Geometry might seem like the black sheep of high school mathematics—the odd man out, stuck between Algebra I and Algebra II—but I secretly enjoy the verbal gymnastics of mathematical proofs. Never could I admit such a fact to Calculus snobs like Mrs. Neilson, but there is a certain beauty to the precision of language and singularity of methodology required to write a geometric proof.

So too does matchmaking require exactness of mind, careful planning, and stepwise procedures, particularly when dealing with a situation as complex as the love triangle between Adan Rivera, Jason Mayer, and Lucy Roads. If their situation can even be called a love triangle. I am becoming more and more convinced by the day, through meticulous inferences, that neither Miss Road nor Mr. Mayer holds any affection for the other beyond the platonic, while Mr. Rivera becomes more bold by the day in his pursuit of Mr. Mayer.

How can I tell, one might ask, particularly when the aforementioned boys do not even share a period in my class? 

Simple: Triangle Congruence Theorems.

Given two triangles, a mathematician does not need to know the length of all sides or the degree of all angles in order to prove congruent triangles are identical. Neither do the triangles need to be superimposed one on top of the other to see their similarities. Instead, only three data points are required, one of which must be the length of at least one side. For example, two triangles can be proven to be identical if the length of one side and the degree of two angles is known or, alternatively, the length of two sides and the degree of one angle.

So too in love can I see blossoming feelings without necessarily seeing two individuals interact. As August converts to September, Mr. Rivera’s shy slump converts to shy smiles. His eagerly whispered conversations with Miss Lynx mirror Mr. Mayer’s self-consciously whispered conversations with Miss Roads. Micro-interactions in the way Mr. Mayer’s eyes light up when I suggest forming an after-school math study group mirror the ear splitting grin on Mr. Rivera’s face not four periods later. And when his sparkling disposition doesn’t fade the next day and Mr. Mayer aces his first test of the semester, I know their study group was highly effective, both in terms of romance and education.

By the second week in September, only two points of uncertainty continue to bother me. One, Mr. Rivera’s friendship with Miss Lynx remains strictly confined to the school building with no evidence that they spend any time together after school. And two, despite the forlorn glances Miss Road’s begins to steal at another boy in sixth period, she still continues to date Mr. Mayer. I briefly consider making the oblivious object of her affection aware of his secret admirer through the typical group project strategy, but I quickly dismiss the idea. All my theoretical models of their potential relationship fail the Law of Congruent Triangles. Their auras just don’t feel compatible to me. So, I decide to conquer the easier problem first.

“You seem to be quite close with Mr. Rivera,” I casually mention one day while Miss Lynx loiters in my room after class. I would like to think she wastes four minutes of her five minute transition time just to socialize with me, but undoubtedly she waits in order to check on her cousin who’s in my seventh period. Poor kid lost his sister recently, and sweet Miss Lynx worries over him every day despite no doubt dealing with her own grief.

“I’m sorry if we talk too much!” Miss Lynx quickly responds while waving her arms nervously.

“Not at all,” I smile reassuringly. “My two best students? How could I ever critique?”

She relaxes visibly. “Yeah, he’s cool. We have a lot in common, like being good at math, I guess,” she laughs.

“Friends like that are rare to come by, but often wither into superficiality if not given fertile soil.”

Miss Lynx crinkles her brow. “Sometimes your proverbs really confuse me.”

“Well,” I say slowly, “a school building isn’t really the most fertile soil to nurture relationships, particularly if you don’t share any other periods together?”

“Oh, Adan and I have chemistry together too… but I understand what you mean.” She fidgets with her backpack strap, not meeting my gaze or giving any indication that she intends to take my advice.

Time to change tactics. “Has he met Isabella yet?”

The blush which spreads across Miss Lynx’s cheeks turns even her white tattoos pink. So things are going well on that front. Very well by my usually uncannily accurate estimation. “Um, no, we don’t really— I’m not ready for— I mean, he knows about— and I want to hang out and stuff, but… truthfully… my family doesn’t really like visitors.”

Well now, that’s unexpected. Do they actually belong to a cult? I’m unaccustomed to being wrong, but I’m not so prideful to not admit my miscalculations when appropriate. I want to ask her more, but not only do I not want to pry into her private life too much (at least not all at once), but also the opportunity passes when her cousin walks into my classroom. They have a tense, whispered conversation briefly before she leaves.

“I’ll admit, I’ve hit a block.” I eye my biàndāng as if it might have the answers to all my frustrations.

