Galgorithm

by Aaron Karo

  Who knows? Maybe she’ll kill him. That could work.

  She caresses my face again. “You did this?” she asks ­Harrison. “Why?”

  “He doesn’t know how to mind his own business,” he says.

  “That’s a lie,” I say to Harrison. “I’ve done nothing but mind my own business. Rebecca is gone. Let her go. I’m not the problem.”

  “Oh yeah?” Harrison says. “How about the fact that I sprained my hand and couldn’t pitch? I almost lost my scholarship.”

  “Really? You’re gonna blame me for punching me in the face and hurting your hand?”

  “Yeah, that’s just crazy,” Tristen adds, being an expert herself.

  Harrison grits his teeth and begins to crack the knuckles on his good hand.

  Witnessing me about to get pummeled turns Tristen on, because what doesn’t? She holds me closer.

  And that’s when, by the grace of God, I have two epiphanies:

  One, Tristen and Harrison are both bullies.

  And two, they belong together.

  How could I have been so dense? Here we have two of the most attractive people in school. They keep running into each other. They’re both obsessed with me. They both have a few screws loose. They both want to save the world. Tristen, for all her psychosis, is still a good person deep down—and she must be lonely. Harrison, despite his bloodlust, is really just nursing a broken heart (in addition to a sprained hand). It was meant to be!

  I peel Tristen off me once more and try my best to keep Harrison at bay.

  “Guys,” I say, “I want you to hear me out. I think, maybe, what you’re both looking for is right in front of you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Harrison bristles.

  “Tristen here may seem like just a pretty face—” I say.

  “Thank you,” she interrupts, mistaking this for a compliment.

  I continue: “But this summer she’s doing both Habitat for Humanity and helping dolphins in the Congo.”

  “Technically Gabon,” she says.

  “Technically Gabon,” I clarify.

  “And Tristen, you may only know Harrison as the star of our baseball team, or former star.”

  Harrison growls.

  I press on: “But he is actually quite committed to conserving natural resources. Right?”

  There’s a moment of silence . . . but then Harrison engages.

  “Did you know those dolphin-safe labels on cans of tuna aren’t regulated?” he says to Tristen. “They basically don’t mean anything.”

  She perks up. “No, I didn’t know that! I love tuna fish. Does that mean all those cans of tuna are hurting dolphins?”

  “You’re probably fine,” he says. “But after you finish with the cans, I hope you—”

  “Recycle them,” they say simultaneously.

  A spark flies.

  “I hate dolphins and recycling,” I interject for emphasis. It’s ignored.

  “Of course,” Tristen says to Harrison, “I always recycle. I have like six bags of soda bottles in my trunk I’m gonna recycle after school.”

  “Really?” Harrison says, as he steps toward Tristen and I slowly back away. “Do you want company? I can carry everything.”

  Tristen glances at Harrison’s biceps. Then they lock eyes.

  “But what about Shane?” Tristen asks, suddenly turning and remembering little old me.

  “Who, me?” I reply from halfway down the hall. “Don’t worry about me. You have my blessing. Please.”

  Tristen, incredibly, is satisfied by this, and turns back to Harrison. He, on the other hand, is now glowering at me.

  “Are we even?” I ask.

  Harrison loses focus and sneaks a peek at Tristen’s cleavage. Total kryptonite.

  “Even,” he mumbles, and I can sense he’s already forgotten his own name.

  I backpedal the rest of the way down the hall.

  They are lost in each other’s eyes and are finally out of my hands.

  Sweet relief.

  46

  IT’S A BREEZY BUT WARM Saturday night. The kind of night that should be filled with parties and hijinks. I always figured my senior year would wind down in a haze of booze, girls, and fun. Instead, none of those things are present and I’m driving around aimlessly with Reed.

  My eye has finally healed enough for me to show my face in public outside school. But things with Jak are still frayed, and everyone else seems to be busy with their significant others or scrambling for prom dates or cramming for finals. I’ve given up on it all. Reed told me he had news, so I figured I would pick him up and we’d make a night out of it. Some night. Reed has mostly been silent as he sits in the passenger seat of my Jeep.

  “We’ve been driving in circles for half an hour,” I say. “Either tell me the news or let’s pick a destination.”

  Reed takes a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to Marisol,” he says.

  “Oh,” I say.

  Reed has been pretty mum about Marisol ever since I tried to inspire him to win her back. He never brought it up, so I just assumed the worst.

  “I decided to end things,” he says.

  I cock my head. “What do you mean you decided to end things?”

  “Well, after I explained to her what the Galgorithm was really about, and she had a chance to let it all sink in, she forgave me.”

  “Nice.”

  “She said that she was actually flattered that I had gone to such great lengths to win her over. I told her I would have followed a thousand Galgorithms if it meant we could be together.”

  “So she’s not mad.”

  “Nah. She said everyone at school kinda got worked up about it, and she just got swept up in that. She wanted to give it another try.”

