Chapter 5
Date Idea #29 did not go like you expected it to.
But really, who would have thought that the thing would be so flammable? Hardly your fault. Also not your fault that Shaw can’t run as fast as you. Not your fault she got detention, but you still waited around afterwards until she got out, because you’re a good girlfriend and you love her. And you both had fun anyway, so you don’t know what she’s upset about, but she refused to talk to you, and told you not to come over to her house.
You didn’t want to call your mom to come pick you up, so you’re just walking home. It’s not very far.
Sure, you’re sort of sad that you won’t spend tonight with Shaw, but that’s OK. She’s kind of touchy about some stuff, so you’ll just wait until she cools off and apologizes for being rude, and then you’ll make up and make out and everything will be back to normal.
And in the meantime you can work on some other things.
You decide to write a program that will determine if a number is prime or not. As you walk you start planning the code in your head, that way you can just type it right in when you get home, and test it. Should be simple. Take a number
number =input()
and see if it divides evenly by anything other than itself.
And one, obviously.
How to check? Start with a specific case. 7. For 7, you divide by 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. All numbers divide evenly by themselves and one, obviously, so no need to check those. Now generalize. Some sort of iteration. So for a general nth term, you would need to divide by…
divisor in range(2, number):
That looks good. Wait, what if you test 2? Your range will be (2, 2). That won’t work.
divisor in range(1, number):
That’s better. Just have to account for each number having at least one even division. Still won’t work for 1, but 1 is special, so you’ll think up something else for it later.
Sameen said that you were special.
Sure, it was after you asked her if you were special, but it still counts.
You’ve always thought you were special. Not in an arrogant way, well, OK, maybe kinda in an arrogant way, but mostly you just knew you were different. That’s fine, though. Different is good. Different is your favorite thing. That’s why Shaw likes you, too. You’re different from everyone else. Special. And she likes your face. She told you so. You like her face too. Especially her lips. And her eyes. And her hair. And her eyebrows when she’s mad, or concentrating. And her smile. You guess you like everything about her face, and also everything about her everything.
You suddenly realize you stopped walking while you were daydreaming about Shaw, so you start again.
How can you tell if a number divides evenly? Well, obviously you just look at it, but how to make a program tell the difference? Maybe
fordivisor in range(1, number):
divNumber = number / divisor
try storing it as an integer?
for divisor in range(1, number):
int(divNumber) = number / divisor
Will a floating-point number stored as an integer throw an exception? You can’t remember. What if…
if divNumber == int(divNumber):
And then initialize a counter…
and
counter += 1
maybe…
if
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***
Shaw’s in class the next day, but you don’t talk to her, because she comes in right as class starts and doesn’t look at you before she sits down. But you do stare intensely at the back of her head for the entire period, and you’re pretty sure she knows, based on the way she sits completely still throughout the whole class. She doesn’t usually do that, which you know because you generally spend most of the class just watching her. You don’t really need to pay attention; you learned all this math stuff last summer.
When you sit down at your regular table for lunch, you watch Shaw as she goes through the line to see if she’s going sit with you. Try not to be obvious. Look down at your plate, just glance up out of the corner of your eye. Only the corner of your eye is in the wrong corner, so you have to twist your head around, which probably is very obvious.
Shaw sits down opposite you. Doesn’t look up. You lean forward.
“You look really pretty today.”
Still doesn’t look up. You think you can see a bit of a smile, though. “I’m not upset about yesterday,” You continue. Now she looks up. A frown.
“Why should you be? Pretty sure I was the one in detention.”
“Well, you did leave me to go home by myself. Kind of hurt my feelings.”
Her eyebrows pull down even further. “So what? Are you expecting me to apologize?”
“No,” You say, rolling your eyes. “I said I’m not upset. It’s fine.”
She looks at you for a moment, then, without saying anything, abruptly stands up and walks away, tray of food in hand. This also hurts your feelings, but she’ll be back soon. Where would she even go? She doesn’t have any friends other than you.
She sits down at another table, with the soccer kids. A few of them look up at her, one of them says something to her. She says something back. You’re probably staring, but you can’t help it. Shaw is supposed be yours. Your friend. Who are these people? Why are they talking to her? Why is she talking to them? Why is she being mean to you?
