Match Me If You Can

by Tiana Smith

  “So you’re playing hooky?” I asked, closing the door. “You can’t pretend you were sick if Mr. Quince already saw you.”

  “He’s the one who told me to come.”

  Weird. I’d just gotten off the phone with him. Why would he send Robyn here?

  “Oh! I have something for you,” I said, suddenly remembering. I turned on my heel and ran back upstairs to grab the envelope of money from the paycheck I’d cashed. It wasn’t a whole lot, but hopefully it would at least make up for what I’d done.

  I ran back down the stairs, catching myself from falling by grabbing onto the railing, and handed the envelope to Robyn. Her eyes widened as she opened it.

  “How did you get this? I don’t need—”

  “Yes, you do,” I said. “It’s my fault you haven’t gotten a car yet, and I want to make it right. I wrote some website copy for my dad’s company, no big deal. Don’t you dare think about trying to give it back.”

  She smiled and gave a slow nod.

  “Thank you.” She pulled me into another hug. “It’s really great,” she said, my hair muffling half her words.

  “Are we good?” I asked when she pulled away.

  “We already were,” she said firmly, walking into the living room, with me trailing behind. “You’re my best friend, and I know your heart was in the right place. Plus I’ve gotten more applications today than ever before from people who never would have even known about my matching business if it weren’t for your article. So don’t worry about me. What about everyone else? I mean, when I read your article, you made it sound like you think everyone still hates you and you’ve ruined your life forever.”

  She threw herself onto our couch, fluffing the pillows behind her head. I sank into the chair across from her.

  “Well,” I said. “Yes and no.” She cast me a quizzical glance, and I fished around for the best way to say what I was thinking.

  “Elena doesn’t hate me anymore. Or Vince, I don’t think. But Logan? Yeah, he pretty much thinks I’m the devil. I’ve had nothing but radio silence from him.” And it still hurt. Like stepping on Legos every time I thought of his name. Maybe my article would explain things, but the chances that Logan would read it were worse than my odds at fantasy football. Too bad I hadn’t considered that last night when I’d written it.

  “Elena doesn’t hate you? That’s new. Give me all the juicy details.” Was it just my imagination, or was she fingering the flap of the money envelope in a nervous way? And why did she keep pushing the conversation back to me?

  “Well, apparently she and Vince are dating now, so all is forgiven.”

  “What, just like that?”

  “Sort of,” I said. “I think it helped when she found out about the email, because then Vince’s actions made sense to her, and it’s not like she could be mad at me just for having similar taste in guys.”

  Robyn nodded, looking entirely too comfortable on my couch. Like she was never planning on going back to school. Like maybe my article had made things awkward for her and now she was hiding out, and it was all my fault. Was that why she was acting so weird? Was she here as some kind of escape?

  “Are you only here because Mr. Quince wanted you to give me the paper? I could have read it online,” I said.

  “I’m touched you care so much about why I skipped class.” She brought a hand to her chest and grinned. Then, seeming to realize I wouldn’t let her off the hook, she sighed. “Mr. Quince thought you might need moral support, since everyone at school will be reading such a personal article. That’s why I didn’t call. I wanted to see you and make sure you were handling all this okay.” Robyn bit her lip and looked back at the ceiling. “And that’s not the only reason I came. But you might hate me after I tell you.”

  I racked my brain, trying to think of any reason Robyn might land on my naughty list.

  “When Mr. Quince first mentioned the paper was in trouble, I began thinking of options,” Robyn said. “Maybe my Dear Robyn column isn’t the most revolutionary idea, but I wanted to prove that all parts of journalism have a purpose and that they shouldn’t shut down the paper.” She took a deep breath before continuing.

  “I found out about a grant available to high school students. One that pays admittance to a summer journalism workshop in New York. And I submitted an application article. Well, more of a thesis, really. It was twenty pages. Mr. Quince gave the teacher’s referral. I hoped that if I got it, the school would see how it wouldn’t have been possible without all my experience on the paper.”

