Crow Flight Page 4

He sat down next to her, his arms and elbows already taking up too much room on the table, and she gulped down the lump of bar and tilted her laptop towards him.

  “All right,” she said, clearing her throat. “Let’s get going. So here you see—”

  “Wait a minute. No, ‘How’s it going?’ Or, ‘Hey, Felix, how are you?’” He smiled, and Gin’s eyes lingered for a second on his pretty lips.

  “I said all of that about ten minutes ago. Out loud. To myself. You weren’t here, remember?”

  It made him laugh, and it was such a nice laugh, she couldn’t help smiling back.

  “Anyway, here’s the framework,” she said. “Then here, you can see the details.”

  He leaned in closer, clasping his hands together and staring at her screen.

  “Yeah, I see it.” Each time he moved, she caught his minty-soapy scent. “This looks good. Clever how you pulled in the different algorithms here and here.”

  Gin glanced at him. It was clever, and she appreciated that he saw it. Not everyone would, especially not so fast. After a few more minutes, she brought up the code.

  He nodded as he looked through each section, sometimes saying, “Nice,” or “I didn’t think of that.” Once, he even asked her to stop and explain her logic.

  They were almost out of time, and she still had more to review, but Felix leaned back, tilting his chair up and balancing it on the back two legs.

  “This is really good,” he said. “You know what you’re doing. So, now we just need to figure out how to combine our models. Yours operates more on the scale of weeks, right? And with a single location?”

  “That’s right.” She didn’t remind him that that was the assignment.

  “That’s perfect. Mine has a longer time frame with a larger scale, so I think they’ll dovetail nicely together.” He pulled her laptop closer. “May I?”

  Suddenly he was serious, his focus sharper. He was typing fast, downloading his model to her laptop and creating a new document to merge both. He worked so quickly, flitting from one screen to another, she had to pay close attention.

  “What’s this part?” she asked about a section of code that seemed to loop back on itself.

  Felix grinned. “What I call a ‘soul bit.’ I try to insert them into every model I build. So there’s a bit of unpredictability, something that transcends logic. Some real life.”

  It would have made Gin roll her eyes if she hadn’t seen everything he’d done so far. A ‘soul bit’ might sound like something from a tarot card reading, but Felix clearly knew how to code. And in a way, it made sense. Algorithms for genetic changes worked better when they included a probability of mutation, or the chance that genes would change randomly.

  In a few minutes, he pushed the laptop back towards her. “We’ll still have to finesse the data set and make sure it’s not repetitive.”

  There was a new input screen, asking for the starting populations of cats and mice for up to fifty different locations. Gin plugged in numbers for five locations and ran the model. Within seconds, there were graphs of population sizes at one year, five years, and ten years. Ending populations varied: in some locations, the cats and mice reached a steady state; in others, all animals disappeared.

  It was good.

  “Wow. This is way more robust than mine.” She plugged in another set of numbers and ran it again. “But what’s driving the differences in the sites? Different behaviors?”

  “Exactly.” The bell rang, and Felix stood. “Well, see you in class. Nice work again. This year’ll be fun.”

  As Gin gathered her things, she glanced out the window. And that’s when she noticed them: two large black crows were sitting on the windowsill. The birds shifted their heads, watching her closely. She paused and held her breath.

  She turned slowly to ask Felix why the crows were there, what they were doing. But he was already gone.

  When she looked back at the window, the crows had shifted to the very edge of the windowsill. They spread their wings and, with a few powerful flaps, took off in flight.

  // Eight

  Ms. Sandlin was as impressed with the model as Gin had been. In fact, the project had been a success in every way except for now Gin couldn’t stop thinking about Felix.

  “It’d be easier if I didn’t have to see him,” Gin told Hannah during lunch.

  “Why’s it need to be easy? Just enjoy it.” Hannah looked in her lunch bag and groaned. “Exactly what I can’t do with this lunch. Grilled tempeh on rye. But seriously, it’s your senior year. You should have fun.”

