How to Build a Boyfriend from Scratch. Sarah Archer

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      Kelly’s second thoughts about this scheme hit her immediately. Priya buzzed for the rest of the week, ready to plan them the perfect night out, whipping out her phone at random moments to show Kelly the latest bar that they just had to try, or a Pinterest mood board of hairstyles that she knew Kelly could definitely rock. Priya went out with friends virtually every weekend, it seemed, but Kelly was her going-out white whale, and her electric anticipation of this weekend was at a high. Meanwhile, every time she brought up their plans, Kelly was vividly reminded of the last time they had gone out together, more than a year ago: she had ended up with her shoes in her purse, her drink in her lap, and her dignity somewhere in the next town. She may have tried to gaze flirtily at a man across the bar while drinking seductively from her cocktail and ended up sticking her straw up her nose instead. She chose not to remember.

      Yet here she was Friday night, at Priya’s high-rise apartment in North San Jose, sitting squashed between pink, orange, and gold pillows on the bed while Priya battled wills with her eyeliner. “Are you sure you won’t let me do your makeup?” Priya asked.

      “I already did it,” Kelly said, watching Priya attempt a winged eye with her liquid liner. Every time she fixed one eye, she had to add more to the other to even it out, and the effect was increasingly alarming. Kelly had already worked her way out of Priya’s offer to dress her by reminding her of what she did to her own clothing last time. She would be more comfortable in her own jeans and shirt. It was just a simple black top, but it had gold buttons on it, which she had convinced herself would demonstrate to the world that she was a free-wheeling partier.

      “Finally you’re coming out again. We are going to scorch this club tonight,” Priya asserted, pausing to assess her handiwork. “We are going to slay on the dance floor. Flay on the dance floor. Flog it to a pulp.”

      “Nasty.” Kelly wrinkled her nose.

      “Come on, it’ll be fun,” Priya urged. Kelly wasn’t sure that her definition of fun looked like Priya’s, but with “antisocial tendencies bordering on aggression” ringing in her ears, she knew that she needed to give it a try. Part of why she so seldom agreed to go out with Priya was because a night out with Priya was a night. As much as Kelly adored her friend, she was convinced that she was harmlessly certifiable. Her historic hijinks ranged from commandeering the PA system at the grocery store to announce that the vegetables had gained sentience and were on the attack to giving the department store Santa Claus a lap dance and nearly a heart attack in the bargain. But as long as Kelly could stay out of the spotlight herself, she enjoyed Priya doing her thing. Maybe having a best friend who was “the crazy one” allowed Kelly to be anything but.

      Priya did manage to get Kelly to borrow some of her shoes—a pair of nude heels with gold studs all over them. Kelly had to admit, they looked pretty good as long as she was standing in front of the bedroom mirror, holding on to a chair back for dear life. Logically she knew that the way to walk in them was just to transfer her body’s weight onto the front halves of her feet. But her body didn’t seem to grasp the concept.

      While Kelly pondered physics, Priya scrutinized her own butt in the full-length mirror with a painter’s meticulous eye. “I’m going to give you a very precious gift,” she announced.

      “A Tesla?” Kelly asked.

      “Better. My three rules for dating in Silicon Valley.”

      “I’m the one who grew up here,” Kelly reminded her. “I should be teaching you about Silicon Valley.”

      “Uh, no, the fact that I grew up in New York is what makes me an expert. I’ve been outside the bubble. I have perspective. You could have a guy come up to you and act like a total tech bro and not even know it because the air around you is so dense with tech bros.”

      “Okay, so what are the rules?”

      “Numero uno: Don’t go out with anyone who works in robotics. He’ll hack your phone while you sleep, looking for company secrets.”

      “How do you know that?”

      “Just guessing,” Priya said innocently as she stuffed things into her purse: her phone, lipstick, keys. She threw in a tin of mints, took it back out and tasted one, grimaced, then tossed the tin back in anyway. “Two: If a guy tries to pick you up by telling you that he’s employee number whatever at a certain company, run. That’s a ‘douche crossing ahead’ sign if I ever saw one.” She slung her purse onto her shoulder and paused. “Unless he’s, like, number СКАЧАТЬ