Your food suddenly seems unappetizing. You tip the remainders of your meal into the garbage, and stalk out of the cafeteria. Don’t look back at Shaw. If she wants to ignore you, you’ll ignore her. She’ll get lonely without you. Just have to be patient.
***
Being patient is exhausting.
And miserable.
And also very lonely.
OK, so maybe Shaw was the one who was still upset about yesterday. And maybe you should have apologized for getting her into trouble. But she was rude to you! And hurt your feelings. And made you walk home by yourself. What if you had been attacked by muggers?
Not a particularly likely scenario, but still.
You sigh, and roll over onto your stomach and grab your phone, laying beside you on the bed. Shaw didn’t talk to you for the rest of the day, and you were too busy ignoring her to notice if she noticed you ignoring her. You had thought that your silent treatment gambit would feel satisfying, but mostly you just feel sad. You’ve heard people say that your happiness shouldn’t be dependent on your relationships, but those people probably didn’t have perfect girlfriends like Shaw, so their dumb advice doesn’t really apply to you. You scroll through pictures of Shaw on your phone. Most of your pictures are of her.
You grab your laptop and pull up Shaw’s school records. You like looking through them sometimes. The school’s network security is pathetic; good thing you’re so nice and just want to look. Shaw gets in trouble a lot, but she still does really well in her classes, which is probably the only reason they didn’t kick her out years ago. She’s really smart. You feel a surge of pride for your beautiful sociopath.
Then you remember you’re supposed to be mad at her. It’s hard, though.
You also notice a new mark on Shaw’s disciplinary file. For yesterday. You pull up the details.
Oh.
Shaw is, in the words of whoever wrote the report, ‘one incident away from being permanently removed from the institution.’
There’s a weird sort of hollowness in your stomach as you come to a realization.
You are a bad girlfriend.
You almost got her kicked out of school! And then expected her to apologize. You want to crawl under your bed and stay there for a few years.
But you don’t. You’re not going to wallow in your self-pity. You are a woman of action.
***
Though you are not witness to the event yourself, various strings of gossip reach you, and it takes very little effort to assemble the disparate facts into a coherent narrative. Root, under some motivation unknown to the school at large (though not unknown to you), entered the computer lab during her lunch period and proceeded to overtask one of the computers until it caught fire. Fortunately for the school administration, someone arrived to dispel the conflagration before it did any serious damage to anything other than the one computer (which presumably was completely destroyed). She was then escorted promptly to the principal’s office, where she also took credit for the similar blaze that you had been reprimanded for just days earlier. You imagine it wouldn’t take a serious leap of logic to connect these two events to yet another incident of arsonry in the not-so-distant past, but as far as you can tell from the information that reaches you, this connection is not made. Root’s mother then arrives, and escorts her daughter off of the premises.
As you sit in your last class of the day, you wonder, not for the first time, how you managed to get wrapped up with someone crazy enough to repeatedly set fire to school property in an attempt to apologize to you.
You also wonder when you become crazy enough to find it just a little bit romantic. Her dramatic gestures are undeniably impressive. Though you should probably rein her in before she ends up hurting herself. She still makes you furious, just like she used to, only now whenever you get angry at her you still have the urge to kiss her stupid face.
After school, you make your way home, retrieve your bike from the garage, text your mom to tell her you’re staying at Root’s, and set off towards her house.
Her mother’s car is in the driveway, which makes things a bit more complicated. The woman has maintained a sort of cold indifference towards you on any occasion when you’re forced to be in her presence, while you have attempted to convey the sheer depth of your hatred for her using only the force of your glare. It is a stalemate of silent loathing, and you have no intention of forfeiting the contest by walking up and knocking on the door. You doubt she’d be inclined to let you in to see a presumably-grounded Root, anyway.
So you explore alternate avenues of passage. Peeking around the edge of the garage, you observe Root’s abode. The front of the house has a small deck, with steps leading up to it from the driveway, and a railing running around the perimeter. There’s a roof overhanging the deck, with a pitch much lower than the roof on the rest of the house. The windows along the length of deck look into the kitchen and entryway, and several surreptitious glances reveal no sign of anyone lurking behind the glass panes. You toss your backpack up, and watch with your teeth clenched as it flies up, lands on the deck roof, starts to roll down, then… stops. Good. Now for the hard part.
