Page 57 of Finding Jack
“I thought tonight could be about getting to know each other better,” I said, “but I was trying to figure out how to still respect your rules for no cocktail party talk. The answer is obviously that I have to psychologically profile you using the most cutting edge tools available.”
His eyebrows went up. “Obviously.”
“I’ve assembled the finest personality assessments available. Look.” I angled the laptop so he could see the precarious pile of magazines. I pickedCosmooff the top and held it up to show him the page I’d left it open to. “Can you read that? It says, ‘What Is Your True Age According to Your Social Media Habits?’ I figured this would be a good one to start with considering how we spend most of our time talking.”
“I don’t need to take it. The answer is thirteen. Maybe fourteen. Next.”
“Fine. We’ll find out which Backstreet Boy we’re each meant to be with instead. Oh, but before we get started, I should warn you, I’m on my laptop because I’m running out of data on my phone plan, but the Wi-Fi is acting up, so it might cut out every now and then.”
“It is?” Ranée said, choosing that moment to walk back in. “Weird. It’s been fine for me.” She leaned down to smile at the camera. “Hi, Jack,” she said, squishing into the shot with me.
“Hi, Nay-Nay.”
“Nay Nay?” I couldn’t help that it came out almost as a hoot.
Jack’s eyebrows scrunched. “Yeah. Nay Nay. That’s what Sean always calls her, isn’t it?”
“Who cares?” I asked. Okay, fine. I almost crowed it. “That’s definitely what she’ll be called from now on.”
“Ugh.” She straightened. “Everything was fine until that stupid dance and song came along. He’s not allowed to call me that anymore. Neither are you and Jack.”
“Okay, Nay Nay,” we said at the same time and then cracked up.
“When I said I hated you before, I was kidding. But now I mean it. I’m leaving,” she said, heading for the door.
“Bye, Nay Nay!” Jack called from the computer.
“I’m not on your team anymore,” she yelled before shutting the door behind her. Hard. A magazine slid off my pile.
“Too far?” Jack asked.
“Definitely not. You’ve made me so happy.”
He shook his head. “Cheetos and coffee and using a nickname your roommate hates. You’re not exactly high maintenance, are you?”
“I don’t know, but I have a quiz that will tell us.” And then I started mouthing words without saying anything. After a couple of seconds, he cut in.
“Emily? I can’t hear you?” He pointed at his ear and shook his head.
I mouthed, “You can’t hear me?”
He pointed at his ear and shook his head again. I held up my finger in a “just a minute” sign and then disconnected the call.
I grabbed the first item from my arsenal, the shirt from a pair of scrubs I’d bought at the costume store and pulled it over on top of my tank top. Then I hit FaceTime again.
Phase Two was about to begin.
It had only been about thirty seconds since I disconnected the call, but if Jack was surprised to see me in hospital scrubs when he answered, he didn’t show it.
“Sorry about the call dropping,” I said.
“No problem. You were saying something about the Backstreet Boys?”
“We better start with a pre-quiz question: do you know who the Backstreet Boys are? I mean, I’m sure you know the band. But do you know each of the members? Because otherwise the results might not mean anything to you.”
He looked at me like I’d just asked who the president was. Instead of answering, he stood up, backed away from the camera, and reached for a flannel shirt on the back of a nearby chair. He slid it on without buttoning it, then held each unbuttoned flap and shook it to make it look like the wind was blowing. He gazed back at me soulfully and sang, “Tell me why, ain’t nothin’ but a heartbreak,” in a perfect imitation of the video for “I Want It That Way.” I could practically see him on the airplane tarmac.
He sat back down and gazed at me expectantly.