  “That’s pretty great,” I said, failing to see how Robyn thought this could all end badly. Though, to be honest, I was a little hurt she hadn’t mentioned the grant to me so I could apply, too. Then again, with the past couple of weeks I’d had, there wouldn’t have been any time for a twenty-page thesis.

  Robyn shook her head.

  “The essay was about you.”

  “What?” I tried to catch her eye, but Robyn was looking anywhere but at me.

  She pulled a couch pillow over her face.

  “I wrote about advice columns, and the ethic responsibility journalists have toward their readers.” She pulled the cushion aside and finally looked at me. “Ironically, I did the most unethical thing by writing it without your knowledge. I wrote about your relationship mess and how I, as Dear Robyn, played a role. I encouraged Logan to play hard to get, but I need you to know that I really, honestly thought it would help.”

  Logan’s words came crashing back into my mind, how he’d thought he’d ruined Robyn’s article by kissing me. Now all those times Robyn had been secretive were beginning to make sense. Why she’d refused to show me the article she was working on. Why she hadn’t told me her summer plans when all the rest of us were vying for the internship.

  I’d been so clueless. But Logan had known, at least to some extent. Because he had asked Elena out, simply because Robyn had told him to. To make me jealous. During community service, he said kissing me had never been part of Robyn’s plan. Then he said he was done being manipulated by her and wanted to be honest. I wanted to ask Robyn if he’d known the article focused on me, rather than just matchmaking in general, but she kept talking before I could even process all the emotions dancing through me.

  “I tried to be an impartial observer, but sometimes I couldn’t help myself. I’m so sorry. I took your pain and turned it into my application article, and I feel really bad about it. Mr. Quince made me promise to tell you all this, because, well, I heard back from the grant board, and I’ve been accepted into the summer workshop.”

  She gave a tiny surprise! kind of smile, throwing out jazz hands.

  “And this twenty-page thesis will be printed where…?”

  “No, no, it won’t be printed.” Robyn sat up with the force of her declaration. “Only the panel judges read it, I promise. But I’ll send you a copy so you can read it. Please don’t hate me.”

  I nodded, still processing everything.

  “I don’t hate you,” I said slowly, as if testing the words to see if they felt true. But really, knowing the article wasn’t going to be printed anywhere made my decision easy. “Because, I guess, you didn’t really do anything that I wouldn’t have done myself. And I’m happy for you that you got the grant.” It was the truth. And it was the least I could do after everything that had happened.

  Robyn came over and hugged me then. The air felt clear between us, and I sighed in relief.

  “Are you going to go back to school?” I asked her.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” She sighed as she went back to the couch. “Think your parents would mind if I crashed here for a bit?”

  My mom came downstairs then, so I let her handle that question.

  “Robyn!” she said. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

  “Playing hooky from homeroom today,” Robyn said, and I cringed, waiting for my mom’s response. Most—scratch that, all my perfectionist tendencies came directly from her. And if my mom thought Rob
yn was a negative influence … Well, let’s just say we could forget about seeing each other. Like, ever again. But then again, Robyn wasn’t the suspended one.

  “I’m here on official business. Mr. Quince cleared it with the office.”

  My mom pursed her lips. “Well, okay. I have to go to work, though, so I can’t stick around to make sure you go back. Don’t stay too long.” She’d been a lot more lenient since my reconciliation meeting at Elena’s, though she hadn’t given me back my phone. I had a feeling I could kiss that goodbye forever.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Taylor. You’re the best,” Robyn said, and my mom smiled as she picked up the keys.

  “All right. I’m off. You two behave. Mia, I’m leaving you my phone so you can reach me if you go out. If you do, be home for dinner at six.” She left, and Robyn turned to face me.

  “She’s pretty easygoing considering you were suspended…” Robyn trailed off, waiting for me to explain.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Elena’s mom called and told her the food fight was Elena’s fault, so my parents have backed off a lot. They’re not blaming me for things.”

