Crow Flight Read online

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Gin’s voice was almost bubbly now. “What we should model? Crows.”

  A wind pushed through as Felix paused. “The crows, huh? You’d want to do that?”

  She nodded, fast.

  He put one gloved hand to his chin. “It could be good. How about their movements? Like a model on flocking behavior. But with smarter animals, not the typical starlings or pigeons. And my dad tracks everything they do, so we have all the data we’d need.”

  “Wait—you already have data?” This was better than Gin had hoped.

  In reply, he pointed to Frederick’s leg, which had a slender black band. It was so small, Gin hadn’t noticed it before. “Everything they do is tracked, the data logged. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier. Must be that rule about not noticing the things you’re closest to. We’d leave out information from the crow-bots, of course. But we can look at how the real crows fly, when they stop, how their groups come together and disperse. No one’s modeled crow flocking behavior before, so it’d definitely be unique.”

  “It could be good.”

  “Really good.” He turned to her and they stood there for another frosty breath. It was incredible. A model like this, one that hadn’t been done before, with unique data—it was exactly the sort of opportunity Gin needed.

  Without warning, Felix threw his hands up in the air, jostling the birds on his shoulders, but not enough for them to fly off. “We should celebrate!” he yelled. He kneeled down in the snow by the black box, and took the other two birds out, one on each hand, and held them out towards Gin. “Here, take these guys.”

  Maggie and Rufus shifted to Gin’s gloved hands, and she was surprised again at how light they were, almost like air. “Hey guys,” she said quietly, and the birds turned their heads sideways to watch her.

  “Okay,” Felix said. “On the count of three, push up and shout ‘fly.’ Got it?”

  Gin tensed her arms and nodded.

  “One, two, three—”

  Gin pushed up with her hands, and shouted “Fly,” as Felix whistled. All four birds took off, but this time they weren’t going to the end of the field—they were going up, higher and higher. When they became little dots in the sky, they separated and started circling down, loop after loop after loop.

  “Wow,” Gin whispered. “It’s like they’re dancing. It’s so . . .”

  “Beautiful.” But Felix wasn’t watching the birds. He was looking at Gin. He stepped closer, and reached out one gloved hand to hold her hand, tight.

  She shuddered from the sensation. All she wanted was to lean into him, to kiss him, to touch her lips to his. But instead, she looked up to the sky, where the crows floated, effortless and smooth.

  The streets were plowed by late afternoon, and temperatures warmed, melting the ice. School was on for the next day. It had been a fluke storm. Apparently, that’s what their weather model was good at—flukes.

  Gin was looking over Love Fractal that night when she heard a tap at her window. She ignored it at first. But it happened again. And again.

  She stared at the white shade, which was already drawn shut. Her heart beat faster, and the house seemed to still.

  Tap, tap-tap. Tap . . . tap, tap, tap. It was probably a tree. No need to be afraid. Never mind that she’d never heard a tree tap at her window before. She’d take a look to be sure.

  She pulled the shade up, and it took a second for her eyes to adjust to the night. Then she saw it: a crow, perched on her windowsill.

  She jumped back, her hand flying up to her mouth, and she nearly yelled out in surprise. She told herself to stay calm: it was only a crow. Harmless.

  She took a deep breath and kneeled down. Crows didn’t just come to her windowsill. It had to be one of Felix’s.

  The bird ruffled its wings and tilted its head. Catherine. And she was holding something in her beak: a small white paper triangle.

  Catherine tapped again, seemingly with no plan of leaving. So with her heart beating fast in her chest, Gin slowly pushed up the window, until Catherine was right there in front of her.

  The cold night air poured in and Gin waited, unsure of what to do next. Was she supposed to take the paper triangle from Catherine? Or give a whistle, so she would fly home?

  But then Catherine dropped the white triangle down on the windowsill. Gin picked it up and unfolded it. In the middle, in small letters that were all capitalized, was a single line.

