The Boyfriend App (24 page)

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ducked down and covered my opposite ear. “Hello?” I shouted, my head knocking against my classmates’ legs.

“Audrey McCarthy? This is Tag Adams, Senior Vice President of Consumer Relations at Public.” The voice was low and the connection was staticky. I pressed my phone harder against my ear. Goth Girl was shouting: “The Beast is mine!” in the background.

“Hi, Mr. Adams,” I said.

“Call me Tag. I’m calling to personally congratulate you. Public is so excited about the Boyfriend App that we’ve bumped up your prizewinning visit by two weeks. You’ll be leaving for the Public offices in Ecru Point, California, tomorrow.”

Tomorrow?

“All information will arrive over email,” Tag was saying. Then he rambled on about rooming accommodations. “We’ll be hosting you right here on Public’s campus. We don’t want to let you out of our sight, Ms. McCarthy.” He laughed, but it sounded strained. Then he said good-bye and hung up.

I stared at my phone. That was totally weird. Or was I being paranoid? Maybe that was California humor?

Tag’s words swirled in my mind as the crowd pushed me toward the Public van. My imagination played images of big computer screens and hordes of techy-looking Public trogs running around making discoveries and testing new products. I mean, okay, so I’d found some really bad stuff they did. But they were
Public
. They were geniuses!

Lindsay stood on the granite ledge of the
Eros Sleeping
statue. “For just twenty-nine ninety-nine you can get a custom Beast case with the inscription ‘TROGS RULE OUR SCHOOL,’” she was saying, taking orders on Loulou de la Falaise, who had spent the night drying out in a bowl of rice. “All proceeds will go to technology instruction in underfunded high schools, a cause dear to me and you too, I’m sure,” Lindsay said, sweeping a hand dramatically over her heart.

My phone pinged with a text from Aidan. escaped into The Books. u still out front? Some dude named Tag just called me. u ready for cali tomorrow?

yes! I texted back. Then I typed, glad we’ll be 2gether. I almost deleted it. But instead I took a breath, and hit SEND. I stared at the screen until Aidan texted back: should I be ready for you to use your app on me?

My fingers tightened on my phone. Did he seriously just write that? I was so panicked I didn’t know what to respond.

Lindsay always said:
when in doubt, play it cool
.

So I texted him back:
haha u wish.

But I didn’t feel very cool. I felt insanely nervous. Was I reading him wrong, or were things changing between us?

That night when I got home to Hector, I couldn’t ignore my suspicion any longer. A part of me didn’t want to know. The other part had to.

I waited until midnight to remotely log on to Gurung’s computer through the backdoor application. I opened his email, and just in case he was surfing around, I backed it up into a file and copied it onto my computer to minimize suspicion. It was safe that way. Or, at least, saf
er
.

I searched
Nigit
and
contest
. Two emails matched.

From: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Nikhil,

You can only imagine how thrilled I am to see your son Nigit has submitted a mobile application to Public’s nationwide contest. With a college scholarship on the line, it pleases me even more to tell you I’ll be seriously considering your son’s application for the grand prize.

Alec

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

Alec,

I don’t need your consolation prizes. Leave my son out of this.

Nikhil

I felt like I’d swallowed something cold. Nigit and Aidan’s win was orchestrated by Alec Pierce. Their scholarship was built on lies.

But then again, maybe so was mine.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

chapter twenty-seven

“I
still can’t believe they chartered a private plane for us!” Lindsay squealed, sinking into a beige leather seat. “This is so
Dynasty
.” She snapped a photo of Nigit, who pointed his white-gloved index finger at a box of chocolates that waited on our tray tables and said, “Wassup!” He jumped into his seat. “And the lax jocks have to fly commercial,” he said. “That’s freaking priceless.”

The Harrison lacrosse team was playing the Stanford invitational this weekend, and Robert Dawkins had arranged their tour of Public headquarters. The South Bend papers ate that up, printing stories like: “ROBERT DAWKINS EXPANDS YOUNG ATHLETIC MINDS.” I hadn’t realized minds could be athletic.