  “I’m glad you’re patching things up with Elena,” Robyn said.

  “Oh! That reminds me,” I said. “You’re coming to her homecoming party Saturday night, right? You can bring a date.” I gave her my best puppy-dog eyes. “Like maybe Joey?” I’d never brought him up before, at least not this bluntly, and Robyn narrowed her eyes in warning. Well, that certainly wasn’t the way to get what I wanted.

  “Please!” I swallowed. “I won’t be able to stand the awkwardness if I’m forced to make small talk with Logan all night.” I hurried on before Robyn could notice the way my voice caught on his name. “It’s supposed to be just the people who were suspended, but I know she’ll invite more, and I’ll be the social outcast hanging out by myself.” I took a deep breath and tried to plaster on a smile. It came out wobbly. “Please say you’ll come? You guys have been talking again lately, too, right?”

  “Hmm,” Robyn said. “If that’s what you want, then I guess I could make an appearance.”

  “Thank you, thank you. You’re the best,” I said. I took a deep breath. “It’s nice to have a friend in my corner, what with the internship going to Joey, the paper probably shutting down, and Logan…” I couldn’t finish saying it.

  Robyn fixed me with a solid stare.

  “You’ll work things out with Logan, you know. Have you heard from him at all?”

  I shook my head and blinked rapidly so I wouldn’t cry.

  “Well, that doesn’t mean much,” she said, pursing her lips. “You’ve been cut off from the world. He doesn’t know your home phone number, does he?”

  “I’ve already tried calling him from it. He didn’t answer.”

  Robyn waved her hand in the air. “Maybe he’s still a little mad then. But your article has to soften him up a little.”

  I gave her a weak smile. “Yeah. Too bad Logan doesn’t read the paper.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You two are meant to be together. I’ve been in this business for a while. I can read the signs.”

  “That’s a nice thought,” I said. Even though at this point, I knew it was a lost cause.

  “Well, you know what they say,” she said. “‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’”

  twenty-five

  I sighed. It must have sounded pathetic, because Robyn sat up and scrutinized me so intensely, I felt like a fish in a clear bowl. “Okay, enough with the sad stuff,” she said, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. “You know what? I think you need to get out.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Where should we go?”

  “The first place you should go is the shower and then we’ll talk when you don’t smell like depression.” She waved her hand at me, and I grudgingly made my way upstairs. Leave it to Robyn to boss me around in my own home.

  She was right, however. The shower made me feel like I hadn’t been camping under a rock, and brushing my teeth added another point to the happiness scale. Looking in the mirror, I actually looked like myself, so that was a plus.

  I came downstairs to see Robyn raiding the kitchen.

  “Don’t you guys have anything that isn’t fat-free anymore?” she asked over her shoulder, her head buried in the cupboard.

  “The second cabinet to the right has my secret stash of chips and cookies. Behind the broken toaster. They’re store-bought and a little stale, but the alternative is the black-bean brownies my mom made.”

  Robyn made a face as she opened the cupboard. “Black beans and brownies are two things that should never be put together,” she said.

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “All right.” She grabbed a cookie from the package and turned to face me. “What place makes you the happiest?”

  “The beach,” I answered automatically. “A sunny, sandy one.” The thought made me think of Elena, with her dreams of Hollywood. This didn’t bring as much of a pang as I thought it would, and I smiled.

  Robyn took a bite and spoke with her mouth full. “I mean somewhere that’s within driving distance, silly. Where was the last place you had a good time?”

  I sat at the table and tried to remember what happiness really felt like. Sure, it felt good to have showered, but I still was hollow on the inside. Like one of those chocolate Easter bunnies that disappointed me every year when I bit into it and found out it wasn’t solid.

  “The Pier, I guess,” I said. “It’s where Logan took me on our first date.” I paused. “Well, kind of our only real date.”

