The Oracle of Dating

  IF THERE WERE A CONTEST to name the most pathetic kid in school, Evgeney Vraslov would win hands-down. He is too nerdy even for the nerds to be seen with. He came from Bulgaria two years ago and still wears bell-bottoms and butterfly collars, as if his wardrobe comes from a seventies time capsule.

  Evgeney’s IQ is off the charts, but you wouldn’t know by talking to him, since his accent is so strong that you can’t tell if he’s speaking English or Bulgarian. Even the Russian kids can’t understand him. It doesn’t help that Bulgaria is the only Eastern European country where the people shake their heads to say yes, and nod to say no.

  “Evgeney wants to go speed dating? And you said yes?”

  It’s after school on Monday and I’m sitting at McDonald’s with Amy.

  “He has just as much right to go as anyone else,” I say, a little defensively. “He’s a nice guy.”

  “I’m not saying he isn’t, but what happens when nobody checks him off? Don’t you think he’ll be devastated?”

  I know what she’s saying, which is why we’re trying to recruit lots of different social groups to increase the chances of people liking each other. It’s Amy’s job to classify them, then slot them into the games.

  As for Evgeney, it’s unlikely that anyone will pick him. The fact that he probably knows this and is still willing to try makes me feel even worse for him.

  “Let me see the list.” Amy grabs my notepad and looks at it.

  “So we need twelve more guys and fourteen more girls to fill up the two games. That’ll be easy. Lots of people still want to sign up, they just haven’t paid yet. I still think we’ll have enough for three games.”

  I hope she’s right.

  TIME: 5:03 P.M. One hour until showtime.

  Amy’s prediction proves right: we have three—count ’em, three speed dating lineups! In fact, so many people signed up in the past few days that we’ll have twelve dates in each game.

  As of now, all logistics are in place. Each game will take one hour, with a ten-minute intermission after the first six dates. There will be fifteen minutes in between games, hopefully enough time to get one group out and the next group seated. Tomorrow we’ll compile the results. I’ve promised to send everyone an e-mail with their matches by five.

  Thanks to Ryan, the library has been transformed. Most of the lights are off, except for the ones illuminating the back bookshelves. The custodial staff wouldn’t allow candles, so Ryan brought three lamps from home and screwed in red light bulbs, creating a night-clubish ambience. He set up six dating tables, which he covered with white tablecloths and rose petals. The budget for decorating was twenty dollars, but Ryan insisted on making this his contribution to the evening.

  I go over to the food table where Viv, Sharese and Amy are putting out snacks and drinks. Everything looks so good that my stomach reminds me it’s dinnertime.

  Sharese says, “Go ahead, we have lots.”

  I don’t argue and put some food on my plate. The girls laugh when, feeling guilty, I throw a few dollars into the box before scarfing down the food.

  People start to arrive around quarter to six. I greet everybody and give them a game card on which they’ll fill in their dates’ names, circle yes or no, and write comments to remember them by later.

  At six, we’re missing five people for the first round. In the meantime, I tell the participants to take their seats at their assigned table.

  By six-ten, we’re still missing three people. We have an uneven number, eleven guys and ten girls. Amy volunteers to even it up.

  Sharese, who’s never shy to speak in public, stands up. “Welcome to speed dating! You should all have your cards in front of you. First thing, write your name at the top. The girls will stay in their seats and the guys will move to the table on their right every five minutes—we’ll ring a bell to let you know. When five minutes are up, check off yes or no. Don’t do it in front of them, please. Do it as you’re moving to the next table or at the end of the game. We’ll have a ten-minute break halfway through the game where you can get more refreshments. Happy dating!”

  I stand behind the refreshment table with Ryan. He’s arranging the napkins artfully, and like me, he’s watching the daters. “Check out the hot vibe at table two.”

  I nod. “Table seven looks uncomfortable. And that guy at table six is teasing them. Are they exes, do you think?”

