The Boyfriend App (11 page)

The car coughed and sputtered. Aidan opened the door and stepped onto the gravel.

My pulse quickened. A flush crept over Aidan’s pale skin as he stared at me, and I felt unsteady on my feet again. What was he doing here?

Lindsay was talking, but I couldn’t pay attention. Claire told Aidan he looked like her imaginary stable hand, George, and then Lindsay and Claire were off.

“George shovels horse manure,” I told Aidan, not quite meeting his gaze. My fingers went to my rabbit’s foot in the front pocket of Lindsay’s hand-me-down skinny jeans. I felt on the verge of a freak-out. I was still embarrassed about what happened at the bowling alley. And Aidan had never been to my apartment before. And then there was my mother, staring at us from twenty-five yards away.

“He’s probably very attractive, though, right?” Aidan asked. His broad shoulders scrunched and he looked unsure about his joke.

I smiled despite my nerves. “He’s an extremely hot stable hand,” I said, relaxing the tiniest bit.

At least we were far away from South Bend Bowl & Arcade.

“You kids want to come upstairs?” my mom called to us, as if we were twelve. She lifted her skinny arm and gestured to our window like she was Vanna White and our apartment was a vowel.

I didn’t want Aidan seeing my kitten poster. And I didn’t want my mom eavesdropping on us. So I gestured to the dirt path that led behind our apartment. “I was thinking Aidan and I could walk,” I told my mom as we crossed the gravel into the courtyard. I made my voice sound upbeat, like I was craving fresh air.

Aidan’s hunter-green Converse were untied and he stumbled. His cheeks flushed even brighter as he caught himself. “Hi, Mrs. McCarthy,” he said. He knew my mom from the lunch line.

My mother smiled like Aidan was a Publishers Clearing House representative holding an oversized check. I had a feeling she was going to say something embarrassing, and she didn’t let me down.

“The tater-tot boy,” she said. “Extra tots.”

“That’s me,” Aidan said.

“Mom. Really?”

“Call me Marian,” she told Aidan, winking.

I pulled my hair into a short, spiky ponytail. Dark pieces started falling out before I even finished tying the rubber band. “I’ll be back before dinner, Marian,” I told her, like I made the rules and she didn’t have a standing decree about always eating together. I kept my head down as we rounded the path behind the apartment complex. I wasn’t used to being with Aidan by myself outside of school. I wasn’t really sure what to say.

Aidan’s hands were shoved deep into his pockets. His long, lanky gait was more relaxed when it was just us, like he was he perfectly okay with his place in the world. Like he was way less nervous than I was.

The tangerine-colored sun framed the leaves like a golden halo. Aidan pushed aside spindly branches and held them for me to pass. The trees thickened, leaving just enough sunlight for us to avoid rocks and divots. The birch trees were my favorite. As we walked, I traced my fingers over the silvery-gray scrapes that covered their white trunks. “We’re almost there,” I said softly.

Aidan didn’t ask where
there
was. I liked that he trusted me. And I liked how it felt to be with him by myself and without my friends. The way it would be if he were my boyfriend.

But he’s not your boyfriend. Not by a long shot.

Little brown birds filled the silence with tiny squeaks. The path widened and Aidan slowed until we were side by side. I was hyperaware of his movements and how each one either separated us or made us closer.

I prayed for the ones that made us closer. I inched my hand farther from my side until it brushed his. My skin felt electric. I wanted to take his hand, to lace my fingers through his.

If he liked me, I would know.

Cold air snapped through me as we emerged from the mouth of the trail onto a small clearing. Large rocks surrounded a pool of dark-blue water that spilled over a fallen log into another smaller pool. The birch trees surrounded it in a perfect circle, like gatekeepers. On the far side of the pool, my dad and I had arranged the smaller rocks into a cave, where we used to store things like sticks and loose change. Things my dad called treasure. I couldn’t bring myself to disassemble the cave. Even after he was gone and I stopped hiding things there.

The air smelled clean and wet. The tightness in my chest loosened as I took in the water, and the birch trees. It was my secret spot. Only Blake and Lindsay knew about it from when we were little. And my dad, of course. And now, Aidan.