  Want to go to the city Friday night? To start the project?—Felix

  It was a note. An impossibly unlikely note—not a text or an email, but a handwritten note delivered by a crow. She wanted to laugh.

  Instead, she found a pen and wrote back: Yes!! I’d love to!!

  There was nothing clever she could think of to add—it was all too strange—so she folded the note back up and held it out on her open palm, as if she were giving a horse a treat. Catherine picked it up with her beak, and with a sweep of her wings, pushed off into the darkness.

  Gin watched her go, soaring through the sky, and for a moment, it felt as though Gin’s heart was soaring along, too.

  // Twenty-One

  Hannah came over Friday night to make sure Gin looked nice. Which, by Hannah’s standards, could mean anything: a leather skirt, ripped shirt, and knee socks, or maybe a neon jumpsuit with dark glasses. Usually, Gin would use Outfitter, but Outfitter’s suggestions didn’t seem right, and besides that, Gin was nervous.

  She told herself there was no need to be nervous. Even opened her biology textbook to the section about hormones and the fight-or-flight response to remind herself that it was only chemicals.

  But nothing helped. Especially since Hannah was sure Felix liked Gin. Actually liked her. As soon as Gin had told her about the hand-holding and the snow day and the crow message, Hannah had no doubt. But Gin saw it differently: she and Felix had to hang out since they were partners in class, and Felix holding her hand was likely no big deal since he often traveled to Europe where kissing cheeks and holding hands were part of life. And, of course, there was Caitlin—clearly, Felix had been interested in her at the football game, and clearly, she was more interesting than Gin.

  Anyway, Felix was just so . . . much. And no matter what logic Gin used, she couldn’t find a line of reasoning in which Felix would actually like her.

  Regardless, there was something more important than how unlikely it was that Felix Gartner liked her—there was a chance Love Fractal was working. Hannah was actually hitting it off with Noah. After meeting for coffee, they’d been out twice. The best part was that Noah was different, really different, from any guy Hannah had ever dated.

  If the model worked for Hannah, maybe it would work for Gin. And it hadn’t matched her with Felix.

  “Now hold still.” Hannah put sticky lip gloss on Gin’s lips and stepped back. “Okay, see what you think.”

  When Gin looked in the mirror, she gasped. Her hair was shiny and dark, her eyes shimmered, her lips were bright and glossy, and even her cheeks were faintly flushed. Her outfit, though it had come from her closet, looked brand new: Hannah had dressed her in gray cargo pants and low boots and a fitted shirt, a combination Outfitter had never put together. It was like Gin had transformed into someone else.

  “Wow,” she said. “I look . . . good.”

  Hannah laughed. “Of course you do. You always do, but a little makeup and the right outfit go a long way.”

  “Thanks, Hannah.” Gin hugged her, tight.

  “Anytime—you know I love this stuff. By the way, your hair looks great. Have you been growing it out?”

  Gin turned her head again, and saw that Hannah was right. Her hair had always been shoulder-length—practical and easy. But recently, she had kept forgetting to get it cut, and now it fell below her collarbone.

  The doorbell rang, and Gin took a deep breath. She started to pull on her jacket, but Hannah grabbed it.

  “No
, wait. Let him see you first like this. Sans jacket. You can put it on downstairs.”

  Gin rolled her eyes but did as she was told. On the way to the door, she peeked in her dad’s office. He was leaned back in his chair, twirling a dry erase marker in his hand.

  “Bye, Dad,” she called. “I’m leaving now. Hannah will take off in a second.”

  He glanced up, confused for a second. “Was that the doorbell?”

  “I’m going downtown with Felix. For our project, remember?”

  “Did you text Mom?”

  “I always text Mom.”

  “Okay, good. Have fun.”

  Gin glanced up the stairs to be sure Hannah wasn’t sitting there, waiting for the show, then she opened the door.

  Felix, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, stood on the front step. He was smiling so wide, Gin couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Hey.” He watched her for a second. “You look really nice.”

