The Boyfriend App (19 page)

I jumped backward, pressing it’s over.

“What the freak?” Lindsay said, glancing between Kevin and me, the gold triangles on her top catching the sunlight. “Is this a joke?”

It worked.

My blood was on fire. Kevin stared at me, looking like he’d drunk a bottle of Nyquil and had no idea where he was (a familiar look for him, but this was worse than usual). “Dude!” he finally said, looking over his shoulder at Greg. “What’d you put in that stuff?”

Greg laughed that high-pitched laugh particular to potheads, the one that sounds like a witch’s cackle combined with a car breaking down. “It’s good, right?” Greg said.

Kevin was laughing now, too.

“Morons!” Lindsay shouted as she yanked me toward school.

My limbs twitched as we crossed Harrison’s front lawn. An
app
had made a guy lust after me. This was no magazine-quiz matchup. Everything felt electric—like I could see/smell/hear/touch/taste like never before. The dewy grass that stroked my Vans sent a chill to the bones of my feet. Xander’s choking motorbike in the parking lot was a chorus of punching, angry snarls assaulting my eardrums. I took in the orange-tinged maple leaves about to fall like I was seeing them for the first time, and they struck me as incredibly sad—like they were protesting their death with their beauty.

I swore I even smelled new notes of dough in South Bend’s permanent Bread Smell.

I’d done it. I’d uncovered Public’s dirty little secret with my most productive hacking to date. I’d tweaked the software and created an app.
The
app.

Hello, world. Hello, contest. Hello, college scholarship.

My grape Bubblicious got a second wind, zinging like a party in my mouth.

Hello,
boys
.

Here comes Audrey McCarthy.

Trog.

Hacker.

Sex object.

Inventor of the Boyfriend App 2.0.

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

chapter twenty

I
could barely think straight as we pushed open the doors to Harrison. Boys crossed the foyer with backpacks, handbags, duffle bags . . . wearing fleece jackets, puffy down jackets, a random corduroy blazer . . . blond boys, dark-haired boys, redheads . . . tall boys, short boys, round boys, skinny boys . . . boys with freckles . . . boys with glasses . . . boys with tattoos . . . a boy with a Mohawk . . . a boy on a cell phone . . . a boy on crutches . . . a boy on a skateboard, getting yelled at by a teacher.

So many boys. So many possibilities.

“If you’re going to wear flats, the hem of your pants should practically skim the floor,” Lindsay was saying as we pushed through the students and stopped in front of her locker. “Tailoring is a lost art, like archery.”

Sean DeFosse—captain of the debate team, early admission to Princeton shoo-in—stood a few feet away, admiring his cherubic face in a mirror. He’d said hello to me last week for the first time since freshman year, but since my app fell from the Top Ten, he’d barely registered my existence.

I mentally entered him into my Test Group Database. Sean DeFosse = Subject #2.

Lindsay twirled the combination lock and opened her locker with a
clank
.

“Hey, Sean,” I said, cocking a hip bone forward and grinning like I was posing on the red carpet in my ripped black skinny jeans.

Lindsay’s expression switched from
hemlines
to
what the heck?

I couldn’t stop smiling as I waited for Sean to acknowledge my presence. I
never
would have randomly said hi to some hot guy before. But the app meant I didn’t have to freak out about what said Hot Guy would think when someone like me said hi—because said Hot Guy was now just User B. The Boyfriend App 2.0 meant I didn’t need a witty line to follow up my greeting; as User A, I didn’t have to
do
anything. I just had to press a button, stand there, and
be
. It must have been the way Blake felt every day of her life. She was the Original User A: Just being herself was enough.

“Yeah?” Sean said. But what he meant was:
Is someone like you seriously talking to someone like me?

It made me laugh.

IT’S ON

Sean’s dark brown eyes widened. His grip tightened on the strap of his leather satchel.

“I just think that satchel is
so
girly,” I said, pointing at his bag. “Don’t you?”

