The Code for Love and Heartbreak - Jillian Cantor Page 0,73
him what we were just doing in coding club. How we’re going to use our app to match couples for the Valentine’s dance next month and also ask for donations for the Environmental Defense Fund to get matches.
Izzy stops at a light, turns her head and rolls her eyes at John, like she forgets we are sitting behind her and we can see her. Or maybe she just doesn’t care. The light changes and she weirdly turns off Highbury Pike, instead of going straight, toward John and George’s house.
“Hey, where are we going?” I ask her.
“It’s our last night,” she says vaguely. “And we wanted to do something fun.”
I get that old familiar aching feeling in my stomach, like I’ve swallowed something heavy: dread. Every Friday night last year, Izzy would try and drag me somewhere, insisting I needed to have fun! But really, fun for me is staying at home, working on code in my pajamas. In fact, I was already thinking about what I could work on tonight, how I’d upload it to GitHub, and maybe FaceTime Jane, who would probably be checking database stats at the same time. And Sam, too, who had promised before we left our meeting to text Mara and Liz about spreading the word about dance dates.
“Can you take me home first?” I say to Izzy, but she ignores me, or pretends she doesn’t hear me, and she keeps on driving, getting on 95. She exits near Dad’s office in Princeton, and then I realize she’s heading toward the train station. They want to go into the city.
I hate going into the city. Hate the crowds and the noise, and the overwhelming smells of garbage and diesel on the streets. I cannot think of anything I’d want to do less on a Friday night than take the train into the city. The city is worse than the mall.
Izzy pulls into the train station parking lot, parks, and she and John get out of the car. But George and I stay in the back seat, unmoving for another few seconds. “Do you want to go to the city with them?” I say to George.
He sighs. “Not really. But do we have a choice?”
Last year, I would’ve agreed with him. How many times did I go along with Izzy, listen to Izzy, do what Izzy said I should want to do? Because Izzy is Izzy, my sister and my friend and my protector. It never mattered if what she wanted made me feel uncomfortable or if I just didn’t find it fun. Because I always felt like I was supposed to be doing what Izzy was doing. Izzy is the sparkly normal sister who understands social situations. I’m the awkward math nerd. But this year I’ve kind of embraced being the math nerd, and really, why is it bad if I want to do math nerd things on a Friday night?
I get out of the car now and George slides out behind me. I walk up to Izzy and hold out my hand. “Give me the keys, Iz. George and I are going to go home. You two go have fun. I can come back and pick you guys up here later. You can text me when you’re on the train back.”
“What?” She frowns, her face turning in surprise. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and she blows on her bare hands. She must’ve forgotten, or lost, her gloves again. “But we have dinner reservations,” she protests.
“You and John go and enjoy them. It’s your last night home and you should go have fun. But I don’t want to go.”
“Em,” she protests again. “Come on.”
“Look, I am a nerd. And I don’t like the city. And I don’t want to go out to dinner. I want to go home and work on code in my pajamas, and that’s going to make me happy. That’s who I am, okay? So stop trying to change me.” I’m breathless and talking louder than I mean. Izzy stares at me, confused, or maybe hurt? So I feel like I’ve explained myself all wrong. But then she drops the car keys in my hand without another word.
“George, you coming with us?” John asks.
George looks at me, then back at John and shakes his head. John shrugs and grabs Izzy’s hand, and the two of them walk toward the train station building in front of us.
George and I get back in the car, in the front seat this time, and