  “You sound like Chloe.” Gin took a bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, while pushing her granola bar over to Hannah. “And Chloe’s enjoyment of school has already resulted in two citations for underage drinking.”

  “Okay then, how about this: So what if he’s cute and smart?” Hannah ate half of the bar in her first bite. “Who cares? You can’t let that cloud your judgment. Look, I have an idea for getting your mind off of him—if you really want to.”

  Gin leaned closer, waiting.

  “Run the test for yourself.”

  “Run the test?”

  “Oh come on, you know. Love Fractal. See who you get.”

  Truth was, Gin had tried the model on herself. Over and over, all through initial testing, in an effort to refine and tweak the program. She also had a secret hope that it would pair her with Liam, but of course it hadn’t. And since her results constantly changed, it felt like cheating to pick the one or two matches she liked the most. She wanted to wait to run it on herself again when it was finished.

  “I need more data first. And for that, I need Lucas’s help.”

  “Exactly. Get the data, like today, and run it. It’ll be far more fun than thinking about you-know-who. Anyway, did I tell you my plan to move on to test subject number two—Aidan Rogers? I’m going to bump into him after the next home football game. Pretend I’m interviewing him for the school paper or something.”

  Gin balled up her empty paper lunch bag. “You don’t work at the paper.”

  “Which matters because . . .?”

  “Just take lots of notes.” Gin was looking at the cafeteria doors and noticed Felix happened to be coming to lunch. He must’ve felt Gin’s gaze, because he glanced in her direction. She looked away before their eyes met.

  “I gotta go,” she said. “See you.”

  And before Hannah could ask why, Gin left.

  Outside the cafeteria, she texted Lucas. She had told him about the project months ago and how she needed to quickly gather public information about students from other nearby schools’ intranets. He was mostly finished with the program and had been waiting on the final request from her.

  A few seconds later, he wrote back that he could have it to her by week’s end.

  Near the end of modeling class, Ms. Sandlin pulled up a screen that read “Final Project.”

  “The models you presented last week were a good warm up,” she said. “And you’ll continue to have some smaller projects through the year. But the majority of your grade will be based on your final project. This is not something you can save for the night before it’s due. So begin soon. There’s no time like the present.”

  Gin glanced at Felix’s notebook, where, in small blocky letters he had written: No time like the present. An ironic phrase for a modeling class, where you spent all of your time predicting the future.

  “You’ll be working in your same pairs,” she continued.

  Same pairs, Felix wrote, and looked up at Gin with a grin. Gin’s face flushed, and she turned back to her laptop. The bell rang, and as everyone left, Gin studied her screen for a moment longer, getting up only after the click and slide of Felix’s leather flip-flops had faded away.

  // Nine

  The football game Friday night started at seven. By the time Gin and Hannah arrived, it was wintry dark. The white lights from the field made everyone’s faces glow. Spectat
ors wore sweaters and windbreakers, but the players on the field steamed, sweat running through the black paint on their cheeks.

  Hannah tried to pay attention to the game. But every time something of importance actually happened, she was either looking the other way or checking her phone.

  Near the end of the game, Hannah got hungry. But she didn’t want to leave the bleachers. “Now I have to watch,” she said as she stared at the field, pen poised over her notepad. “If Aidan makes a big play, I should know.”

  So Gin climbed down the concrete steps and squeezed through the crowd to the snack bar. She picked up two soft pretzels and two sodas—Hannah had vodka stashed in her bag, but Gin, as usual, was driving—and headed back along the dim grassy hill. That’s when she saw Felix.

  She ignored the flutter in her chest and marched forward, back towards the bleachers, which also happened to mean she was walking towards Felix. And suddenly, he smiled and raised one hand in a small wave.

  Her face flushed, and her breath caught in her throat. It was flattering. To be out there at a football game, with this smart, cute guy saying hi to her. Maybe—and she hesitated to even let herself think it—maybe there was a small chance he liked her. Maybe he was smart enough to be the sort of guy who actually appreciated smart girls.

