The Boyfriend App (23 page)

4:21 a.m.

Public.com

PRESS RELEASE FROM THE DESK OF ALEC PIERCE, PUBLIC CEO

RE: MOBILE APPLICATION CONTEST

Regarding user concerns over all apps no longer available for download or use on buyPhones: Public has always intended to discontinue the use of free apps from our teen creators once the winners were announced. It’s the only fair way to enter into negotiations with the winners regarding compensation for apps downloaded. Please check back for more information and the return of your favorite apps after we convene with our winners here at Public headquarters.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

chapter twenty-six

T
he
Today Show
anchor wore a crisp white button-down, green wool trousers, and pearls the size of eyeballs. I couldn’t stop staring. It was so weird to see someone my mom watched every day on TV standing
right in front of me
at Harrison High. Just yesterday I’d seen her present a segment on the skin benefits of choline in an egg-yolk face mask, and then the concert happened and here she was, twenty-four hours later, about to interview me.

We stood in front of the HARRISON HIGH SCHOOL letter-board sign as a guy with a big white sheet tested the light against our faces. Snow fell in airy flakes that didn’t stick. The Anchor was saying, “I can’t believe it’s snowing,” and I was thinking,
Sometimes it does that
.

“Are we introing the students first?” the Anchor asked a dark-haired man around Brad Pitt’s age who introduced himself as the producer, and made a strong case for the word
distinguished
. A makeup artist brushed powder over the Anchor’s nose. The Anchor was more wrinkly in person but just as beautiful.

“Students first,” the Distinguished Producer repeated, not looking up from his buyPhone. “And then their teacher.”

Ms. Bates stood tall next to my mother, wearing a chic black sweater over silk pants and stiletto boots. The Battery stood next to Bates, looking like a telephone pole in his brown suit. He seemed to have forgotten how much he hated me just yesterday.

“We’re live in sixty,” the Distinguished Producer said to the Anchor and five guys congregating near a dark green van. A twenty-something guy in a T-shirt and jeans carried a long microphone with a fuzzy black thing at the end. He held it a few inches above the Anchor’s head as she studied a blue cue card. Then the Anchor took off her leather gloves and tossed them to a nervous-looking college-age girl, who dropped them into the mud and acted like it was the end of the world.

I glanced at Harrison’s front lawn, where nearly every student (four hundred in each class: sixteen hundred total) stood screaming and waving homemade signs. I scanned the crowd for Mindy and spotted her on the ledge of the
Eros Sleeping
statue waving a white poster with red bubble letters:
HARRISON TROGS DO IT BEST!
Blake and the Martin sisters were nowhere to be seen. Xander stood off to the side with Barron Feldman, who held up a sign that said
HARRISON LAX PLAYS STANFORD INVITATIONAL 2-MORROW! WE WILL KICK EVERYONE’S A
$$
INTO THE OCEAN! P.S. PUBLIC PARTY MESSAGE ME (BARRON
F
ELDMAN) IF YOU LIVE IN CALIFORNIA AND YOU’RE A HOT GIRL BUT NOT PRUDE.

Seriously, Barron?

A bulky camera loomed in front of me. “You’ll stare right into this lens when you give your answers,” the Distinguished Producer said. The nervous-looking college-age girl handed him a coffee and he winced like it burned.

I tried to practice in my head how to answer the Anchor’s questions without stuttering or looking dumb.
Well, I’ve always loved Public.
No, too fangirl.
I’m thrilled America loves the Boyfriend App.
Too kiss-up
.
Well, I amped up secret software already in place by Public—software Public stole from my friend’s neurologist father by blackmailing him.
Yeah, right.

The nervous-looking college-age girl was back with a buyPhone. She held it out to the Distinguished Producer, mouthing
Alec Pierce
. “Hello, Mr. Pierce,” the Distinguished Producer said into the phone. “Of course we plan to ask her that.” The Distinguished Producer’s features contracted as he listened to whatever Alec Pierce was saying. “I see,” he said. He disconnected his call and stalked across the grass to the Anchor, gesturing toward me. I fidgeted with the hem of my green Old Navy sweater (the one I saved for special occasions because it made my eyes look sort of nice). Then I adjusted the silver necklace Lindsay lent me so it wouldn’t catch on the tiny microphone pinned near the strap of my sports bra. The Anchor smiled at me as the Distinguished Producer spoke into her ear, but it didn’t look real. She’d probably smiled at hundreds of people she’d interviewed during her career, and she’d probably forget today in a few months, when she was back in New York City interviewing someone else. But I never would.