You walk up the steps to the deck, and clamber onto the railing, your weight shifting from one foot to another as you try to stand up. At full height, your hands clear the roof, but your head is still beneath it. You grit your teeth, clamp your hands down, and push off the railing as hard as you can. Your head makes it over the ledge; you try to swing one leg up over onto the roof, but can’t quite make it, leaving you clinging onto the edge of the deck roof with both hands and your chin, legs dangling below. With a grunt, you tense the muscles in your arms and swing your legs again, and manage to hook one on the edge. Tugging the other leg up, rolling over to lay fully on the roof, arms sore and hands stinging, you take a moment to catch your breath before carefully standing up, locating your backpack, then scanning the roof for your next destination.
***
There’s a knock on your window. You pull the curtains aside to investigate, and find Shaw crouched on the roof outside. You can’t stop a grin from spreading across your face. And she thinks she’s not good at being romantic. You pull the window open.
“You know,” She says, clambering over the sill into your room. “A plain ol’ ‘I’m sorry’ works as an apology. Just in case you can’t find something to set on fire next time.”
“I’m sorry,” You say, wrapping your arms tightly around her back. “For getting you in trouble.”
Face pressed to your shoulder, she mumbles, “I’m sorry too. For hurting your feelings. And being an asshole.”
“The whole climbing in my window thing kinda makes up for it.” You assure her, pulling back slightly. “What happened to your hands?”
“Oh,” Shaw looks down and frowns at her hands, which are covered in dirt and blood. “I had some trouble getting up on the roof.”
You roll your eyes and pull her towards your bathroom. “Come on, I’ll clean you up.”
“Oh, so now you’re the doctor?”
You wash Shaw’s hands, and rummage through your cabinet until you find some bandages, which you then carefully wrap around her injuries. You can see the appeal of this doctoring stuff. Very intimate. You wrap the last bandage slowly. Shaw has very pretty hands. Not soft. Kind of rough, which is what you would expect. But still very pretty. You look up, her face right above yours.
“I followed you home.” Shaw says abruptly.
“What?”
“When I told you not to come over. I followed you to make sure you got home safe.”
“Aww,” You say, pressing your forehead against hers. “You’re so sweet.”
“Can we kiss now?” She asks, sounding slightly strained. You quickly remove the distance between your lips and hers, and tug her back into your bedroom.
When you’re being kissed by Shaw, you pretty much lose track of everything else you’re doing. Sometimes you manage to put your arms around her, but sometimes you forget and they just kind hang limply at your sides. You wouldn’t be surprised if your knees gave out because you forgot to keep standing up.
Somewhere in the midst of the stupor Shaw’s lips have plunged your mind into, you think that it would be really romantic if your knees gave out and Shaw kept holding you up, so you decide to try it.
She gives a grunt of surprise as you topple to the floor, dragging her with you. So you did get your arms around her after all.
The result is more painful than you had anticipated, but it also caused Shaw to be pressed very closely against you while you both lie on the floor, so you decide to consider this attempt at romance a success.
Shaw looks at you, her hair hanging forward to frame her face. “I swear,” She says warningly. “If you say anything about sweeping me off my feet…”
Well, you weren’t going to, but now, how can you not? You open your mouth, but Shaw puts hers there before you can get any words out.
OK. This is fine, too.
***
Things go back to normal. Shaw sits with you during lunch. Comes over to your house. Listens to you talk about programming and generalizing algorithms even when she has no idea what you’re saying. Tells you how to treat a gunshot wound, or how to recognize arrhythmia. Watches movies with your arm around her shoulder; laughs when you whisper in her ear.
Everything is perfect.
For a little while.
The event itself is innocuous enough. One of the boys from the soccer group walks by your table, and says ‘Hey,’ to Shaw. She says ‘Hey,’ back, and he walks away. She watches him walk back to his table, then returns her attention to her plate.
You try to be subtle as you glance over at him. You don’t really know what people look for in boys, but you guess he’s pretty good looking. Kind of muscle-y arms. Was that why Shaw was looking at him? Is that what she likes? Still being subtle, you flick your eyes sideways to look at your own arms.