  Her hands were too full to wave back, but she lifted the pretzels in acknowledgment and walked towards him. The night made her feel braver. This could be the time she actually talked to him, outside of class. She could start by asking him about modeling and the crows, and they’d stand there in the chilly fall night with the stadium lights like exploding stars. Maybe he’d come back and sit with her, leaning close as they watched the game.

  But for a second, his gaze looked off. Gin glanced behind her and saw who Felix was actually looking at. Caitlin Taylor, a cheerleader, was smiling and waving enthusiastically at Felix.

  He hadn’t even noticed Gin.

  Gin made a sharp left, up the hillside. She hugged her jacket around her as best as she could while still holding the sodas and pretzels. She didn’t look at Felix again, not until she had made it to the bleachers. Then she glanced back once, long enough to see him standing close to Caitlin, laughing.

  Her mouth was too dry to eat her pretzel, so she set it down on the metal bleacher and tried to watch the football game. She couldn’t help noticing when Caitlin returned to the track to cheer, leaving Felix in the middle of a group of popular kids, all crowded around the chain-link fence along the field.

  Everyone liked Felix. Which meant that the fact that he disarmed Gin, embarrassing though it was, actually made sense. After all, who wouldn’t like him?

  She took a small sip of Hannah’s drink—already spiked—and gave a loud cheer.

  The metal bleachers were frigid through Gin’s jeans, and the floodlights had gone off, turning the field a muted, shadowy green. Hannah kept her eyes on the door to the locker room, and when it finally opened, she clattered down.

  Gin watched as Hannah intercepted Aidan on his way to his car. He looked surprised, but interested, smiling as he answered Hannah’s questions. Hannah held her paper and pen up in position, not writing a word.

  Gin headed down the bleachers, through the almost empty parking lot to her car. Felix was long gone, but she couldn’t help scanning the trees for crows.

  Soon Hannah was at her side. “So, they’re all going to Giovanni’s.” She glanced at herself in Gin’s side mirror, pulling her hair from behind her ears. “And he wants me to come and interview him there.” She held her fingers up to make quotes around the word “interview.” “What do you think?”

  Gin blew on her hands. “You’re serious?”

  Hannah reached around in her bag and pulled out a tube of lipstick. She smeared bright red on her lips, puckered once at Gin, and winked. “Of course I’m serious. And you need to come, too. This is the stuff that senior year is made of.”

  Gin considered her options. Go with Hannah to Giovanni’s, or go home to work on . . . something. She reached for her phone to run TimeKeeper—after all, this was exactly why she had programs like TimeKeeper. But before Gin had even opened the program, Hannah grabbed her wrist.

  “No way. Just listen for a second. Remember how much fun we had in junior high playing those mystery games?”

  “Ugh.” Gin closed her eyes, remembering. “We were such dorks.”

  “Well you know what they say about dorks—they make the best lovers. Anyway, you wrote a program to do it all, and we stopped. It ruined the game.”

  “It solved the game.” It had been a program that Gin had been particularly proud of: clean and simple, and it worked.

  “It ruined the game. And that’s what all of your programs are starting to do—ruin your life. So you’re not running a program to decide. You choose. You, Regina Hartson. Pick.”

  Gin sighed, looking up at the dark sky. “I could work on my college essays.”

  “You’ve been working on those since the eighth grade.”

  For a second, Gin tried to quickly analyze the options. Then she looked back at Hannah, whose eyes were bright with excitement.

  “All right,” she said.

  “Yay!” Hannah squealed. “Who knows, maybe this isn’t even about me. Maybe your model’s so smart, it’s setting us up to meet your true love tonight.”

  In the car, Gin turned up the heat. It was only cold air, but it made it feel like something was building. She laughed to herself at Hannah’s optimism. If there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that she was not going to meet her true love at Giovanni’s.