  “They’re brother and sister.”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “I’m not kidding. She’s a senior and he’s a junior. I guess since their last name is Smith, Amy didn’t put it together.”

  “Crap. We could’ve easily put them in different games if we’d known. I hope they don’t ask for their money back.”

  “They still have eleven non-blood-related dates. Isn’t that enough?”

  When my stopwatch beeps, I ring the bell. “Next date, everybody!”

  And I ring the bell every five minutes until intermission, then we continue until the game is over. Afterward, several of the daters linger to fill in their cards, while others keep chatting with their dates. I suppose it’s a good thing, but there’s a bottleneck near the doors with people leaving and new daters coming in.

  I signed up several of the people in the next game myself, like Jared, Brooke and Evgeney. I greet everybody as they come in, giving them their cards and pointing to their assigned seats. Some girls from the last game are still hanging around the library doors, complaining loudly about how the guys in this game are so much cuter than in the first game and how unfair it is.

  One of them, Candace Granada, comes up to me with her hands on her hips. “Why did we get the lame-ass guys, huh? I heard there were going to be soccer players. Our group looked more like the chess team to me.”

  “We did the best we could placing people,” I say apologetically.

  “I told my girls we were gonna get dates out of this—what do I tell them now?”

  Amy comes up, a sweet smile on her face. “Tell them the Cancer Society is very grateful for their support. Now, you’d better move along…”

  To my relief, Amy takes control of the situation, ushering the girls out. Five minutes later, Sharese gives her spiel and starts the game.

  I go back to the refreshment table, where Ryan is counting the money and the girls are replacing the snacks and drinks. “Twenty-three bucks for food and bev in the first game. Not bad.”

  “That’s because of Sharese’s Oreo Rice Krispie squares,” Viv says.

  Sharese shakes her head. “It’s the pakoras.”

  “Actually, it was mainly the drinks,” Amy says. Then, quietly, “Don’t look now, but Brooke is sitting with Evgeney, and they’re not even talking.”

  I do look, seeing Brooke filing her nails right in front of him. Couldn’t she talk to the guy for five minutes? My heart squeezes with sympathy. Poor Evgeney.

  The dates continue, one after another, with an intermission halfway. I’m sort of watching Jared out of the corner of my eye. I’m curious as to how he’s getting along with the girls. There seems to be a lot of smiling and laughing. Well, on top of his cuteness, I guess he has a certain charm.

  On the eighth date, the girl in front of him is Brooke. He keeps glancing down at her chest. That dog, I hope he doesn’t make any matches—not even one!

  But the weird thing is, besides the glimpses at her chest, he is talking to her and she is giggling and flipping her hair. You don’t have to be the Oracle of Dating to see that she’s enjoying herself.

  Okay, so I realize that I am now in a bad mood and the obvious reason is not one I want to accept. Maybe I’m annoyed that Brooke is flirting with Jared when she has no real intentions of dating him. Yes, that’s it. I feel sorry that his little ego boost will be short-lived.

  Damn it, why did Amy have to put him in the same round as Brooke?

  When their time is up, I ring the bell with new enthusiasm.

  The game ends, and I can see that the third-round daters ar
e eagerly waiting at the library doors. As we let the second group out and the third in, Jared materializes at my elbow.

  “Nice job with this.”

  God, his eyes are so blue. “Thanks,” I say, handing out game cards as people stream past me in both directions.

  He leaves, and I’m suddenly desperate to see who he checked off and who he didn’t, but of course I have a job to do.

  We get everyone seated and start the game with the first ring of the bell. I pick up the cards from the last game and count them to make sure they’re all there. When I find Jared’s card, I somehow feel guilty for looking at it, but then I remind myself that it’s my job to look at all of the cards and compile the results.

  His card looks like this:

  1. Angie

  NO

  easy on the perfume!

