Page 21 of Seven Percent of Ro Devereux
Josie toured with Hayes Hawkins, twenty and Texan with a voice like honeyed gravel, for her second album. They’ve been together ever since, and there’s probably not a single other couple that America loves more.
Is she gonna break up with Hayes??I send, but Sawyer quickly dashes any hopes we might’ve had of being first to the news.
Obv not, she says.She doesn’t want to match, and put it in her XLR8 contract. But MASH is gonna break some hearts. Just something we were texting about so thought I’d take the question to the source.
That’s me, I realize. I am the source of this thing that’s crawling across the country phone-by-phone, that’s buzzing on people’s lips right here in the cafeteria of my own high school.
“She’s right,” Maren says, chewing. “Have you thought about that? Like, people could break up because of this.”
I shrug, popping open a bag of chips. “If you’re dissatisfied enough with what you’ve got going on to pursue your match, that’s on you.”
“Harsh,” Maren says. “But I respect it.”
I hold the chips out to her, and she dips her hand into the bag.
“So,” I say. “Partner match is live. When are you taking the survey?”
“I will,” Maren says, chip poised in one hand. When my eyes narrow, she repeats it. “Iwill. It’s a long survey, Ro. ‘What one thing would I bring with me to a deserted island?’ ‘Is it more important that my partner be fun, or reliable?’” She pops the chip into her mouth, crunching. “Why can I only bring one thing tothe island? Why can’t my partner be both?”
“It’s hypothetical,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You have to pick for the algorithm to do its job.”
“I know, I know.” She waves her hand at me. “But I don’t know the answers off the top of my head. I opened it and got instantly overwhelmed; I just need a minute.”
“Fine, but—”
My phone vibrates on the table between us:Jazz Richards. When I swipe it open, her texts are still coming through.
The Denver Post wants to do a profile on you.
Does next Wednesday after school work for the interview?
Maren knocks me in the arm, nearly toppling me out of my seat.
We’ll do it at the office.
There’s a brief pause, and then:How’s day one with your man? Nice post, btw.
My man, I think. Miller is neither a man, nor mine. I posted the first of my two requisite weekly social posts about him this morning, a video of him opening my car door in the school parking lot with the overlayChivalry?? Dead? Nah, meet Miller. #MASHmatch.He’s smiling in it, sweeps his hand out like a butler. Charming as all hell.
Afterward we walked into the building with two feet of dead air between us, not saying a word to each other.
Miller waits for me at my locker after last period. Maren’s with me, calculus textbook tucked under her arm, and she smacksMiller with it as soon as he’s within range.
“What’s up, Alistair?” she asks, and he grips his elbow where the book made contact. “Have a good summer?”
“Great,” he says, his eyes moving to me. “Are you ready?”
“Loved your preso onThe Iliad,” Maren says. She leans into the locker next to mine. “Did you rewrite the whole book, or was it more of a fan fiction situation?”
I bite back my smile, reaching into my locker for the books I need while Miller’s ears go pink. He’s so pale that the change registers like blood in snow.
“What’reyoudoing for your project?” he asks, and Maren shrugs.
“First proposal’s not due for a month, so who knows. Maybe I’ll mess around and make an app that predicts the future or something.”
“Funny,” Miller says, and Maren pokes me in the side.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ro.”