Sean dropped the satchel onto the floor. He half-kicked and half-punched it into his locker. “It’s dead to me,” he said, running a hand through his blond hair. His hair was thick, and parted on the side, like he’d studied a brochure featuring men who work at banks.

Lindsay shut her locker and stared at me like I’d gone insane. Maybe I had. I suddenly couldn’t stop laughing. This was what it felt like to be popular. To be desired. To belong.

It felt like
power
.

“Audrey,”
Sean said, like my name was music and the hills were alive with the sound of it. “You’re seriously so smart. And
beautiful
.” No one had ever told me I was beautiful other than my mom and dad, and even though Sean was hopped up on hormones, it still felt amazing.

“I try, Sean,” I said, attempting to hold my ground as he stepped closer. I wasn’t used to guys getting up in my grill like this. The air between us felt hot and sticky, like a piece of chocolate melting in your pocket.

Sean pushed Lindsay aside. Her mouth dropped so far her head lowered with it.

My fingers hovered above the
IT’S OVER
button, my nerves threatening to take over as Sean hooked a finger in the pocket of my jeans. His mouth went to my neck like we were in
Twilight
and I freaked out, my body going rigid. “Um, sorry, Sean, I—”

A crowd formed. Lindsay’s friend Princess Di mouthed
OMG
. Annborg squealed something in Swedish. Charlotte Davis crashed through the other kids in her wheelchair and snapped a photo.

My thumb pressed
IT’S OVER
.

Sean’s lips went lifeless on my neck. He staggered back, and knocked into Lindsay. “What the—?” he said. He looked at me like I’d poisoned him, and maybe he was right. He stumbled down the hallway, zigzagging like he was still a little love-drunk.

“Audrey,”
Lindsay whispered.

“I’ll explain later,” I said quickly. Lindsay opened her mouth to say more but I cut her off. “Now you have to trust
me
, okay?” Her green eyes blinked rapid-fire. “I want you to be prepared to announce the Boyfriend App 2.0 at lunch.” My mind was flying. I needed to upload the app to Public’s site and have it ready for download. “I’ll fill you in on the details later,” I went on. “Just get your blog readers and followers hooked for a big announcement coming at noon.”

Lindsay gave me a slow nod. Everyone around us was staring.

“He tried to make out with her,”
I heard Carrie’s cocaptain, Martha Lee, say into her cell phone. At this rate, the news that Golden Boy Sean DeFosse had made a move on Trog Girl Audrey McCarthy would circulate through school within hours.

Which was exactly what I wanted.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

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

chapter twenty-one

C
ontestant Number 21082: Audrey McCarthy. Harrison High School. South Bend, Indiana. THE BOYFRIEND APP 2.0: MAKE YOUR DREAM GUY FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU. Available for Download. Users: 1. Click Here for More Information.

It was live.

My current popularity ranking was 21,081, one spot above the guy who didn’t download his own app.

I’d spent the morning in the computer lab after begging Ms. Bates to write me a note excusing me from morning classes. She finally caved—with the exception of my session with Mrs. Condor, which Bates insisted I go to because
mental health is a priority, especially for creative innovators
, which sounded like the title of a book
.

Pick u up for lunch?
Mindy texted at noon.

In lab. C u soon.

U have explaining to do. Why is everyone talking about Debate Team Boy trying to make out w u?

I hated lying to Mindy, but I couldn’t give her the full lowdown on the BFA 2.0 without admitting what I’d done. As we made our way to lunch, I gave her the G-rated version of how I created my new app. Her doe-eyed expression was placid, even though I was sure she knew I was keeping something from her. I switched gears to a short story she wrote, and I was going on about how talented she was when a hand landed on my arm.

Aidan said my name, and his low voice made my breath hitch. He and Nigit hadn’t been in the lab that morning—Channel 9 was interviewing them about their app making the Public finals. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about something,” he said, out of breath like he’d just run the mile in gym. Dark stubble kissed his skin. I’d never seen him unshaven. “Um, privately,” he said, glancing at Mindy.

Mindy smiled at me over Aidan’s shoulder and left us standing there.

