Galgorithm by Aaron Karo Read Free Book Online Page A

helping the poor schmoes, but they would be nowhere without me as a fail-safe.
    It’s getting late: Groupthink kicks in, and we all get up from the table at the same time. And then it hits me: fail-safe .
    I know exactly what to do.
    â€œHey,” I say to Tristen, before she can make for the exit. “Your eyelashes are really pretty. And long, too.”
    Tristen pauses and instinctively bats her eyes. “OMG. Thank you. No one has ever said that to me before. You’re so sweet.”
    She smiles. A big smile. I’ll wait for Hedgehog and ­Balloon to walk ahead of us before I ask Tristen for another date, but I already know: I’m golden.

10
    I JUST FINISHED MY FINAL period—Spanish—and I’m walking through school to meet Jak out in the courtyard when I hear a familiar voice calling mi nombre .
    â€œMr. Chambliss!”
    It’s Mr. Kimbrough, hustling down the hall to get my attention. He’s barely exerted himself, yet he’s already perspiring through his sweater vest. I give him a break, pause, and let him catch up.
    â€œShane, I need to talk to you.”
    â€œWhat’s going on, Mr. K.?” I’m attempting some measure of nonchalance here in this hallway full of my peers.
    â€œI have to talk to you about . . . Deb ,” he whispers.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œYou know . . .”
    â€œOh,” I say. “Ms. Solomon.” I almost forgot.
    Mr. Kimbrough puts his finger on his lips. “ Shhhh! Can we talk in a classroom?”
    â€œMr. Kimbrough, I don’t know what you want from me.”
    â€œLook, Shane, what you suggested worked! I e-mailed Deb and we went to the museum together. It was amazing! But I don’t know what to do next. And I know this is weird, but I have a feeling that somehow you just get it . I could really use some more help.”
    Something begins to tickle my nostrils and then the top of my esophagus. I try to clear my throat. Then I start to cough.
    â€œShane, are you okay?”
    â€œIs that your . . . cologne?”
    â€œOh, yeah. I just got it at the mall. The woman behind the counter said it’s their most popular one.”
    â€œNo, Mr. K., that’s the last one you should get. You want to be different, not the same. How much did you put on?” I cough again.
    â€œI don’t know. A few spritzes. On each wrist. And my neck.”
    I rub my eyes.
    â€œNo? No good?” Mr. Kimbrough says. “Is there a brand you like better?”
    â€œI should probably go,” I say.
    But Mr. Kimbrough is having none of it. “Shane, I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s so smart. And talented. And funny . But she’s a ten. And I’m a four. If I could just even out that fraction a little bit, we could be one.”
    I stare at Mr. Kimbrough. “What? Do you have these lines preplanned?”
    â€œFive minutes is all I ask, Shane.”
    I look at Mr. Kimbrough and see lots of potential but very little confidence. An ideal client for the Galgorithm—other than, you know, the fact that he’s a grown man. I pity him, but I also envy him. He’s in love. Straight-up, head-over-heels, bad-fraction-pun love. I recall fondly the days before I was scarred and wounded by Voldemort. Mr. K. still has hope, and it’s a beautiful thing.
    â€œFine,” I say. “Five minutes.”
    Mr. Kimbrough breathes a sigh of gratitude.
    Meanwhile, Jak is already in the courtyard stream-of-consciousness texting me, as she does every day from morning to night. I figure she’ll give me five minutes before she gets tired of waiting and her texts devolve into emojis of devils and pieces of poop.
    Mr. K. and I duck into an empty classroom. Paper cutouts of every U.S. president’s head line the walls, remnants of a class project. These are some ugly-looking dudes. I imagine an ancestor of mine coaching these guys on how to flirt via telegram.
    Mr. K. closes the door and