Skinny. Suddenly highly conscious of this fact, you try to tug down your shirt sleeves so it’s not so obvious. You know Shaw has said you’re pretty before, but she hasn’t said it in exactly six days, so maybe she’s changed her mind? What if she thinks that you’re pretty, but you could be prettier? Would she think you were prettier if you worked out? You don’t even know how to work out. Pulling your sleeves down doesn’t work, so you just sort of cross your arms and hunch over your plate. Shaw looks at you funny, but she doesn’t say anything.
***
You collapse onto the floor of your room after failing to complete your third pushup. That’s probably enough, though. You read somewhere that you can tell your exercise is working when you start sweating, and you’re practically dripping, so you’ve probably made a lot of progress. You pull yourself up and walk into your bathroom to check your arms in the mirror.
Still skinny. Damn. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
OK, so what else can you do? Maybe Shaw doesn’t like the way you dress? Maybe a different style would make you more attractive to her. But what?
Maybe you don’t look gay enough? You’ve seen some gay girls with short hair or ball caps, maybe you should do that? Shaw has long hair, though. She does wear a ball cap sometimes. She dresses kind of tomboy-ish most times, maybe that’s what you should do? Are you too girly? Wait, what if you’re not being girly enough? You wore pants today, maybe you should have worn a skirt?
You wish Shaw was a computer so you could write a DoesShawThinkImPretty function and see whether it returns true or false.
You leave the bathroom, a discontent with the person in the reflection swelling inside you. You wish you looked like Shaw. She’s beautiful, her body looks like it was painted with one smooth brush stroke. You’re just sort of… cobbled together. Legs too long, arms too skinny. No muscle. Not even any curves, either. You flop down on your bed. You want to Snapchat Shaw, but the idea of sending her pictures of yourself is particularly unpalatable to you at the moment.
***
You have no idea what the hell is up with Root.
Not that you ever really do, but her behavior over the last few days has been bizarre even by her standards. Her entire sartorial repertoire seems to have been set to shuffle; one day she’s wearing a dress (short enough that you struggle to not stare openly at her legs), the next a hoodie and ball cap, the next a t-shirt and a pair of running shorts (similar difficulties re: staring). Her hair changes just as often. Like you’re on the character customization screen of a video game, rapidly scrolling through the myriad options. She is completely incomprehensible. She acts like she’s expecting some sort of response, but you have no idea what the fuck it could be, so you just try to act like normal.
Only this doesn’t really work; she becomes increasingly sulky and despondent, and even tells you she doesn’t feel like coming over to your house today. You pace around your room angrily. Angry at Root for being so impossible. Angry at yourself for not knowing how to make her happy. Angry at her for not being happy. Angry at yourself for being angry at her. Root inspires a powerful, uncontrollable protective instinct somewhere inside you that lashes out at anything that threatens her, even when that thing is you.
“Is Root not coming over tonight, Sameen?” Your mom asks you over dinner.
“No.” You viciously stab a piece of broccoli with your fork.
“Is it anything you want to talk about?”
“No.” You spear vegetables in grim silence for a few minutes, then burst out, “I just don’t understand why she has to be so frustrating!”
She listens while you regale her with rants about Root’s antics. When you pause for breath, she says, “It sounds like she’s feeling a bit insecure.”
“Insecure?” You say incredulously. “About what?”
“Her appearance. I think she might be worried that you don’t find her attractive.”
This is so monumentally stupid that for a moment you’re speechless. After the moment passes, you manage the scintillating remark, “That’s stupid!”
“I know it seems that way to you,” She smiles at you. “But you have to remember that Root sees things a lot differently than you do. What’s obvious to you may not be obvious to her.”
The idea of Root being insecure is so unusual that your mind keeps trying to reject it, but as you think about it, some of Root’s actions start to make a little more sense. Is this why she always tries to get you to compliment her? Does she honestly wonder whether or not you’re attracted to her? You like when she calls you pretty, obviously, but it’s not because you need someone else’s confirmation. You just like hearing it. You know you look good.
What’s wrong with Root? She’s not blind, can’t she just look in a mirror and figure out she’s good looking?? Can’t she tell you have no interest (romantic or otherwise) in anyone else? Why is it your responsibility to explain obvious stuff to her?
Then again, you realize, you don’t think you’ve given her any sort of compliment in several weeks. And she always makes a point to comment on your appearance. Damn it. You are such a shitty girlfriend. Why are you so clueless? Why is dating so hard? Why can’t you just kiss her all day and skip all this other dumb stuff?
