Nora 2.0
“Because I kind of started liking someone else.”
That’s what Maddox said yesterday at the summit of our InstaQuest—which also marked the high point of my summer and possibly the high point of my life. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. He had a certain look on his face when he uttered those words, a look I now have filed away in a previously undiscovered corner of my brain called: HAPPINESS.
Nora’s Internal File Server
Awkwardness—35,786,542 files
Anxiety—68,532,797 files
Happiness—1 file
“Because I kind of started liking someone else.”
An insecure person would record that under ANXIETY and come up with a long list of other people he must have been talking about. I mean, there are seventeen other people in this program not named Eleanor, not to mention seven billion other people on this planet.
Good thing I don’t know any insecure people like that. If I did, I would tell them to stop selling themselves short. As for me, I know with one hundred percent certainty who Maddox meant. I could see it from the way he kept looking at me, alternately staring at my painted toenails, and then my eyes, and then my lips.
Like he might, at some point in the future, find it not altogether unpleasant to do something more than stare.
And then that kiss between our avatars…
Does it count as a first kiss if only your virtual lips make contact?
It didn’t feel real. And I don’t just mean the InstaKiss. That whole conversation, sitting beside him on the rock, felt like some out-of-body experience. Not the real me interacting with him. More like watching some augmented rendering of myself, acting all the ways I wish the real live Nora could act.
I don’t know if it was the adrenaline from finding myself ten feet from the edge of a cliff, or my irritation with Maddox for putting me in that position, but somehow I forgot to feel self-conscious around him. I forgot the endless stream of self-criticism that usually runs through my head. I was just me. Nora Weinberg. Unfiltered and unaugmented.
And he liked me.
I’ve been floating on air since that moment. I’m still floating now, a day later, although deflating a bit, like a helium balloon that’s slowly leaking out its insides. If he likes me (and he’s as single as he claims), then why hasn’t he laid a finger on me since? If anything, Maddox was less handsy than usual on the hike back down to campus. No more accidental brushes of his fingertips, leaving trails of gooseflesh on my skin. It’s been twenty-four hours, and he hasn’t touched me once.
He still stares at me though. I caught him at dinner last night with one of those long-simmering looks, when he thought my eyes were on my tray. I know I’m not imagining it. What does it mean if a boy says he likes you with his words and his eyes, but not with his lips or fingertips?
I wish I had someone I could turn to for advice. Girl talk. That’s what I need. I’m so sick of being stuck inside my own head. If there’s ever been a time for an InstaBFF to walk into my life, this is it.
Too bad I’m a social pariah, with my single dorm room and social status of a flea. The other students interact with me through InstaLove prompts, but no one seems interested in spending more than three seconds in my presence without the benefit of visors.
No one except Maddox.
What does he want? Does he like me or not? Maybe he’s waiting for me to make the next move?
I frown, fighting back the questions that swirl round and round. I need to stop thinking so much. Be that girl from The Overlook. Confident Nora. Comfortable-in-her-own-skin Nora. If I could be that Nora on a regular basis, life would be golden.
The library building looms ahead. I push my way through the revolving door, mentally rehearsing all the clever things I’ll say when I see him. I refuse to think about the fact I’m here for a group meeting with the other members of our foursome. Reese and Eleanor have some new side project they’re working on for their half of the presentation, although they haven’t told us what.
Do they know about the “kiss”? Probably.
Wow, this is going to be awkward.
The prospect should fill me with dread, but I won’t let it. Why am I so intimidated by Eleanor Winthrop? She’s just a girl—a girl Maddox no longer wants to be his girlfriend. Because why, Maddox? Oh, that’s right…
“Because I kind of started liking someone else.”
A smile steals across my lips as I make my way up the library’s central staircase—a modern minimalist affair, suspended by nothing but wire cables that hang from the sky-high ceiling.
Guess who’s back to floating on air again? Nora 2.0.