  “So what do you mean you ended it?”

  “Well, I decided I’m not ready to be in a relationship. Now that I know what it’s like, I mean. Marisol was my first girlfriend. And it was amazing. But I told her she’d be better off with someone else.”

  “Why on earth would you say that?”

  “Because I feel like I’ve found a higher calling.”

  I glance over at Reed in the passenger seat. He’s adopted a middle ground between his mom-certified wardrobe and the more fashionable attire I picked out for him. He looks good now. Upbeat and comfortable in his own skin. Even his posture looks better.

  “A higher calling?” I ask. “You’re gonna become a priest?”

  “No,” Reed says. “Even better. I’m gonna become you.”

  “Huh?”

  “I wanna be your successor.”

  I do a double take.

  “My successor?”

  “Yeah. I want to take over where you left off. I want to use everything you taught me. I want to help people find love. I wanna reboot the Galgorithm.”

  A million thoughts cross my mind, and I struggle to process them while continuing to drive in my lane.

  “But Reed, you know as well as anyone that the ­Galgorithm isn’t real. That thing Mr. Kimbrough created was a joke. I never wrote down any of my actual methods.”

  “But I did.”

  Reed holds up his little notebook.

  Of course.

  “I’ve been keeping notes from day one,” he says. “Including some stuff you told only me. What I have in here is more exhaustive and more accurate and more secret than anything that’s online. This is like Galgorithm 2.0. And the world deserves to see it.”

  I shake my head and smile in disbelief.

  “I was also thinking,” he continues, “that this doesn’t just have to help guys. You have plenty of tips that will work for girls, too. Especially if it’s all about confidence and being present. There’s no reason why I can’t offer girls a ‘secret formula’ into our minds.”
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  “So . . . ,” I say. “Like a Guygorithm.”

  “Yes! Guygorithm. I need to write that down.”

  He scribbles in his notebook.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Reed?” I ask. “Being known as a dating expert is a lot of pressure.”

  “Well, maybe it’s not so much about advising and coaching. Maybe it’s more of a matchmaking service. You know, finding the right girl and the right guy and bringing them together. Plus relationship advice. You did all of that, too, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “True.” I choose not to mention the times this went horribly awry, or, in the case of me and Jak, the time it failed completely.

  “How about this,” he says. “‘Reed Wanamaker: Teen Matchmaker.’”

  He lets that hang in the air for a moment.

  “I must admit,” I say, “that does have a nice ring to it.”

  “I gotta get business cards.”

  “Rebecca Larabie has a guy who does that. I’ll get you the info.”

  Reed nods. “Noted.”

  “Just promise me you won’t get in over your head,” I say.

  “I promise. But listen, I’m only gonna do this if you say it’s okay.”

  “Are you asking for my blessing?”

  “Come on, Shane. You’re graduating, not dying. I would never want to do anything without your permission. What if you want to get back in the game in college?”

  “Oh no. One thing is certain. I’m retired for good. Never again. You have my blessing, Reed. Just don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Dealing with people’s emotions is an art. Not only do your clients need to know that, but everyone needs to know that. It’s very easy for outsiders to misunderstand what we do. Er, what you’re gonna do.”

  “I’m gonna be completely transparent,” he says. “I’m even gonna charge. I’m offering a real service; why shouldn’t I get paid for it?”

  That’s a fair point.

  “Well, then,” I say, “I’m happy to pass the torch to you. Welcome to the love business, Reed.”

  I pat him on the shoulder.

  “Thanks, Shane. I really appreciate it. Also . . . remember when the Galgorithm was exposed and all those people messaged you asking for advice?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “You think maybe you could forward them on to me? Those are potential clients.”

  I laugh to myself.

  “Sure thing.”

  We continue driving as Reed, perhaps the unlikeliest of protégés, jots down notes about his new endeavor. I wish him well.

  He finishes writing and closes the notebook.

  “So what’s the latest with Jak?” he asks.

  Lately, Reed has also become the unlikeliest of confidantes. I’ve pretty much kept him up to speed on all the Jak drama. He’s proven to be quite the listener.

  “There is no update,” I say. “Each day is worse. I just can’t get her to take a chance on me.”

  “Huh,” Reed mutters to himself. “I guess doctors do make the worst patients.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s funny how you can’t take your own advice.”

  “Oh yeah, this whole thing is just hilarious.”

  “Shane, will you do me the honor?

  “Of what?”

  “Of being my first client. No charge, of course.”

  “Please,” I say dismissively. “By all means.”

  “Okay,” Reed says, “I will only tell you what a wise man once told me.”

  I wait for his sure-to-be sage advice.

  And then he looks at me with a knowing grin on his face.

  “Be different. Notice her. Tell her.”

  47

  THE HALF-MOON ILLUMINATING THE sky is partially obscured by a light mist. This is the price we pay for beautiful weather in Southern California: a monthlong stretch of erratic precipitation known as June Gloom.

