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the dean’s house.
    Brandon’s phone beeped from his coat pocket, and he pausedoutside the biology building. He pulled his iPhone out and glanced down at the screen, readying himself for his Perfect Match.
    What. The. Fuck?
    He didn’t recognize the name. How was that even possible?
    “Um, Brandon?”
    He looked up to see a girl he’d never laid eyes on before. She was an inch or two shorter than him, with dark auburn hair
     twisted into uneven braids on either side of her face. She wore a Waverly blazer that hung loosely on her slim shoulders over
     what looked like old Gap jeans and a bright green sweater. Black-rimmed glasses completely overpowered her face. She shifted
     from foot to foot nervously.
    “Do I know you?” Brandon asked. She blushed, and he realized how rude that sounded. “Sorry,” he said, feeling like a jerk.
     “I just…” He made a half-assed kind of gesture with his hand.
    “I’m Cora McSweeney,” she said, and gazed expectantly at him. Her eyes were huge and brown, so large for her face that they
     almost reminded him of an anime character’s eyes. But she was looking at him meaningfully. Was he supposed to recognize her?
    “I’m sorry,” he said again, waiting for her to ask him whatever she wanted to ask and then go away. He couldn’t wait to text
     Callie and see who she’d been paired up with. Had she forgotten to turn in her survey? He couldn’t think of any other explanation
     for their not being matched.
    “I’m, um, your match,” Cora said softly. She gestured towardhis phone. “For Perfect Match. I’m a senior, so it’s not like we were going run into each other in class or anything, so
     I just wanted to say hello when I saw you.”
    “Oh,” Brandon said. Seriously? This was his match? He suddenly had a flash of sympathy for poor Stacey Fournier, with whom
     he’d been paired last year. She was a senior and had been insulted about being matched with a sophomore. Now, Brandon suddenly
     understood what she was feeling—because he couldn’t help feeling a little bit insulted that
this
was his supposed “perfect match.” According to whom, exactly?
    “Thanks for saying hello—” he started to say.
    “Well, I just wanted to—” she started at the same time.
    They both broke off and laughed. Awkwardly.
    “Please, um, go ahead,” Brandon said. He remembered how mean Stacey Fournier had been to him a year ago. The least he could
     do was smile at this poor girl.
    “It’s okay that you have no idea who I am,” she said. Her cheeks were red, but her brown eyes were direct and warm. “We don’t
     exactly run in the same circles.” Her smile was shy and a little bit lopsided.
    Brandon blinked. He was surprised by how straightforward she was. In a good way. “We don’t?” he asked weakly.
    “Of course we don’t,” Cora said, her smile deepening. “It might surprise you, but there are some people at Waverly who don’t
     hang out with Ryan Reynolds in the building his father commissioned or fly seaplanes to school like Tinsley Carmichael. Maybe
     not a lot.” She wrinkled up her nose, holding back a laugh. “But some.”
    “Are you sure?” Brandon asked dryly. But he smiled.
    She laughed. “That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”
    Brandon looked at her for a moment, then looked away, down the path toward his class.
    Cora shook her head as if dismissing whatever she’d been about to say next and squared her shoulders. Her chin tilted up.
     “I’ll see you tonight at the movie, I guess.”
    “Oh, um… Sure,” Brandon said. Cinephiles, the film group on campus, was screening
Love Story
that night, one of the most romantic movies of all time. He’d planned to see the movie with Callie, of course. There was
     nothing Callie loved more than unbearably romantic movies. He couldn’t wait for her to cry in his arms so he could comfort
     her.
    “Great,” Cora said, looking him directly in the eye. “I’ll see you there. I might even e-mail you