  “Great. You can go to the Pier and eat your weight in cotton candy while I go back to school.”

  “What?” I said. “No, you can’t ditch me. We’re going together.”

  She walked over and placed her hands on my shoulders.

  “I have a few things I have to take care of. But I promise I’ll meet you there after school. Okay?”

  “What’s so important that you have to ditch me in my time of need?” I batted my eyelashes and pouted.

  “Spanish,” she said. “I have a test in about half an hour. Plus there’s a bake sale going on today, and I heard Joey made his famous cake-batter muddy buddies.”

  I sighed. No one could compete with that. Especially because Joey was involved. “Fine. Be that way. But if you’re not there by four o’clock, I swear I’ll tell your little brothers the password to your computer and you can deal with the consequences. And you’d better bring me some muddy buddies.”

  She smiled in triumph and slung her bag over one shoulder. “As you wish.”

  * * *

  I texted Logan—from my mom’s phone—before I left for the Pier. I was torturing myself, but I couldn’t help it. And I kind of hated the fact that I was so hopelessly pathetic that I’d memorized his number, but it didn’t change the facts.

  Logan didn’t answer.

  I checked the phone every twenty seconds. What use was a phone if Logan wouldn’t respond to my texts? Even though the phone said my text had been delivered, those three little dots that showed he was writing a reply never popped up.

  I stared at the screen. Were we over for good? Would he ever speak to me again?

  I drove by his house on my way to the Pier. As long as I was torturing myself, I might as well do a good job of it. I pulled off to the side of the road and debated whether I should knock on his door. What would I say?

  Hello, Logan, remember me? The girl who broke your heart and then pureed it in a blender?

  No. As much as I wanted to knock, I couldn’t bring myself to open my car door. My hands were frozen, like my eyes, which were glued to his house.

  A movement in the front window caught my attention. Logan’s face appeared for the briefest of moments before he walked out of sight. My breath caught, and my knuckles tightened on the wheel. I hadn’t seen him since that disastrous day at community service two days ago. I resisted the urge to duck in my seat. There was an
80 percent chance that Logan had already seen me. The window looked directly onto the street.

  Option one: Go knock. He’d probably seen me, anyway.

  Option two: Drive away and don’t look back.

  I checked the phone again but still no text from Logan.

  It always seemed so climactic in movies whenever someone banged their head against the steering wheel. But I couldn’t even muster up the energy. Because all that I felt was hollow. Hollow, empty, and numb. I’d briefly felt better, when Robyn had been around. But now, on my own again? I could only feel the pain.

  My finger hovered over the numbers on my mom’s phone.

  Why don’t you call him? Scared? my inner thoughts taunted.

  Yes, I replied.

  But I did it anyway. I input the numbers, hit the green phone icon, and listened to it ring. While it was ringing, I tried to see through the window. I knew he was home, and I couldn’t think of any reason why he wouldn’t have his phone on him.

  But he didn’t answer.

  I hung up when his voicemail clicked on, too defeated to do anything else.

  I had my answer. Logan really wanted nothing to do with me. Even if he didn’t answer calls from unknown numbers, my text had explained that it was me. I went ahead and deleted the text in question, so my mom wouldn’t see. While she’d loaned me the phone, I was pretty sure texting Logan wasn’t exactly encouraged. At the time, it had seemed worth the potential blowup, should my mom ever find out. But if he didn’t even answer …

  Logan was home, but he wasn’t answering. Those were the facts. Any reporter worth their salt would call it like it was and move on already. So how come I couldn’t accept it? How stupid could I get?

  I put my car in drive.

  twenty-six

  The Ferris wheel seemed different during the day. Taller somehow. Scarier. I could actually see how high up I was, the ground disappearing with every rotation. I’d paid the worker ten bucks to let me ride as long as I wanted, but I was only a few minutes into it and I was already regretting my impulse. Too bad I’d already visited all the booths. There wasn’t anything left for me to do while I waited for Robyn.