  “Oh, thanks.” She started to put on her jacket, and he took it from her and held it up. As she slipped into it, his hand touched her shoulders. It made her catch her breath.

  They stepped out into the wintry night, and he opened the passenger door of a new, shiny SUV that Gin hadn’t seen before. It had tinted windows and a leather interior, and when she sat down, her seat was toasty warm.

  “Is this new?” she asked after he had shut her door and climbed in the driver’s side.

  “It’s my dad’s. One of many. I thought I’d bring it since we’re going into the city, and I wanted to be sure your parents didn’t worry.”

  Leave it to Felix to be thoughtful like that. She looked out the window as they drove, trying to distract herself from everything bubbling up in her chest. That’s when she noticed how the trees and bushes were dark except where a street lamp turned them a shadowy gray.

  “Isn’t it weird how color works?” Gin immediately cringed. What was really weird was to start a conversation like that. She made a mental note to build a conversation model, something that would tell you the best thing to say in any situation. She’d call it Commentator.

  But Felix wasn’t phased. “And how does color work?”

  There was no going back now. All she could do was embrace it. “You know, how something has the potential to be a certain color, or lots of colors, but it’s no color at all unless light is shining on it. Like in dark caves, where light never enters, does color exist? Because there’s no light to absorb and reflect.”

  “Right. Like, the potential for color is always there, but color itself—only in the light.” He was serious, not teasing. “So when we all go to sleep, our clothes, our sheets, everything becomes a non-color.”

  “Exactly.” Gin felt much more relaxed. Leave it to Felix to make any conversation seem normal.

  Traffic was a mess for everyone coming out of the city. Luckily, Felix and Gin were going into it. Before long, they were driving over the Potomac, towards the bright lights of Washington, DC. The city wasn’t one that towered—height restrictions kept properties from sprawling up into the sky—and Gin could see the Washington Monument, the Capitol building, and the National Cathedral in the distance.

  “The crows are somewhere in there?” Gin asked.

  “That’s what their trackers say.” Felix handed her his phone. It showed a map of the city with four blinking red dots.

  It was strange, these crows scattered through the city, on their own. She wondered if the training had a connection with Grant Gartner’s artificial intelligence work, but couldn’t guess what that would be. “And they always come home?”

  “Yeah. Always.” Felix took the exit after the bridge. “My dad works with them at least once a week, rotating them, so they’re all used to it. He’s working with them tonight. That’s why they’re here.”

  “So what does he have them do here? I mean, why even come to the city?”

  Felix shrugged. His face glowed from the lights outside, contrasting with the dark car, the black river, the night sky. “Why do anything? It’s for his research, I guess. He’s always done it. And the work is the only hobby he has, the only thing he does that’s relaxing, so I don’t ask too many questions.”

  Gin stared at the map with the little glowing dots. Nothing about this “hobby” fit with what she’d seen of Felix’s dad. But tonight was strange enough without analyzing Grant Gartner.

  “Here’s the thing. I’ve watched my dad do this before, and usually the crows cover a wide area until maybe nine, then settle into a smaller area for an hour or two, before my dad takes them home. Which means we don’t have to look for them right away.”

  Before Gin could ask what they were going to do in the meantime, Felix leaned over, one hand still on the steering wheel, and gave her a quick look. “So, how about dinner? I know some good spots.”

  It was feeling more and more like a date. “Sounds good.” She tried to keep her voice casual, as though going out to dinner with a good-looking guy was something she did all the time, and wiped her clammy hands on her pants.

  “Then the next question is where to go. There’s the nice option, with fancy menus and foaming sauces and fresh-off-the-boat fish that’s the rage in Tokyo.” He glanced at her again. “Or, we could hit up something more . . . authentic.”

  “Authentic sounds good.” Not to mention cheaper. She wasn’t planning on spending all her internship money on one dinner, even if it was with Felix Gartner.

  “I know just the place. As long as you like Chinese?”