This good mood of mine is dangerous. Last time I felt this giddy, I was using my visor for the first time at Dr. Carlyle’s garden party, and we all know how that ended: face first in a swimming pool.
I need to keep my wits about me. I haven’t forgotten Reese’s warning, when she caught me with Maddox’s face at the top of my InstaCrush column. At the time, I was too embarrassed to think about what she meant, but I get it now. This breakup between Maddox and Eleanor is a messy situation. Complicated. Hazardous terrain. The last thing I want is to get caught in the cross fire between the two of them—or worse, used as a pawn in some chess match I don’t understand.
Is Maddox manipulative like that? Is it possible that our whole clifftop flirtationship was fake?
I mean, technically, it was fake. His avatar kissed mine. Our actual lips did not come anywhere close to meeting. So, maybe it meant nothing. Maybe he’s playing games.
The old insecure Nora would jump to that conclusion. Maddox was flirting, but not really flirting. Old Nora would then proceed to dissect and rehash every word that Maddox had ever said to her.
But the old Nora is retired. Rendered obsolete. Nora 2.0 is here to take her place. So Reese can take her ambiguous warning message and stuff it. I’ll put Maddox in my InstaCrush column if I want. I’ll InstaKiss him, and I’ll kiss him for real if the opportunity arises. A boy I like actually likes me back, for the first time in the history of my life.
I refuse to let anything—or anyone—destroy that.
I pause at the top of the staircase and make a quick scan of the second floor. A lone figure sits in the study room at the far corner. I can’t see his face with the bright blaze of sunlight streaming through the skylights overhead, but I’m sure that’s Maddox. I recognize him by his posture. He has a certain way of slouching anytime he sits in a chair.
Why are boys with bad posture so much cuter than boys who sit up straight? Especially when they do that thing where they tip their chair backward and put their feet up on the desk. I’ve seen Maddox do that only once, when he was hanging out in the dining hall after lunch the other day. He tipped too far and almost toppled backward. I thought the rolled-up cuffs of his shirt might burst wide open, the way his forearms flexed when he reached to catch himself.
The mental image sends a wave of heat rolling through me. “Oh my God,” I whisper as I make my way toward the room. I like a boy with muscles in his forearms, and I think he likes me back. How is this real life?
I slow my roll. He hasn’t seen me yet. If he had, he would’ve waved. The girl’s bathroom beckons, and I dash inside. Not that my newfound confidence has abandoned me or anything. Just because I caught sight of a cute boy sitting in a slouched configuration? Why would that send me into a tailspin?
No, no. I’m fine. I ignore the stalls and head for the wall of bathroom mirrors. Even the uber-confident Nora 2.0 needs to check her hair before she sees her InstaCrush.
Ugh. Who am I kidding? I’m blushing so severely, my entire face is the same color as the inside of my mouth. Cute.
Before I can do anything other than gawk at myself, the bathroom door swings open. A pair of girls walk in. I recognize Miranda in her ever-present beanie, followed by Celeste, the girl who made that crack on day one about us clueless “newbies” whose existence she preferred to ignore.
Hopefully they’ll both ignore me now. They better not go all Mean Girls on me again. They speak in hushed voices, hiding their mouths with their hands, but they stop talking the moment they see me.
“Sorry,” I say, not sure why I’m apologizing. I turn on the water tap and look as busy as possible scrubbing my hands.
“Are you OK?” Celeste peers over my shoulder. “Your face…”
Is it that noticeable? My cheeks flame even hotter, and I bend forward to splash some water on them. Miranda scoots herself onto the sink beside me, leaning her back against the mirror. She pulls off her knit cap and fluffs her hair—a cloud of wild, brown frizz that matches the freckles on her pale cheeks. “You’re not crying too, are you?”
Crying? I look at Miranda, confused. “Why would I be—”
“Never mind.” She reaches for the paper towels and hands me one to dry my face.