The plane’s engine growled beneath us. I’d never flown before and I was trying not to freak out. (Neither had Lindsay, but she showed up looking like a travel pro in a pink terry-cloth jumpsuit and huge sunglasses, like a famous person from L.A. She even put a fake toy dog in her carry-on bag and called it Fifi. It looked real until you got right next to it.)

Icy rain shattered the plane’s wings like Tic Tacs. “The best thing about flying private is that we can brave weather like this,” the peppy flight attendant said.

“My last flight to Dubai emergency-landed on a tropical island because of weather
just like this
,” Lindsay lied, putting a hand to her forehead.

The flight attendant nodded sympathetically. Lindsay winked at me. Then the flight attendant showed us an oxygen mask and how to use it.

Great.

My mom squeezed my hand. She’d gotten up at five to deep-condition her hair, and she looked radiant. I tried to focus on how happy she was, how proud. But my nerves were running the show. Something wasn’t right.

Nigit checked the time on his eBay present from Lindsay: a plastic watch with Michael Jackson in his iconic red jacket and white gloves, his outstretched arms the hands of the clock. “Finally, Dad,” he muttered to himself, staring out the plane’s window. The flight attendant opened the door and Nigit’s father boarded. Sweat beaded his brown, wrinkled skin even though it was freezing outside. Salt-and-pepper-colored stubble crossed his face. His dark eyes looked fatigued, and they held mine for a moment too long before breaking into the same fake smile he gave me during his Notre Dame office hours. “I’m sorry I’m late, son,” he said, lowering into the seat next to Nigit.

It was totally weird that he didn’t acknowledge me, but I wasn’t going to be the one to say something about our meeting.

The flight attendant pointed to Dr. Gurung’s green leather briefcase. “Can I store that in the overhead compartment?”

“No,” Dr. Gurung said quickly. He clutched the briefcase to his chest.

The small print said each winning app entry was allowed two guests to accompany them to Public’s headquarters. I’d picked my mom and Lindsay, and Aidan and Nigit split theirs: Aidan picked Mindy because his mom couldn’t leave his little sister home alone, and Nigit picked his dad.

“Water, please,” Mindy said to the flight attendant. She’d said more words in the past two days than in the past two years, like something had broken loose and couldn’t be contained anymore.

“Do you want to sit next to Aidan?” my mom asked, smoothing a hand over the cream silk blouse she usually saved for church.

“Uh—no,” I said, hoping he hadn’t heard her. She smiled like she knew something.

Across the aisle, Aidan’s head was bent over a brochure with
BROWN UNIVERSITY
splashed on the cover. It was cracked open to a photo of students sitting on a grassy quad next to a stone building. There wasn’t any writing on the page; Aidan was just staring at the picture. I liked watching the way his fingers curled and settled on a stack of textbooks pictured next to a student wearing a Brown sweatshirt.

He looked up at me and smiled. He picked out one of his chocolates and said, “Five bucks if you can guess which kind this is.”

I guessed wrong, but he split it with me anyway. My hand felt warm when he passed it into my palm.

An alert sounded on the flight attendant’s buyPhone and she excused herself behind a velvet curtain. I popped the chocolate into my mouth as two men wearing dark suits emerged from the cockpit.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen; I’m your pilot,” said a guy who looked less like a pilot and more like a guy Lindsay would post photos of on
FBM
: tall, trim, and wearing an expensive-looking suit. I would’ve felt better if he at least had a pin with wings. He didn’t introduce the other guy. Instead, he said, “We’ll be arriving in Ecru Point at noon.” The other guy closed the door to the plane. I heard the flight attendant say into her phone:
“Everyone is onboard.”

In California, everything felt different. And we hadn’t even gotten off the airplane. The sun glinted—on the runway, on the grass lining the runway, on the shining heads of the guys unloading our luggage from beneath the plane—like I’d only seen it do in South Bend on hubcaps and other metally stuff on the hottest August days.