  He could have said pizza and she would’ve happily agreed. Soon they were winding through the city’s one-way streets, with their brick row houses and old oak trees and people walking to bars and restaurants. A few turns later, Felix parked off an alleyway. He slipped out of the car so fast, Gin was still searching for the door handle when he opened her door.

  He held a hand out to her. It made her blush, but she took it, the thrill of his touch startling her again. He shut the door with a flourish and did a funny half-spin, and ended up standing right by her side, close. Then he took her hand again, firmer this time.

  “You’re going to love this.” He leaned so close she felt his breath, warm on her cheek.

  Truth was, she already did.

  The first set of row houses they came to contained businesses: a drug store, a liquor outlet, a pet store, a bar. In the middle of the building, they walked down a set of concrete steps to a wooden door with no sign—just a piece of paper taped to the front, with Chinese characters written in black sharpie. Felix pulled open the door and bells tingled.

  Inside, the restaurant was small and simple, with plain wooden tables and old wooden floors. But it was packed: nearly every table was filled with diners. It smelled good, too: like ginger and garlic and hot, seasoned broth. Cooks clattered in the kitchen, and an aquarium glowed along one wall. A small table at the front had a running fountain shaped like a mountain and a statue of a golden cat with one perpetually waving arm.

  A woman greeted Felix with a fast handshake, saying something in Chinese. Felix answered her, his words not as smooth, but all Chinese. Gin looked at him in surprise.

  Apparently, Felix had said something funny, because the woman laughed. “Come, come,” she said, ushering them to a small table near the window. As soon as they sat, a waiter was pouring hot tea, the warm liquid streaming down from the metal pot. Then he left with a slight bow.

  “You speak Chinese?” Gin whispered.

  “There’d be no perks of private school and tutors if I didn’t, right?”

  Gin shook her head and stared at the menu, all in Chinese. She wasn’t even sure if she was holding it the right way. “Well, I’ve been happily educated in the public school system, which means I have no idea what this says.”

  Felix bit his lip. He hadn’t even glanced at the menu—he was watching her. “Anything you don’t like?”

  She started reaching for her phone to check HungerStriker—ther
e was a special mode for situations like this—but instead, she shook her head.

  “Then I’ll order. If it’s okay with you?”

  A waiter came, and Felix gave his order in Chinese, one sentence after another, until Gin was worried they’d have enough food for ten. The waiter smiled and nodded as though Felix was choosing all of the best dishes.

  After the waiter bustled back to the kitchen, Gin picked up her cup of tea, warming her hands.

  “So, you come here often?” she asked.

  “Often enough.” Felix drank his cup of tea in two gulps. “There’s always some sort of dinner prepared at home, but if I’m out windsurfing late or just walking the city, then this is where I usually come. How about you—do you have favorite places in town?”

  “Anything except pizza.” He raised his eyebrows, and she shook her head. “Don’t ask.”

  “Well, I’m not a big pizza fan either. Unless it’s Giovanni’s. And the entire football team and cheerleading squad is there.” Felix sighed. “Just kidding. Obviously.”

  “I thought you liked them. I mean, they like you.”

  “I don’t mind them. But none of them are my type, you know?”

  “Then why do you . . .” She stopped herself, unsure of what her question would sound like.

  “Why do I act like I like them?” Felix grimaced. “Well, I think being nice to everyone is the right thing to do. Even football players have hearts, you know?” He gave her a sad, sappy look, and she couldn’t help laughing.

  “And I guess, it seems like the best way to get through school without making a big deal of it. You know, just be friends with everyone. Then they stay off your back. It only takes a few bad incidents in elementary school to realize there’s power in not having enemies.”

  On one hand, it was disconcerting. On the other, she liked him all the more for it. “So it’s all an act?”

  “I don’t know. That makes it sound terrible, like something my dad would do. And I don’t mean it like that. They’re not bad people.”

  She waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, she scoured her chest for the courage to ask the question she’d been wanting to ask for weeks. “And the girls, too? You know you could date any of them in a heartbeat.” She flushed as she said it.