You should probably say something to her.
***
Root, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, is walking towards your first class when you grab her arm and tug her down the hallway.
“Are we skipping today?” She asks, stumbling along beside you.
You navigate through hallways and stairwells and around teachers and students until you reach the roof access, which you and Root and explored several months back, and which still remains accessible to you.
A large metal air duct beside you blocks you from the lines of sight of anyone on the ground. Standing opposite Root, you put your hands firmly on her shoulders and look directly into her eyes. “You’re beautiful. You’re the hottest girl in this school, and if you ever wonder if I still think that, the answer is yes.”
Root’s hug nearly crushes your ribcage.
***
“My mom,” You say, leaning against Shaw’s chest, her arms around your shoulders. “Told me it didn’t matter what I looked like.” You shrug. “I think she was really trying to help. But it does matter.”
“You look good.” Shaw says. Your girlfriend. Yours yours yours. “You always look good. So any time you need to hear it, just tell me.”
“Doesn’t really count as a compliment if it’s not sincere.”
“It is sincere,” Shaw says, frustrated. “I’m just not good at this. I don’t know when I’m supposed to tell you.”
“OK,” you say. “I’m ready to hear it now.”
“You’re beautiful.”
You smile. A moment passes.
“OK, I’m ready again.”
“Damn it, this isn’t going to work.”
***
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
Root’s lying beside you in the grass. You went home with her, and after dinner, walked down the other side of the hill her house is on. There’s a field, running up to just before the base of the hill, delineated by a white fence. You suppose whoever owns it keeps animals there sometimes. You can’t see any right now, though.
Root considers, then says, “Your wife.”
You scoff, and roll your eyes. “Yeah, so you keep telling me. Aren’t you going to have a job? Or are you just gonna stay home and do my laundry? Come on,” You poke her. “What do you want to be?”
“Remembered.”
You don’t expect to get anything more than that, so you don’t push it. “So about this dance we’re supposed to go to…”
Root rolls over onto her side. “Yeah?”
“Do you know how to dance?”
Root shrugs. “Sort of. I found some videos on YouTube. I’ve been practicing.”
“I can show you,” You say, in your most unaffected offhand voice. “If you want.”
“Sameen,” Root says, batting her eyelashes at you. “Do you want to dance with me?”
“Shut up.” You grumble, pulling yourself to your feet. You offer a hand to Root, who takes it, and you pull her up. “Put your arm around my waist.”
She does, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You put your arms around her, and begin moving in a simple pattern.
“Watch what I’m doing.” You tell her. “Look at my feet.”
“I’d rather look at your face.”
You roll your eyes. “You can hit on me once you learn how to move your feet. Eyes down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“At my feet, Root.”
***
You watch Shaw sleep, in a way that is maybe kind of creepy but mostly not. People have always been sort of alien to you. Not worth bothering with. Shaw is the only one that’s different. Shaw is your 1. Your special case. The one your code treats differently. And you’re hers, too.
***
SENT FROM Shaw AT 10:20
So for this dance
SENT FROM Shaw AT 10:20
is one of us supposed to wear a suit
SENT FROM Shaw AT 10:20
encourage stereotypical gender roles and all that shit
SENT FROM Root AT 10:25
I don’t think it really matters
SENT FROM Root AT 10:26
You can wear whatever you want! :)
SENT FROM Root AT 10:37
Do you want to wear a suit?
SENT FROM Shaw AT 10:38
yes
SENT FROM Root AT 10:39
I know you’ll look lovely <3 <3
SENT FROM Root AT 10:41
I was thinking I might wear one too
SENT FROM Shaw AT 10:44
Haha
SENT FROM Shaw AT 10:44
We’ll be the stereotypical lesbian couple
SENT FROM Shaw AT 10:46
You’ll look really good in a suit
SENT FROM Root AT 10:48
<3
SENT FROM Root AT 10:48
See you tomorrow, sweetie
SENT FROM Shaw AT 10:50
<3
SENT FROM Shaw AT 10:51
I’m never going to type that dumb emoticon again
SENT FROM Shaw AT 10:52
So you better enjoy that one
SENT FROM Root AT 10:53
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3