Aidan’s eyes passed over the water. He nodded like he appreciated we were somewhere beautiful.

“Do you want to sit?” I asked, gesturing to the smooth, flat rock that jutted over the water’s edge.

Aidan nodded. I realized how much taller he was than my dad—he had to crouch so his head wouldn’t hit the low branches.

I hurried to sit first. I didn’t want to be the one to decide how much space should be between us.

Aidan took his time. He picked up a twig and rolled it between his hands, like he did in the lab with his mechanical pencils. I imagined those hands on me. My body felt like a sparkler just thinking about it.

I held my breath as he sat cross-legged, facing me. His knee touched my calf and my nerves pulsed.

“You’re still wearing your bowling shoes,” he said.

“Crap.”

He laughed but it didn’t last. His dark lashes lowered as he studied the twig. When he lifted them, his gaze was far away, like he was remembering something.

“My dad left us,” he finally said. He traced the twig over the hole in his jeans. His breathing was jagged and it made his words come out in tiny portions. “I don’t know what we did . . . my mom and my sister and me . . . to make him leave.” He snapped the twig and let the pieces fall. “But he left.”

A pit formed in my stomach. It was how he said the words. Not just sad, but unbelieving, like he couldn’t understand how something so terrible had happened to him and his mom and sister. I knew exactly how that felt.

Aidan’s hand rested on the rock. Without thinking, I reached forward and touched my fingertips to his. Warmth rushed through me. He didn’t move his hand away. He looked up. Leaned a tiny bit closer. Then he said, “I’m glad what you had with your dad was good.”

When somebody gets taken away from you, people try to say all kinds of things to make you feel better. Like how time heals (it doesn’t) or how sorry they are (who cares?) or how God has a plan (if He does, why is it crappy so far?). This was the first time someone said something that helped a little bit. I was grateful for it.

Wind gusted and rippled the water’s glassy surface. Aidan set his twig in the water and we watched it drift away. His Army-green jacket was a few shades darker than his Converse, and my eyes settled on a tiny tear near the elbow. I took in how big he was, sitting there in a place where I was usually alone. The jacket’s corduroy collar was unbuttoned, and I saw twine resting against the smooth, pale skin of his neck. It was the kind of thing you would hang a key from, or something you didn’t want to forget.

I hugged my knees to my chest. “He wasn’t even supposed to be at work that night,” I finally said. My heart clenched like a fist. I didn’t want to feel the pain that came with talking about my dad. But I wanted to tell him.

Aidan sat very still, watching me.

“My dad did mechanical work for Blake’s dad’s company—making new engine parts usually, or fixing stuff. One night, Robert Dawkins called my dad in to work on some special project. Something he said only my dad would know how to do. My dad was working late when he had an accident with the machinery.”

My joints felt like seams unraveling when I said the words. It was the worst part. Imagining my dad getting hurt. My mind couldn’t always do it. Because when I did, I fell into something so painful I didn’t think I would make it out. “I sometimes think about whether or not he had time to be scared,” I said.

Aidan took my hand and held it while I cried. Silence settled. The wind curled through the trees and rippled over the water. In the quiet I felt the day ending and darkness falling.

“It was just a mistake,” I finally said, to myself as much as to Aidan. “He’d worked with those machines for so many years. And it was so unlike him to make a mistake with something mechanical.” Then came the part I couldn’t reconcile, the part that kept me up at night. “If one thing had gone differently that night—if I’d begged him to stay home, instead of taking on Robert’s stupid important project—then he’d still be here.” I couldn’t help but think about all the reasons he should still be alive, and how there had to be some way to fix the mistake. “You know how the South Bend newspapers love R. Dawkins Tech,” I said. “Whether or not Robert Dawkins knew they were going to print what he said, they did.
It’s a tragic accident. But my company has a zero-tolerance policy for negligence in the workplace. Francis McCarthy was careless.
”

I’d memorized those words. My dad had worked for Blake’s dad for fifteen years, and that’s what he got. His name dragged through the mud.

Aidan’s grip on my hand tightened.