  It’s still warm but starting to drizzle when Jak rushes into my backyard.

  “I got here as soon as I could,” she says breathlessly. “Are you okay?”

  I’m standing next to the hammock. “I’m fine,” I say. “I’m sorry about the text. I just needed to see you.”

  “So it’s not an emergency?”

  “That depends on your definition of emergency.”

  “I don’t understand,” she says.

  She’s wearing skintight jeans and her Led Zeppelin T-shirt. When she walks toward me, her Chucks make a crunch crunch crunch sound in the grass.

  “What the . . .”

  She stops and bends down to pick up what she’s been stepping on. “Are these . . . peanuts?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Amor y cacahuetes. Remember? Love and peanuts.”

  “Love and peanuts,” she says, nodding.

  “Things just haven’t been the same between us lately,” I say. “I thought this might be a nice reminder of what we used to share.”

  “It is nice,” she says.

  Then Jak notices the massive amount of peanuts I have spread throughout the backyard, starting around the hammock in the center and radiating outward. “That’s a lot of peanuts,” she says.

  “Some of them are cashews. It was the best I could do on short notice.”

  Reed convinced me to drop him off in the middle of town. He told me that he’d get home himself, and that I should follow my heart. I rushed to a grocery store near my house that I knew was still open and cleaned them out of nuts. Thank God my parents have more of a social life than me and are out for the night.

  “You’re probably gonna get invaded by squirrels,” Jak says.

  “Let them invade.”

  She walks closer to me. Crunch crunch crunch. She’s ten feet away.

  “Jak, I just need to say that nothing matters more to me than our friendship. I will always be your best friend. And if nothing else, all I want to do is lie in this hammock with you and stare up at the stars, like old times.”

  Jak glances at the sky.

  “It’s raining,” she says.

  “It’ll pass.”

  She looks at me.

  “Your eye is better.”

  I shake my head. I refuse to be sidetracked. “When we were standing in the street, next to that tree, and I told you how I felt about you, and I asked you if you felt the same way, you said no.”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Well, I don’t believe you.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” she asks semiseriously.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Shane, why would I make something like that up?”

  “Because you have a vivid imagination and a lot of time on your hands.”

  She smiles.

  Our skin is damp with drizzle, but the mist is so fine we barely even notice.

  “I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself, Jak.”

  “How do you know what I’m doing with myself?”

  Her phrasing momentarily flusters me. Typical Jak. But I press on.

  “Because I know you, Jak. You didn’t want me to leave when I crashed your coffee date with Adam. When you held my hand at the smoothie bar, you didn’t want to just hold ‘the hand that touched Tristen’s boobs.’ You wanted to hold my hand. You didn’t get so goddamn drunk at that party because of Adam or because of Tristen. You did it because of me.”

  “Shane . . .”

  “Tell me, right here, right now, with a straight face, that you don’t have feelings for me.”

  She doesn’t respond.

  “Tell me.”

  “Shane.”

  “Just tell me and I’ll stop bothering you.”

  “I can’t,” she says finally.

&nbs
p; “Wait,” I stammer. “You can’t tell me you don’t have feelings for me because you don’t? Or you can’t tell me you don’t have feelings for me because you do?”

  Why is it always so much more poetic in the movies?

  Jak blinks.

  “The second one,” she says.

  “The second one? The second one is the good one. That means that maybe you do have feelings for me!”

  “That one,” she confirms.

  My heart swells. Knowing her as well as I do, I don’t know why I ever expected Jak to actually show emotion. Jak doesn’t emote. This is like pulling teeth. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “So, there’s something here,” I say.

  “Yes,” she says, biting her lip.

  She walks right up to me. Crunch crunch crunch.

  “For how long?” I ask. “How long have you felt this way?”

  “I don’t know,” she says.

  “Have you always felt this way?”

  “No. I mean, not like this.”

  “But when I told you that I loved you . . .”

  “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I just wanted to protect myself.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “I was starting to like you. Like, like you like you. But then I got scared.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of what happened with Voldemort. I’ve seen what happens when you fall for someone. You get in too deep. And then someone gets hurt and someone else gets a horrible nickname.”

  “That’s not gonna happen with us,” I say.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because Jak is the only nickname you’ll ever have. I promise.”

  She manages a smile.

  As quickly as it came, the drizzle stops and the mist clears, leaving the half-moon bright in the sky.

  “Ever since the party,” she says, “ever since you helped me in the bathtub, I don’t know. It’s just . . . the way you took care of me that night. The way you always take care of me.”

  “If you had only said something . . .”

  “But then the whole Galgorithm thing happened. Why do you think I was so upset? You hurt me so badly, and I hadn’t even opened up to you yet. I imagined what would have happened if I had.”

  “You know I never meant to hurt you, Jak. You of all people.”