iThink the App

Chapter 2

The iThink Corp. Building sat at the edge of San Francisco Bay; it was Leed-certified, with a roof garden, directional mini wind turbines, and solar panel-infused windows. A black Aston Martin DB9 skidded into a parking spot marked, "Res. for Prof. Boyd."

The building's open-air atrium was empty. Gerard, the security guard, looked up from his bank of security monitors as he heard Boyd's echoing footsteps approaching him.

Boyd smiled at him. "Hi, Gerard."

"Hi, professor Boyd. Didn't expect to see you here on a Saturday."

"Oh, there is always something to do. How are the kids?"

"They're good, thanks for asking."

"Give them my best."

Gerard's phone, sitting on the desk next to him, beeped; he looked at it and smiled. On the screen was a picture of grilled meat on stick and the message: "iThink you should order Korean BBQ for Hi-Lo Gardens."

Gerard looked at Boyd and grinned. "Hell of an app you and Mrs. Mearsteen got there, professor."

Boyd forced a smile. "Yes. Yes, it is."

***

The server room was a windowless cavern, filled with row after row of rack-mounted computer servers. They blinked green and red, beeping in an atonal pattern, a never-ending, ever-expanding whirlpool of data.

Boyd leaned over a terminal, and it scanned his eye. It chirped, and the screen read, "Welcome, Professor Boyd."

He typed on the keyboard and loaded new software from his private development server. The screen read, "Processing," as a red progress bar grew. Boyd tapped on the side of the terminal.

The screen chirped again, and read, "Update Installed."

Let's see how smart you are, Doctor, he thought. Like you said, it's one of the most rewarding things in life when you can solve your own problems.

Boyd smiled. "That will show her."

***

Gather, a restaurant in Boston's Seaport District, was filled with a young, hip crowd, all ordering from the iThink app. Mitch paced in front of the bar; he wore tight black jeans, black Doc Marten boots, and a short-sleeve t-shirt with a T-Rex trying in vain to take a selfie.

He talked into his phone, "It's not going to end bad, Tippi."

"I don't have a good feeling about this, Mitch," Tippi said. "Just bail tonight. See her tomorrow."

"Come on, how bad could it be?"

"Just leave. If she likes you, she'll understand."

"I think you're jealous."

"Shut up, Mitch. Just trust me on this one, plea-"

Rachel entered the bar, phone in hand, and waved to him. Her tight black skirt and cashmere sweater took his breath away, and he completely forgot about his conversation. I love this app, he thought.

"Mitch? You there?"

Mitch snapped out of it. "I gotta go," he said, cutting Tippi off. "See ya on the flip-flop."

***

"Hello? Hello?"

Tippi, sitting on her bed in Frankenstein T-shirt, looked at her phone.

Mitch had hung up.

"I'll see you on the flip-flop. Who freaking says that?" She crossed her arms. "Well, I hope you get stabbed."