“In teaching?” Evelyn Hart lifts a perfectly sculpted brow.

“No, worse,” Mr. Wright mocks as he steals more of my lunch. “Meddling.”

I shove the rest to him, not feeling particularly hungry. “But I’m on the brink of a breakthrough. I know what needs to happen; now I just need to figure out how.”

“Beware the stumped Mei. This is when her plans become even more outlandish,” Mr. Wright leans in close to Ms. Hart to whisper.

“Well, maybe we can help you brainstorm for solutions,” my angelic friend offers.

“What did I just say?” Mr. Wright mutters. “Does nobody listen to me anymore?”

“How do I teach someone how to invite themselves over to someone else’s house?”

“Why—?”

“Or am I approaching this from the wrong angle? Perhaps she doesn’t want to get closer to him.”

“Are you talking about a student?”

“Most likely,” Mr. Wright says as he stabs at the last of my stir fry.

“The real problem is that he is too shy to initiate hanging out with her after school.”

“Oh, is this about Rosa and Billy?” Ms. Hart’s eyes light up in understanding.

“No,” I sigh, “although their problems are not dissimilar.”

“Mm,” Mr. Wright swallows a piece of beef while grabbing my attention with frantic arm waving. “Speaking of which, Rosa told me Billy is taking her to Peeters’ housewarming party this weekend.”

I perk up, suddenly interested, just as the aforementioned Spanish teacher says from behind us, “You make it sound like a date. We are just carpooling.” She slides into an empty chair next to Ms. Hart without meeting my gaze, obviously trying to hide her excitement about her upcoming “not date” from me. So foolish.

“Even if it’s not a date, inviting someone into your personal space is a step towards deeper intimacy,” I smirk knowingly. “He’s picking you up at your home; that’s a big deal!”

“Not so,” Ms. Perez rolls her eyes at me. “Thaddeus and you carpool almost every Friday.”

I crinkle my nose at her comparison. How is that in any way similar to mutual crushes going to a party together? “Only because he doesn’t trust me to get home by myself after drink night.”

“Speaking of which,” Mr. Wright interjects. “Should I pick you up on Sunday?”

“I’m not going to get drunk at a housewarming party,” I laugh off his suggestion. “But Ms. Hart might need a ride.”

“I didn’t realize I was invited,” Ms. Hart blinks, genuinely shocked.

“Of course you’re invited!”

“But I don’t know Principal Peeters that well.”

“That’s alright, you’re our plus one.”

“I haven’t found a reliable babysitter for Jimmy yet.”

“Kids are welcome,” I shake my head. “Principal Peeters has two from his previous marriage who are sure to be there.”

“Are you sure it’s alright?”

“Absolutely, but if you’re nervous about it I’ll double check with him. Actually, I think his daughter might be Jimmy’s age.”

“Mei, he’s three,” Mr. Wright warns as if I don’t know that.

“Do three-year-olds not need friends anymore?” Honestly, what is he trying to insinuate? That I’d be one of those women who ships literal babies, calling him “her boyfriend” and her “his girlfriend”?

“Only you would matchmake friendships,” he teases. “Next thing you know, she’ll be setting them up on playdates.”

Ms. Hart giggles, shying away from his breath close to her ear, but I can’t fully appreciate their adorable flirting as I’m distracted by a stroke of inspiration. “That’s it! Mr. Wright you’re a genius!”

“Well, I won’t argue with that, but I’m a little scared to hear whatever convoluted plan you so obviously just formulated.”

“Not convoluted at all,” I smirk. “Sometimes the simplest methods are the solution. Mr. Rivera and Miss Lynx need a playdate.”

When it comes to date ideas, whether romantic or platonic, I’ll admit, I’m a bit of an expert. In less than fifteen minutes, I find the perfect playdate for my geeky duo: Power Comicon, only a few days away, in Columbia. For some reason, Mr. Wright finds the idea of Mr. Rivera inviting Miss Lynx to a superhero convention hilarious, but I’m confident in my choice.

The tricky part is convincing them it’s their idea.

My first attempt, which involves placing the tickets in a suitably noticeable location on my desk and “inviting” Mr. Rivera to the front under multiple false pretenses, is a complete failure. He either doesn’t notice them or doesn’t have the courage to ask about them. My second attempt all but confirms my latter suspicion, because when I feign a bit of melancholy during sixth period in the hopes of garnishing the concern of my softhearted teacher’s pet, instead of asking me what’s wrong himself, he recruits Miss Lynx’s confidence with whispered gestures. When she approaches me after class with, “Is everything alright, Ms. Huang?” I almost consider changing my target to her.