The air felt overoxygenated. Between Aidan’s stubble and the hormone-inducing golden ticket in my pocket, there was zero chance of me carrying on an intelligent conversation.

“You didn’t chat me back last night,” Aidan was saying as I imagined using the BFA 2.0 on him. Being kissed by him.
Really
kissed.

He waited for me to say something. He tugged at the neckline of his light blue button-down when I didn’t. Unless it was ninety degrees, I rarely saw him in anything other than fisherman sweaters. The button-down, the stubble, the contest: How much could I take?

“I messaged you around midnight?” Aidan said, like a question, and I could practically feel his arms around me. I imagined him leaning forward, crushing my lips with his. I imagined him under the influence of the app, how hot and heavy we could get together, just like I’d always dreamed about it.

“Are you okay, Auds?”

I took a step away from him. It wouldn’t
really
be a kiss. It would be fake. I’d be tricking him. “I—I’m fine,” I said.

Harrison kids were staring at us, but Aidan didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. “Maybe this isn’t the time or the place,” he said. “But I need to talk to you about something important. It has to do with your app.”

Aidan was a genius programmer. What if he’d somehow figured out what I was up to?

“I appreciate that you’ve paired Carrie and me,” he went on.

I’m sure you do.

“And I don’t want to undermine your work, but I—”

“Aidan!”

Carrie appeared out of nowhere, like a rash. And it was a game day, which meant she was decked in her cheerleading finest. “Hi, babe,” she said, smashing a pom-pom into her violin case.

Aidan dropped his hand from where it touched the top of my arm. I wanted to grab and reattach it. I wanted his touch under my sweatshirt and against my skin. I wanted him all to myself.

Carrie turned. “Audrey!” she said, as if I’d materialized from thin air. “OMG. Martha told me about Sean DeFosse kissing you!” She gasped like the Blessed Mother had appeared. “You should totally go for him.”

Aidan’s mouth went taut at the corners, like something was wrong. He was the one hanging around with Carrie. So what did he care if Sean DeFosse had kissed me?

“Later, then?” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

His broad shoulders tightened beneath the thin blue cotton of his shirt. Was I right?
Did
he care?

I wanted him to more than anything.

Carrie linked her arm through Aidan’s and they left me standing there alone, again.

I took in the students who passed—some ignoring me, some considering me. My phone buzzed with a text from Lindsay. U coming to lunch? My readers r ready.

12:10 p.m. Five minutes after the start of lunch, which meant the cafeteria would be filled.

I strolled into the lunchroom. Lindsay waved from our table (next to the Dumpster), where Nigit held up a 1980s poster of Michael Jackson standing on top of a car. Carrie was sitting next to Aidan for the seventh day in a row, pushing me to the edge of sanity. The rubbery smell of pasta and meat mixed with something sweet—red Jell-O, maybe?—and I scanned the kitchen for my mom: She was covering for one of her staff who called in sick that morning. Her plastic-covered head was over a tin of turkey. She ladled gravy onto kids’ plates.

I passed Sean DeFosse’s table as his friend punched his shoulder and said, “There’s your girlfriend!” His buddies erupted in laughter, pointing at me like I was Hester Prynne if Hester were trog trash and not just a sex kitten.

Briggs Lick sat at the table next to ours with his cousin, Andy, and the Perez twins, Marisol and Mara.

I could practically see Briggs’s thigh muscles through his navy Adidas warm-up pants. His biceps were so taut he could make drinking a Capri Sun look manly.

Nerves raced through me. Coaxing in the form of my dad’s Post-it notes echoed through my mind.

Dear Audrey, you can do this. Think: college scholarship. Think: grassy, rolling quads. Think: men who appreciate smart women
.

They did in college, right?

Conversations chattered around me. No one seemed to notice I was standing there in the middle of the cafeteria, still as the flagpole.

Do it.

I locked my knees. “Briggs!” I shouted. My voice was high-pitched, scared. The tables surrounding me stopped their conversation to stare, but Briggs was too far away to hear.

I felt sick. I’d set something in motion and it was now or never.