Cold air froze my fingertips. I shifted my weight in my mom’s gold ballet flats.

“You kids ready?” the Distinguished Producer asked. He didn’t wait for a reply. “Here we go!” he shouted. “Live in five-four-three-two . . .”

The Anchor’s voice moved over words like fingers on a piano. “With results that shocked the nation: Public Corporation has announced two grand prize winners: Audrey McCarthy, creator of the Boyfriend App, winner of the Most Popular App. And Aidan Bailey and Nigit Gurung, cocreators of PhilanthrApp, winner of the Most Innovative App.” She cocked an eyebrow. “The kicker? All three students attend Harrison High School in South Bend, Indiana.”

I glanced at Aidan. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his dark green chinos. He stood ramrod straight with the kind of forced smile first-graders have on Picture Day. Nigit appeared oddly chill in a three-piece suit with an iridescent silver bow tie that looked like a minnow. The red light flashed on the camera angled at us. “Let’s meet the tech-savvy students,” the Anchor said. “Audrey, can you explain what it is about the Boyfriend App that captivated buyPhone users around the world?”

The first day without my rabbit’s foot and here I was on live national television. Blood pooled in my feet. I had the sense of sinking into the cold grass.
Just talk, Audrey. Just make words
. I felt my mouth open—a good start. I cleared my throat and revved my vocal cords like an engine.

“Everyone wants to fall in love,” I sputtered. “It’s a universal desire.” My voice was a combination of a whisper and a croak, but I kept going. “Love is what everyone wants to feel. Including me,” I said into the camera’s glassy lens. I saw my reflection, and smoothed down a dark strand of hair spiking up straight like it was giving America the finger. “So if there’s an app that can get the guy you love to love you back, I think that’s an app people will want. Um. So that’s why I made it. And now I get to go to college because of it. So I’m really happy.”
Rein it in, trog.
“Thank you,” I said, like I’d been giving a toast and not an interview response.

The Anchor blinked at me. She turned to Aidan and Nigit. “And how about you, gentlemen? What inspired you to create PhilanthrApp?”

“Helping people is important,” Aidan blurted, like he’d been practicing. But then he froze, and an awkward silence followed. I had the sense neither of us had a future in TV presenting.

Nigit jumped in. “And sometimes you might want to help, but you don’t know how to get involved. PhilanthrApp takes the guesswork out of how to volunteer. It makes it easy to help someone in need by entering your location and how much time you have to spare.” Then he smiled warmly like a professional actor hosting a telethon.

Screams erupted on Harrison’s lawn as a white van with PUBLIC splashed in orange letters pulled in front. The Anchor flashed her porcelain veneers and said, “Perfect timing! It looks like Public has just arrived with sixteen hundred twenty-six buyPlayers and Beast 5.0s—a full twenty-four hours before their official release.” She smiled wide into the camera and brought it home. “I can’t imagine a better day to be a Harrison High School student.”

The cameraman turned to film the side door of the white van swinging open. Kids raced across the lawn. Mindy jumped from the ledge of the
Eros Sleeping
statue and joined the fray that swarmed the van. Three burly guys wearing sunglasses and
PUBLIC
T-shirts emerged holding cardboard boxes. A skinny, squirrely guy in glasses climbed on top of the van. He barked into a megaphone: “Everyone eligible will receive a buyPlayer and the Beast 5.0! You must sign the release form before receiving your Public products. Please form a single line to expedite this process.”

Students cheered. They angled themselves from a clump to a zigzagging line. Carrie Sommers flew through the air doing a full flip-layout thing. The Anchor clapped and said, “Wow!”

“Carrie and Gary Cary are starting to annoy me,” I whispered to Aidan as Gary caught Carrie, and they both screamed, “Go, Harrison High Cheer Team!”

Aidan laughed. “I don’t think anything could annoy me right now,” he said. “Not even cheerleaders.” He playfully touched the spot just above my hip and my pulse picked up. His grin turned devilish. “Who thought you’d get into college by getting people boyfriends?” His eyes locked on mine. “You never got matched, though.” Then, under his breath he said, “Thank God.”