  2. Sarah

  NO

  boring as hell

  3. Erica

  NO

  lacking upstairs

  4. Alena

  NO

  bites her nails big-time

  5. Linden

  NO

  doesn’t get me

  6. Magda

  NO

  don’t get her

  7. Brooke

  NO

  tits are real, the rest is fake

  He said NO to Brooke. Yay!!!

  8. Christie

  NO

  know-it-all

  9. Anna

  NO

  doesn’t know enough

  10. Rena

  NO

  addicted to reality TV

  11. Nickeema

  NO

  still depressed about Michael Jackson

  12. Stephanie

  NO

  just not for me

  He said NO to every girl. Wow. And then, this:

  13.

  YES

  she knows who she is

  What does that mean? Who is she?

  seven

  OF COURSE IT ISN’T ME, I tell myself when I’m back in my bedroom a couple of hours later. Whoever he’s talking about would obviously know it.

  Or maybe I’m taking his words too literally. Does “she knows who she is” mean that she is someone who is confident and knows what she’s about? Maybe he doesn’t mean one girl in particular. He could be making a general statement.

  What do I do now? Call him and ask what this is all about?

  Of course I’m not going to do that. Then he would totally think I like him. And I don’t even know if I like him, or if I’m just attracted to him. Crazy, hotly attracted to him. I mean, I obviously like him a bit, but I’d have to know him better before I could gauge if we could have a real, meaningful relationship.

  All I know is, a little bit of attraction—okay, a lot of attraction—isn’t cause to break my no-dating-until-college rule. Letting raging teenage hormones rule my brain will surely lead to heartbreak. I’ve seen it happen to countless friends and clients.

  It’s not fair. Biologically, I have no choice but to be attracted to him. Thinking back to all of the girls sitting across from him at speed dating, I realize they probably felt the same way. Jared is dark, brooding, strong and has a troubled past—he just screams romance-novel hero. How can anyone not be drawn to that?

  And masculine. God, he just radiates masculine strength. Those arms. Those big hands. Not to mention the facial hair. And those smoldering dark blue eyes…

  It’s official: I’m a twisted fiend.

  And it’s all Jared’s fault.

  THE SMELL OF THE SWEDE’S pancakes, hours old by now, conspire with my grumbling tummy to get me out of bed around ten. I throw on a robe and slippers and trudge downstairs.

  “Good morning, Kayla.” The Swede has a cup of coffee and a magazine in front of him. “Pancakes are on the stove. You might want to reheat them in the microwave.”

  “Thanks.” I put two of the thick circular pancakes on a plate, touch them and decide they’re warm enough for me. “Can I have a cup of your coffee?”

  He raises a brow. “Yes, but since when do you drink coffee?”

  “I didn’t sleep that well.” I pour myself a cup, stir in some cream, then sit down and pour syrup onto my pancakes.

  “What kept you awake?”

  “I’ve been thinking about all the speed dating stuff.” Which isn’t completely untrue. I’m just not being specific about what part of the speed dating I was thinking about. The last thing I’m going to tell the Swede is that I’m thinking about a guy.

  “How did it go?”

  “Good. My friends are coming over this afternoon to put together the results.”

  “Did you make a match last night?”

  “Erland.”

  “What did I say?”

  “I wasn’t trying to find a date. I didn’t even participate. I had to run the thing.”

  “Oh, that is unfortunate.”

  “Why? You think I need a boyfriend?”

  “Not necessarily a boyfriend, but perhaps a few dates.”

  “People my age don’t go on a few dates. You pretty much have a boyfriend or you don’t.”

  “That is a shame. I used to date many different girls when I was your age. We would go to the cinema or to a dance. Sometimes we would go driving. I do enjoy a drive on a nice day. Don’t you?”

  I can’t believe this. The Swede, whom I’ve always thought of as a total square, probably had more fun as a teenager than I’m having.

  “LOOK AT THIS!” Amy waves the dating card in her hand. The five of us are crammed into my bedroom. “Brooke said yes to Jared Stewart!”

