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whatever she’s managed to do for the few minutes it was in her possession.
    My phone is on its home screen. I scroll through my recent calls and texts and see that she didn’t send anything to anyone. So why is she grinning? “What did you do?” I ask.
    “I got you a date,” she announces, skipping off toward the kitchen.
    “You what ?”
    “The girl you matched with, Audrey. I sent a message from your profile, or should I say, from Preston’s  profile.” I try not to roll my eyes at her. My parents named me Preston Ashton Lewis III, which is quite possibly the most pretentious name in the world. “That just proves this is a joke. Someone must have had my phone and made that account. Why else would I have used Preston? You know I hate that name.”
    Sofia flings open the refrigerator door and pulls out a bag of grapes. She pops one into her mouth and shrugs. “Maybe you wanted to be more anonymous.”
    I’m shaking my head. “I didn’t do this.” I open up the app and am surprised to see my profile, completely accurate. My age, my city, a questionnaire of likes and dislikes and opinions that fit me to a tee. A sinking feeling fills my gut and the lightbulb goes off in my head. “Oh shit,” I groan. “I did this while I was drunk. That’s  what I can’t remember. This is all because of that damn piss beer!” I exclaim.
    “What is piss beer? Never mind, please don’t answer that. But you can’t blame the beer for this, man,” Sofia remarks. “ You’re  the one who said you wanted a girlfriend. You’re  the one who joined a blind dating app while you were intoxicated. This is your  fault.” She’s grinning at me again. “And you’re  going on that date.”
    I’m flipping through to the message she sent to Audrey.
    So we’re a match! Would you like to get a cup of coffee at the shop on 4th ave?
    It’s an innocent enough message, formal but not too formal, and Sofia didn’t use the shorthand texting that I hate so much. And I’m glad she let Audrey know we’d be in a public place.
     It’s too bad I’m not going.
    “I’m not going on a date with a stranger. They could be a catfish, or a serial killer.”
    “Well you have a 93% match with them so there’s only a small chance that they’d kill you.”
    “That’s comforting.” I start to go to my room. I’m still just wearing a towel, and Sofia won’t take me seriously if I’m half naked.
    I toss my phone on my bed and pull on some clothes. I’ve got to get to class. I don’t have time to worry about blind dates with catfishes. I pick up my phone to put it in the pocket of my jeans when it beeps. I look at the screen.
    Blinder notification: New message from Audrey R.
    I know I should just uninstall the app and move on but I’m an artist, dammit. Curiosity always gets the better of me. I click the icon and the full message pulls up.
    From: Audrey R.
    Yes, I would enjoy that. How about this Saturday evening at six p.m.?
            “You better say ‘yes,’” Sof has snuck up on me and is reading over my shoulder.
            “I don’t think-”
            “Ash, you’re twenty one years old. You’re brilliant, kind, and funny. And you’re graduating in May.” She puts a hand on my forearm and turns me toward her. “I know you’re tired of the playboy ways, okay? I know  you. I want you to be happy and I think we both know trying to put down some roots is what’s right for you.”
            The sincerity in her eyes takes me aback. Sofia is rarely completely serious and on the rare occasion that she is, she’s right about whatever she’s talking about. But I still don’t think this is a smart idea.
            I begin, “Sof, I-”
            She shushes me. “Stop. Just do this, one date, that’s all I’m asking. If it’s a bad experience, fine. Delete the app and try dating the old fashioned way. What have you got to lose? Please, Ash? ”
            The slight