What did
that
mean? I started to ask “What do you—” but Aidan put a finger to his scarlet lips and nodded toward Ms. Bates, who’d just started talking into the camera about how hard her programming students worked and the importance of technological instruction in American schools. I blacked out for most of what she said because I was trying to figure out what Aidan meant. Then Bates looked over at us, and ended with a line about how she was the one that felt truly lucky, being gifted with the responsibility of nurturing geniuses, which made Nigit smile even bigger—he loved being called a genius.

The
Today Show
people shook our hands like we were adults and packed up their equipment. Aidan towered over the Distinguished Producer, who was telling him that his daughters had downloaded PhilanthrApp that morning.

Did he mean thank God I hadn’t been matched with someone other than him?

I was standing there like an idiot staring at him. So I turned and started toward Harrison. My face felt hot as I trekked across the grass.

My mom hung back with Ms. Bates as the Battery got the Anchor’s autograph on her latest bestseller:
TV Nation: Are Americans Obsessed with Television?
which made me feel like I should write a book called
Math: Does One Plus One Equal Two?

“Audrey!” Nigit called. He and Aidan raced toward me, and then the three of us ran the rest of the way to Harrison’s front lawn. Aviation Boy Ty Bennett saw us first and pumped his fist. “Go, trogs!” he shouted. Harrison turned a collective head and started screaming. “Trogs! Go, trogs! Go!” The back three quarters of the line realized they weren’t getting Beasts or buyPlayers anytime soon and raced toward us. I felt claustrophobic as warm bodies crashed me from every side. The crowd was a living, pulsing thing. I hadn’t been hugged so many times in my entire life. Lindsay elbowed next to me and screamed, “Audrey for Homecoming Queen!” Students exploded with hooting applause.

“Will you autograph my shirt?” asked one of the girls with the homemade Danny Beaton
INDIANAPOLIS OR BUST!
T-shirts. “Um, sure,” I said as she handed me a purple Sharpie. President Richardson yakked on about me joining student government: “We could use a forward thinker.” The basketball player with stitches leaned down until our noses were practically touching. “Audrey McCarthy is my homegirl!” she screamed, yanking my fist high in the air and possibly dislocating my elbow. Charlotte Davis gave me a smile, and then resumed canoodling with Joel Norris next to the
Eros Sleeping
statue. (Sans the BFA 2.0, which meant they’d graduated to becoming a real deal.)

I’d lost sight of Aidan. Nigit kneeled on Gary Cary’s shoulders looking simultaneously thrilled and terrified. He clutched the sides of Gary’s head like it was a video-game control stick and steered him through the mob. “Who’s your daddy?!” he shouted to the crowd, squeezing Gary’s head like his life depended on it. Gary grinned even as his face turned shades of purple.

Harrison was chanting, “Trogs! Trogs! Trogs!” and Nigit was screaming, “Your daddy got you buyPlayers!” when Blake, Joanna, and Jolene emerged from a side door. Blake’s eyes widened. She secretly hated crowds. I saw a flash of her vulnerability, and an old instinct flickered, telling me she needed me. But I reminded myself she didn’t—not anymore.

I watched her steel herself and push toward the Public van. There were still fifty or so kids waiting in line. Blake marched to the front and tried to cut in front of Goth Girl, who was next up for a Beast. Joanna and Jolene elbowed behind Blake. Goth Girl screamed something in Blake’s face, and Blake drew back like she’d been slapped.

“No cutting!” boomed Theresa “T. Rex” Rexford.

Blake flushed a raspberry color. She lurched forward and grabbed the megaphone from the squirrely Public guy. “My father is the reason Public even exists!” she screamed into the megaphone. (Gross overstatement.) “You all have me to thank.” (Grosser.) “Not the skanky trogs!” (Grossest.)

The Public guy yanked back his megaphone. Xander materialized at Blake’s side. I figured he was going to defend her honor. (Their statuses were Single on Public Party, but maybe they’d patched things up?) Instead, he whispered something into her ear. She glanced up and caught my eye. Something flashed over her face but I couldn’t read it. She let Xander guide her away from the crowd. Jolene and Joanna still stood near the front of the line, looking nervous and—for the first time ever—kind of pointless. They glanced at the screaming fray, then raced after Xander and Blake. Harrison students screamed louder as Xander kicked open the door to the school and disappeared inside.