“Blake assured me her dad didn’t mean it. That he was out at a bar and said something stupid that got overheard by a reporter. But the damage was already done. My mom was so hurt.”

Aidan didn’t look unsure anymore, like he had when we’d stood outside my apartment. He looked like he understood me. “And you were hurt, too,” he said.

The sky had darkened so quickly. When I looked up from the water, I could barely distinguish the leaves from the shadowy heaven above them. A low rumble of thunder sounded. I kept going anyway.

“The weird thing is, after the accident and everything Blake’s father did, Blake held on to me tighter than ever. She stood closer to me in school, like she was protecting me, or trying to protect
us
.” A blood-red leaf fell onto the water. “But too much had changed.”

We were quiet for a few moments, and I wondered what Aidan was thinking about. The water was black now. “We should go,” I finally said. My voice didn’t sound like my own. The high-pitched nervousness was gone, and I just sounded exhausted.

Aidan stood first. He pulled me to my feet for the second time that day. Then he leaned forward until there was only a breath between us. There was an intensity in his dark blue eyes that I hadn’t seen before. His hands went to the small of my back. My heart raced. I couldn’t figure out if he was trying to—

I panicked. “We should go,” I said again. I turned and Aidan’s lips brushed my cheek. I felt his mouth, soft and warm against my skin. My body went wild, and then my thoughts did, too. It took everything I had not to freak out as we walked back along the trail, and the conversation that had just been so natural between us suddenly felt strained. I tried to joke around with him, but Aidan all at once seemed unsure again. What had happened back there?

Was my cheek where he’d meant to kiss? Was it just a friend thing?

Or had he been about to
really
kiss me?

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

chapter eleven

B
rrrrinnnnngggg!

I fumbled for my ringing phone. “Lindsay?”

“Wake up! I can tell you’re slouching just by your tone of voice.”

“It’s three in the morning,” I said, pressing my wrist against my eyes. I’d fallen asleep at my computer.

Lindsay puffed an exhale. “Stop stating the obvious and get onto Public’s site.”

My fingers shook as the page loaded—my mind already going to places it wanted to be. The
PUBLIC
logo flashed bright orange against a metallic silver background. My eyes found the Most Popular App list on the right of the screen.

It was there.
It was there!
The Boyfriend App was number seven on the Top Ten list!

I screamed. Lindsay went nuts on the other end of the line. “It’s happening!” she said. “You’re going to win this thing; I know it.”

I could barely breathe. “But
how
?”

“Two words:
Danny
.
Beaton
.” Lindsay squealed. “He’s always been one of my personal heroes. And now he’s the Boyfriend App’s!”

Danny Beaton. Public spokesperson. Teen heartthrob. Rock star. I remembered the exact moment he followed Lindsay on Twitter. She hadn’t shut up about it for weeks. I clicked on Danny Beaton’s Twitter page and what I saw sent my heart ricocheting in my chest:

@DannyBeaton
retweeted Lindsay’s tweet about the Boyfriend App to his 18,239,087 followers.

Lindsay’s Twitter following had jumped by thousands and so had mine.

My fingertips blazed as I clicked on
@mentions
. Danny Beaton had started a fire: Thousands of Twitter users retweeted Danny’s tweet about the BFA or started their own conversation, hashtagging TheBoyfriendApp and commenting about it with all kinds of stuff ranging from normal—
@CutieCT: look out, potential BFs. here I come—
to a little odd, like
@AlaskaGirlBrrr
, who tweeted:
hey @TheBoyfriendApp! Just downloaded you. Am I gonna find me my made for 4ever Eskimo. Kiss kiss!
And then there was the downright creepy:
@BruceBlogs: Genius girl Audrey McCarthy @TheBoyfriendApp what do I have to do to make you my Girlfriend App? Invite me to South Bend! Go Irish!

Lindsay had never entered my location, which meant people like
@BruceBlogs
were Googling me to find out where I lived. I didn’t think I’d ever done anything Googleable before.

I scrolled through TheBoyfriendApp hashtags. A bunch of guys who downloaded the app bemoaned how they had to sit around and wait for a girl to approach them with her match results. This ignited a Twitter conversation about whether or not I was a feminist.