The Code for Love and Heartbreak - Jillian Cantor Page 0,60
shape,” Dad says, doing a half-hearted bicep curl. Then he hugs Izzy to him, kisses the top of her head and closes his eyes a little, so I know how happy he is to have her home and how much he’s missed her. I’ve missed her, too, but if I don’t leave now I’ll be late to pick up George. “I have to leave for school,” I say, to both Izzy or Dad or neither.
Izzy pulls out of her hug with Dad, grabs on to my arm. “I got no sleep on the plane. I need to take a nap. But, Em, after school we’ll hang out, okay?”
I’m staying after for coding club. We’ve planned to meet every day this week to get as much done as possible before the break. But I tell Izzy I’ll be home for dinner and we’ll talk more then.
* * *
“The prodigal son has returned,” George says to me, rolling his eyes when he gets into my car. Right. John is home, too. Of course they took the same flight. George’s sarcasm surprises me, though.
“I thought you and John get along?” I say.
He nods. “We do. It’s just...in my parents’ eyes, John is the sun, and I’m just some shadow cast behind him.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “You’re way better than he is.” George chuckles, and I realize how that came out. “I mean, I like John...enough. But he’s not you.”
“And that’s a good thing?” George says, tilting his head to the side, looking vaguely amused.
“Yes. For one thing, John couldn’t code his way out of a cardboard box. For that matter, neither could Izzy.”
“But they could probably both make it look really beautiful and then not even care that they were inside a cardboard box because they’d just pretend it was a mansion,” George says.
Now it’s my turn to laugh, because George is so spot-on. “The first thing Izzy said to me was, This is what you’re wearing to school today?” I mimic her, making my tone squealier.
George laughs again, reaches his hand out and touches the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “It’s your navy blue. You always wear this one on Wednesdays.”
I pull into my parking spot and turn off my car. His hand lingers on my sweatshirt, and I turn and look at him. “How do you even know that?” He’s right, though. I am partial to my navy blue hoodie on Wednesdays. It’s my halfway through the week is the hardest day to face I might as well wear my most comfortable sweatshirt look.
“You’ve driven me to school almost every day this year.” He shrugs, pulls his hand away and gets out of the car, like it’s no big deal. But if he were to ask me what he was wearing on any particular day, or if there is a rhyme or reason to it, the truth is, I would have absolutely no idea.
* * *
At lunch, there’s a line of people wrapped around our little table, waiting for us to help them load our app onto their phones. Mara spearheaded the campaign during our lunch; Liz and also George and Jane did it during their lunch, and this has been going on all week. So far, we’ve gotten our app on about seventy-five other students’ phones. Jane will be able to track who requests matches, what the results are, and after break, we plan to follow up.
Sam and Laura are talking about their Christmas plans, not being super helpful. So everyone waiting is talking to me, asking me questions. It’s weird how I don’t know or recognize most of them, how you can go to a school for four years, walk its halls and almost be valedictorian of your class, and still not know so many people who surround you day in and day out. And also, even weirder? Now they all seem to know me.
“Hi, Emma!” There’s a blonde girl standing in front of me now, holding out her phone. I don’t know her name, and I’m not sure I’ve ever even seen her before.
Sam is supposed to be taking down emails while I help people download TestFlight, but he and Laura are deep in conversation. I glean bits and pieces of what they’re saying—Laura is going to be here over the break, and Sam is going to be skiing with his mom and aunt’s family. She’ll be lonely without him.
“Write down your name and email here.” I take the notebook from in front of Sam, who barely even notices,