My nerves still felt shot as I powered on my phone. This was Brad Pitt’s home state. On the off chance I saw him, I needed the Boyfriend App to be fully loaded. (Just because Public had disabled the Boyfriend App on everyone else’s phone didn’t mean I couldn’t still use it: I had the original code.)

The nervous feeling got worse as the Public logo came to life on my screen. I tried to chalk it up to first-time-flying jitters, but I knew it was something else.

“California women, I can’t get enough of you!”
Lindsay sang in a dead-on Danny Beaton impression.

“You are the cootest, most ad-ur-able, ladies, whoa-oh-oh,”
Mindy joined in—not quite as good, but just as enthusiastic.

My mom returned her pearly blue rosary beads to her purse. She’d clutched the beads the entire flight. My favorite part was when they draped over the Fabio-haired shirtless man making out with a courtesan on the cover of her romance novel. My dad would’ve thought that was hilarious.

We peered out onto the runway. Our tiny window had gotten dirty in the air, and now there was grime on it, like looking through a forgotten fish tank. “Your father and I always talked about taking you to Disneyland,” my mom said. She twirled the silver Claddagh ring she never took off her fourth finger. “He’d be so excited we made it to California. And he’d be so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, happy she was here with me. And I felt my dad, too. It calmed my nerves thinking of him.

My phone pinged with message alerts. I opened a text from Blake.

Trog. I need to talk to you about something big. B.

I didn’t have time to freak out or obsess over what she could possibly want, because there was another text from the same area code Tag Adams had called from.

WE KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE. ARRIVE ON THE TOP FLOOR ALONE. TELL NO ONE.

For an eternity, I couldn’t think: There was static where my thoughts used to be.

Public.

“Auds?” Aidan’s voice. “Are you coming?”

I shoved the phone into my jeans with trembling fingers. Aidan and Mindy were staring at me. My mom was talking to Dr. Gurung about how proud she was. The flight attendant was texting. Lindsay and Nigit were kissing. The door to the plane opened to more Guys in Dark Suits waiting outside, wearing sunglasses and pissed-off expressions.

A metal staircase cranked and clanked along the runway to the door of our plane. My legs shook so hard I could barely descend the steps. My hand instinctually went to my pocket to touch my rabbit’s foot, but it wasn’t there.

“You’re coming with us, Miss McCarthy,” the Guy in the Dark Suit said, gesturing to a massive SUV parked on the runway.

This couldn’t be happening—they couldn’t kidnap me in front of my family and friends. The flight attendant’s lip liner twisted the corners of her mouth into a smirk. She’s seemed so nice on the plane, offering me biscotti every fifteen minutes. I didn’t even know what biscotti was, and I’d eaten her stale cookies not realizing she was probably a conspirator. What if she’d drugged my apple juice? What the freak had I gotten myself into?

“No!” I screamed.

Everyone turned. “Sweetie?” my mom asked. Aidan’s navy eyes stared. Lindsay pulled from Nigit’s embrace, but her bumblebee brooch caught his sateen dinner jacket and rendered them inseparable.

The flight attendant blinked. “Would you like more biscotti for the ride to headquarters, Audrey?”

I surveyed the guys loading luggage into the back of a second SUV. My mom’s flowered bag was tossed into the trunk with Lindsay’s and mine, and I realized Public was splitting the seven of us into two cars. “Oh.” I exhaled. “I’m fine. I just meant I wish we could all go together.” I forced a smile. Mindy’s lips pursed, like she didn’t believe me, but she followed the Guy in the Dark Suit’s directions anyway. She boarded the second black SUV with Dr. Gurung, Nigit, and Aidan. “It’s like we’re on
Entourage
,” Nigit said, shimmying inside. “And I’m definitely Johnny Drama.” Dr. Gurung’s face darkened as our eyes met. He slammed the door behind him.

“Listen, sweetie, I know you’re probably nervous,” my mom said as we clamored into the backseat of our identical, colossal ride.

You have no idea.

Lindsay eyed me. I wanted to tell them—to warn them—but the Guy in the Dark Suit was inches away in the driver’s seat. I was about to text Lindsay before I thought better of it: Public could easily access my phone’s data activity.