Almost.

But I’m convinced Mr. Rivera taking the initiative will be better for their relationship in the long run. So I recruit Mr. Wright’s assistance and use the oldest trick in the book—the “come to office hours for extra credit.”

“I thought you told me this plan wasn’t going to be convoluted,” he complains as if he actually minds helping me. The twinkling tease in his eyes tells a different story.

“And I thought we were going to drive Ms. Hart to the housewarming party this weekend.”

“Did I agree to that?” he smirks, resting his chin on the back of the chair he sits in the wrong way so often it might as well be a horse's saddle.

“You did. So don’t mess this up. It will be the first time meeting her son, and I want to make a good impression.” I need Jimmy to like me if I want Ms. Hart to trust me to babysit him, and Mr. Wright needs Jimmy to like him to win over Ms. Hart.

He tips his head to the side, his deep blue eyes becoming glassy and his smile lazy. “Naturally. Toddlers are known for their long memories and grudge-holding.”

“Their good opinion once lost is lost forever?” I tease back in my best British accent.

“Straight to the heart,” he stabs at his chest dramatically. “Keep quoting English literature, and I’m lost.”

“Noted,” I smile, fully intending to write down his confession later. “I’m sure Ms. Hart will—”

“Mei,” he interrupts with whispered urgency. “We’ve got company.”

I resist the impulse to immediately look towards the door, instead confirming he’s here in the corner of my eye. I nod at Mr. Wright, and like a good accomplice he jumps into our preplanned dialogue.

“How could you have forgotten about the party?” he scoffs just as Adan Riviera walks into my classroom.

“I know,” I groan dramatically, “but the tickets are non-refundable. What do you want to do?”

“Well, I don’t think we can miss our boss’ housewarming. Maybe one of your sister’s kids would be interested?”

“You’ve obviously never taken a three-year-old to a convention.”

“Ms. H?” Mr. Riviera clears his throat nervously, and I finally spare a glance for him. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m here about the extra credit?” His eyes dart nervously between Mr. Wright and me, obviously uncomfortable to have overheard our conversation.

“Oh, of course,” I blink as if taking a moment to shift gears. “Let me see…” I rummage through my desk drawer for a moment before offering him a packet of advanced practice questions… plus. “Here you are, Mr. Riviera. Each correctly answered question is worth five points on your semester final.”

The tickets I slipped between the sheets flutter to the ground almost as soon as I let go. His thick-framed glasses lift when he crinkles his brow in confusion. “Ms. H, I think this is…” He trails off as he picks them up, getting a proper look for the first time.

“Oh, do you like comicon?” I ask innocently.

“I’ve never been,” he shrugs without looking away from the tickets.

“Well, we were supposed to go this weekend, but it seems we’ve double booked ourselves.”

“You double booked us,” Mr. Wright corrects.

“Fine, I double booked us, and now these tickets are destined to collect dust in my desk unless…” I wait for an appropriate amount of time to fake that “thinking out loud” tempo. “...you would be interested.” I smile at Mr. Riviera with my most innocent doe eyes.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Oh, yes you could,” Mr. Wright interjects as he stands. “Please take them..." He pats Mr. Riviera's shoulder encouragingly. "...or she’ll be depressed about not giving away those tickets all weekend.” The cheeky man, I'm sure, doesn't fail to notice my glare at his less than subtle jab, and he still has the gall to pluck an eggroll from my side of the biàndāng. “As always, thank you for lunch, Mei.”

“Ms. Huang,” I correct for the umpteenth time.

He just flashes me a cocky smile before leaving me with my flustered student.

“Take your time on the extra credit. Some of that material we haven’t covered yet.” I gesture to the packet, intending to snap him out of the daze that so often follows any interaction with tall, dark, and handsome over there.

“Is he your boyfriend, Ms. H?”

I sputter on my now cold tea, which I chose to drink from at a most inopportune time. “God, no. Whatever gave you that impression?”

He shrugs noncommittally, but a shy blush paints his cheeks. “You just act like you’re in a relationship.”

“Well, that’s because we are in a relationship. A friendship, which can be just as rewarding as any romantic relationship, so don’t neglect to invest in platonic intimacy.” I nod towards the tickets still in his hand. “Maybe by inviting someone to spend the weekend with you.”