Celeste pulls out a makeup bag and leans over the sink on my other side. She sweeps some powder across her cheekbones, highlighting the dark copper glow of her skin. “I don’t think she was crying,” Celeste says to the mirror. She puckers at herself, then adds a coat of gloss to her russet lips. “I think she got all red like that from yelling.”
I turn toward her. “Why would I be yelling?”
“Not you! Reese and Eleanor.” Her voice drops lower, and she glances toward the bathroom door before she continues. “Did you miss breakfast? The two of them had world war three in the dining hall this morning.”
Wait a sec…
This isn’t Mean Girls. We’re actually having…girl talk…in a girl’s bathroom. A bunch of female friends, gossiping while we reapply our makeup! Or, well…OK, while Celeste reapplies her makeup, and I wait for my face to return to a semi-human-looking color. But same general idea.
Friendship goal achieved!
I pat my face with a towel and try to look way more chill than I feel. “What were they fighting about?” I ask. And did it have anything to do with a recent InstaLove interaction between two avatars?
There’s no way Reese didn’t notice that. Two avatars sharing an augmented reality kiss? And there’s no way Reese wouldn’t tell Eleanor what she saw. But why would that trigger a fight between the two of them? I could see Eleanor taking it out on Maddox, but on Reese? Talk about shooting the messenger.
“—early admission. She’s starting in the fall.”
I glance at Miranda in the mirror. I missed the first half of that sentence. Early admission? “You mean to college?”
Miranda nods. “I thought Reese was going to have a stroke.”
“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t Reese apply to college?”
“No!” Celeste shakes her head at me. “Not Reese! Eleanor!”
“OK…so?” I meet my own eyes in the mirror and frown. Apparently this fight had nothing to do with InstaLove—or with me. Way to be self-centered, Nora 2.0.
Miranda sees my puzzlement. “She doesn’t know about the plan,” she says over her shoulder to Celeste.
Am I in this conversation or not? I can’t quite tell. “What plan?”
“The college plan,” Celeste answers. As if that explains anything.
Miranda turns back toward me, speaking rapid-fire to catch me up. “Reese had this plan since forever that she and Eleanor would go to MIT and Harvard—”
“And share an apartment in Central Square,” Celeste finishes with a giggle.
“That’s specific…” I say slowly. “Where’s that? Boston?”
Miranda side-eyes me impatiently. “Cambridge. Halfway between Harvard Square and Kendall!”
Gee, sorry I haven’t memorized the exact topography of Cambridge, Massachusetts.
I leave that retort unsaid. My footing in this conversation feels far too precarious to attempt sarcasm. “Oh,” I reply instead. “Right. Duh.”
“Anyway, that’s not important. The point is Eleanor bailed on the entire eastern seaboard. She got accepted early to Stanford. She’s skipping her senior year. EOF.”
Both girls laugh in unison. “EOF…”
End-of-file? Is that some inside joke I don’t know about? I have no idea, but I smile anyway, acting like I get it.
“Honestly, I don’t blame Eleanor. Reese is so…” Celeste’s voice trails off, searching for the right word.
“Controlling?” Miranda supplies. “Obsessive? Toxic? Most-likely-to-commit-friend-icide on anyone who fails to go along with her every word?”
“Harsh,” Celeste counters, shooting her friend a funny look. “I was going to say rigid. You know how she gets. She’s been talking about MIT and Harvard since before we knew them. Eleanor never seemed to mind though.”
“Well, she minds now.” Miranda’s eyebrows draw together. “You heard what she said.”
Celeste nods, her shoulders vibrating with laughter. “The entire dining hall heard what she said. I can’t believe she shouted that right in Reese’s face.”
“What?” I ask. “Shouted what?”
“I told you,” Celeste answers me. “EOF!”
They both collapse into giggles. OK, then. So much for girl talk. I laugh along with them, forcing a fake chuckle, but I’ve given up on understanding the joke.