hills.

When Adam arrives, I notice that he has contacts in and
is no longer wearing the Clark Kent glasses I picked out for him. Perhaps Rebecca, like Jak, thought he looked better au naturel.

“Hey, man,” I say.

“Hey, Shane,” he says as he joins me at one of the cement tables.

“How's Rebecca?” I ask.

“She's good. Really good. She'll actually be out here in a minute.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Numbers one and two in the race for valedictorian, Adam and Rebecca took to each other almost immediately and are now inseparable.

“I guess I better get right to it then,” I say. “When I told you that I thought I was having feelings for Jak . . .”

“Yeah?” he says.

“I never said you should stop seeing her.”

“You didn't have to. I knew what you meant.”

“But how could you have known what I meant if
I
didn't even know what I meant?”

“Wait,” Adam says, “so you're not in love with her?”

I pause.

“How do you know I'm in love with Jak?”

“Well, at first I didn't. Because I knew you guys were just friends and had never hooked up. Otherwise I never would have tried to flirt with her in the first place. But after
we talked at anime club, I knew. That's why I backed off.”

“But
I
didn't even know I was in love with her then!”

“It didn't really matter. If you were interested, I couldn't get in your way. You've done so much for me. I could never do that to you.”

“What about Jak?” I ask.

“Listen, Jak is great. We had an awesome time together. But it was really, really short. Like a couple of dates. And then Rebecca came along. I felt bad about Jak, but to be honest, she didn't really seem all that upset when we stopped hanging out, so I thought everything was cool between us. Why? Is she mad?”

“No, not at you. More like confused. But I think that's water under the bridge.”

“And what about you two?” he says. “You're in love with her. That's awesome!”

“Well, we're kinda in a holding pattern.”

“Not so awesome.”

“There's one more thing, Adam.”

“Yeah?”

“I knew that Rebecca and Harrison used to date and I didn't tell you. I should have said something. I feel like I left you hanging out to dry.”

“Hey, listen, if you had said something, I probably never would have even
talked
to Rebecca. Harrison terrifies me.”

“But you and Rebecca are good?”

“We're great. I can't believe everyone got all upset about the Galgorithm. It really works! And Rebecca couldn't care less about the whole scandal thing. Basically, I owe you everything, Shane.”

I spot Rebecca exiting the school and heading toward us.

“I was happy to help,” I say. “But she's coming.”

Adam turns around and waves to his girlfriend. I'm glad we cleared the air. When Rebecca reaches the table, pretty in pink seersucker shorts and a white polo shirt, I can't help but beam with pride at how well that doofus has made out.

“Hey, babe,” she says to Adam. He gives her a kiss without standing up because he's almost already at her eye level anyway. She says hi to me and then sits down.

“What are you two doing?”

“Oh, you know, just guy talk,” I say.

“Did you know that Shane is in love with Jak?” Adam says.

Rebecca gasps. “You are?”

“Adam, what the hell, man?”

“Was that supposed to be a secret?”

“I mean, I guess not.” I'm surprised Rebecca doesn't already know. Seems like the rest of the planet does.

“So what's going on with you guys?” Rebecca asks.

“Nothing right now.”

“I could totally see you together,” she adds.

“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”

I observe Rebecca and Adam nuzzle and smile at each
other for a few moments. Another reminder of what I
don't
have. I'm about to leave and give them a little privacy when I look up, and my stomach sinks.

“Crap.”

“What?” Adam says.

I motion to the side of the courtyard. Harrison is stomping toward our table. He's only wearing the top half of his baseball uniform, boxers, and untied cleats. The latter
click-clack
against the courtyard floor.

We all stand up as he approaches, a weird move by us that's equal parts fear and deference.

“I'm about to play the biggest game of my life,” Harrison says, “and I have to hear about you guys hanging out out here?”

It's unclear if the “you guys” he's referring to is Adam and Rebecca or me and Rebecca or just anyone with a pulse.

I, for one, am sick of this nonsense.

“How did you even know where we were?” I say pointedly. “We've been here for like five minutes.”

“You know what, Chambliss,” Harrison says, “I never got to congratulate you on that little write-up in the
Chronicle.
Good job, Romeo.”

“I think you mean Cupid.”

“Shut up,” Harrison snarls. Then he turns to Rebecca: “Rebecca, why are you doing this to me?”

I find myself actually feeling bad for Harrison. Sure, he's got a funny way of showing it, but obviously he has strong
feelings for Rebecca. Why else would he be out here half-naked? Meatheads get lovesick too.

“Harrison,” Rebecca says, “we've been over this a million times.”

Adam steps in front of Rebecca, like a boss. “Leave her alone,” he says. I'm pretty impressed.

Harrison is undeterred. “Rebecca, you
know
why we had to be a secret. You can't blame me for that.”

“Well,
we
don't know why,” I say. “Why don't you tell us what the hell is going on?”

Harrison starts to crack his knuckles. Rebecca turns to me.

“My dad works for Pacifica Oil.”

“Um,” I say. “Okay. I don't know what that is.”

“It's a giant, horrible oil company that pollutes the air,” Harrison says. “My moms have been protesting them for years.”

I remember spying on Harrison and Rebecca at the house party.
This
is what they were arguing about.

“It's an
energy
company, Harrison,” Rebecca says. “And I'm sorry your moms don't like it, but I bet they like computers and air-conditioning and gas for their cars.”

“I couldn't have them find out about us,” he says. “They would have killed me. It's like dating the enemy's daughter. And you know we drive electric cars.”

Adam isn't quite sure what to make of all this, so he stays silent.

“Harrison, don't you think you're taking this a little too far?” I say.

“What? You think I'm some dumb jock? You think just 'cause I play baseball I don't care about Mother Earth? What do you think the field is made of?”

“Um . . . earth?” I stammer.

“Grass, you idiot!”

I recoil. I really have no idea what to do at this point.

“Everything was fine until I started seeing you around,” Harrison says to me.

“Harrison, I had nothing to do with any of this. Are you still carrying a grudge from seventh grade? Because I didn't even see the girl you were talking about. Ask the rabbi! I'm sure he remembers. It's probably the only time he's ever had to eject someone from the synagogue.”

Harrison evaluates the situation in front of him. There's no logical way out. If anything he should be mad at Adam, but instead he's just mad at the world.

“You all think you're better than me, don't you?” he steams. “You all think you're better than me! But you're not! Especially not you!”

He shoves his finger in Rebecca's face.

Adam pushes Harrison's arm away.

Harrison shoves Adam.

Rebecca pleads, “Leave him alone!”

Adam's adrenaline surges, and I can't believe it . . . but he throws a punch!

Unfortunately, it's a wild haymaker that Harrison easily sidesteps.

Now Adam is off-balance, and Harrison effortlessly pushes him to the ground.

Then Harrison turns his attention to me.

“This is
your
fault, Shane! You did this! You think you're better than me!”

He's screaming at me in his underwear and the whole thing is just insane. I try to reason with him with the only advice I can think of that seems tailor-made for this situation.

“Listen, Harrison. Relax. I don't think I'm better than you. We all put our pants on one leg at a time.”

And that's when he winds up and punches me in the face.