  // Ten

  As they walked in, there was a blast of warmth from brick ovens, and the smell of melted cheese and basil. Kids were tucked into booths and jammed around the high-top tables, making it feel more like a frat party than a pizza place.

  Aidan was easy to spot: he was at a pool table in the back with a few other football players. They all wore lightweight hoodies and worn but expensive jeans. Aidan’s hair was cropped, his body built, his face model-handsome.

  Hannah ordered sodas, easily chatting with the guy at the counter. She always had a way with guys, but that didn’t seem to help her get a good one. Like Pete. Guitar-playing, pot-smoking, cute and grungy Pete. He was an artist and firmly believed it was natural to be constantly surrounded by “fans,” who always happened to be girls. That should’ve been Hannah’s first red flag. What Gin couldn’t understand was how Hannah could be smart enough to make straight As without studying but not to pick a decent guy.

  Maybe Love Fractal could help.

  Aidan was finishing up his game when Hannah ambled up to his side. “How about we play a game?” she asked. “Loser buys the next pizza.”

  Aidan knocked the eight ball into the side pocket. “Sounds more fun than working on that article. But we play pool a lot—you sure you’re up for this?”

  “Yeah, we’re sure.” Hannah picked up a cue. “This is the stick you use, right?”

  Aidan grinned. “Don’t say you haven’t been warned.”

  It only took a few minutes for Hannah to have Aidan’s attention. She’d brush up against him as she bent over to aim and put a hand on his shoulder as she asked for his advice on harder shots.

  Hannah was terrible at pool. But what Aidan hadn’t expected was that Gin could help clean up. Because the one and only sport Gin was good at was pool. Her Dad, though far from being cool, loved pool for the geometry and physics involved, and he’d taught Gin and Chloe to play when they were young. It was a skill that was coming in handier the older she got.

  By the end of the game, Aidan had lost any interest in how well Gin was playing and was focused on Hannah. Gin sunk the eight ball, but by then, Hannah and Aidan were talking, casually leaning so close they seemed moments away from kissing.

  With nothing else to do, Gin started to set up the pool table again. But before she could break the balls, she felt someone behind her. “I’ll take a f
ew shots with you,” he said. “If that’s okay.”

  The voice was familiar, but it took a second to place with all of the chatter around her.

  Felix.

  He grabbed a cue and chalked it. “I was watching you play—you’ve got some skills. I think we’d be a good match. Here, you go first.” He stepped back and held out an arm.

  She broke the balls and called stripes, then hit three balls in, one after another, a quick succession.

  “Not to be a downer, but you might lose this game,” she said. Her ears burned immediately, and she wished for the thousandth time of her life that she could keep her mouth shut around guys. “I mean, not to be too forward or anything.”

  “Now that’s something of an assumption.” Felix’s smile was easy. If he had been insulted, it didn’t show. “How do you figure it?”

  “I’ve pocketed three balls already. Even if I miss the next one—which is improbable since I have a decent shot—chances are, you’ll miss at least one of your hits. Most likely two. Then it’ll be back to me. On pure probabilities, I’ve got a good shot at winning.” So much for keeping her mouth shut.

  “You like probabilities, don’t you?”

  Gin stared at the pool table. “We live in a world of rules and logic. So why not like probabilities?”

  “That’s fair.” Felix drummed his fingers. “I like probabilities, too. But I also like improbabilities.”

  Gin took her next shot, which went in. Then her purple stripe rolled just shy of the side pocket, and it was his turn.

  “Phew,” he said, chalking his cue again. “I was worried I wouldn’t even get a chance.”

  He took out two solids in the first hit, then two more. His moves were focused and concise. Catlike.

  Finally, he missed. She took a breath and planned her shots. She had a chance of taking it all, if she could stay focused.

  She hit in the red eleven and blue ten first, splitting the balls and taking each corner pocket. “Nice,” he said. He gave her a thumbs-up. “You are good. Glad I didn’t bet any money.”