  I snatch the card from her hand. It’s true. In the comments section, she even drew a heart.

  “Let’s see if he checked her off,” Amy says.

  Sharese finds his card. “He didn’t. He didn’t check anyone off. And at the end, he put a number thirteen and wrote, she knows who she is. Weird.” She passes the card around.

  “Maybe he means Kayla,” Viv says. “He must’ve meant for one of us to see it. And don’t you guys sit together in art class?”

  “Yeah, but…I think he’s just making a statement.” But I have to wonder if Viv is right; why would he write that if he didn’t intend for one of us to see it?

  “I told you that kid was strange,” Amy says. “He’s the only guy who didn’t check Brooke off. Maybe he’s gay.”

  Viv scoffs. “You’re saying any guy who doesn’t like Brooke is gay? That’s stupid.”

  “He liked her tits,” Sharese says in Jared’s defense.

  Amy looks at his card. “‘Tits are real, the rest is fake.’ Is he implying that she got a nose job? I’ve always wondered about that.”

  “I think he’s referring to her personality,” I say. “Obviously he cares about more than her chest. He could be mature enough to know that boob size isn’t everything.”

  “Well, I have a theory on why she checked him off. I bet dating some stoner would be her way of getting back at Declan.”

  “You think he’s a stoner?” I’m trying to sound casual.

  “Of course he is,” Amy says. “He dresses like one. Anyway, no normal guy would pass up the chance for a boob-grope.”

  “Let’s hurry up, guys.” Sharese claps her hands. “I want to know who checked me off!”

  “We’re not telling you your results in person,” I say. “You’ll get them through e-mail.”

  “You’re just saying that because nobody checked me off,” Sharese says with mock sadness. “Well, I didn’t check any of the guys off, anyway, because I only have eyes for Mike P.”

  “Fine, then. Darren Prince and John Culver checked you off.”

  “Oh, cool! What about Viv?”

  Viv shakes her head. “I don’t want to know now. Maybe later.”

  Sharese frowns. “C’mon, Viv. I bet Raj picked you!”

  “Later, okay?”

  “Her choice, guys.” I look at Amy. “You didn’t check anyone off, either.”

  “H
ow could I? I’m already with Chad.”

  “That didn’t stop you from making out with that guy on my birthday.”

  “At least his name wasn’t Melvin! I still want to know how many guys checked me off.”

  Ryan rolls his eyes. “Somebody wants her ego stroked.” He finds her results. “Eight of the guys checked you off, Amy. Are you happy now?”

  “Yes. I’m happy now. I can’t wait to tell Chad. He’ll be so jealous.”

  Ignoring that, Viv asks, “Has anyone figured out how much money we made?”

  “Yep.” I have the number in front of me. “How about seven hundred and fifty-three dollars?”

  We cheer and pound palms.

  “My mom’s ordering us pizza later,” I tell them. “First we have to e-mail everybody with their results. That’ll take a while. We’ll save time if we use two computers. Sharese and Ryan can use the one in my mom’s office.”

  Sharese yanks Ryan to his feet. I give them the information they need and they head down the hall.

  Viv, Amy and I hit the computer. I realize as I’m turning my monitor on that oracleofdating.com is on the screen. Just as it’s starting to light up, I click a button to reboot the computer. I’ll have to be more careful the next time I have friends in my room.

  We get to work, typing in e-mail addresses and sending short prewritten messages.

  Congratulations, you have two matches! Their e-mail addresses are…

  Or,

  Sorry, you had no matches in this game. We’d like to thank you for supporting the Cancer Society.

  “I told you Evgeney wouldn’t get any matches,” Amy says.

  “I know. But he deserved a chance like everyone else.” I feel bad for him, though.

  Amy’s cell rings, and she decides to take it outside. I ask Viv if we can talk about her results. She nods.

  “You didn’t pick anyone, Viv. I had two Indian guys there and both checked you off. You didn’t want to give either of them a chance?”