Miss Miriam Donahue was known throughout the school as The Matchmaker. She had been known as The Matchmaker since the seventh grade, when she convinced Luke Constance to go out with Amy Whittaker, despite the fact that Luke hadn’t even known who Miss Whittaker was.

She paired one other couple together in seventh grade. In eighth, her efforts redoubled; she learned that she was actually rather good at this whole shipping thing, and paired together another three of her fellow classmates that fall. The following spring, that number of successful matches jumped another five--her number of failures, zero. She applied and successfully got into Miraglio High (on account of her musical aspirations) and, by a Thursday afternoon in mid-September of her Senior year, Miriam Donahue had paired no fewer than thirty-one couples with, again, still, no failures.

Whether or not they stayed together was out of Miriam’s control—and indeed, it proved of scant consequence for her—yet more often than not, her pairings had a way of staying together. Whatever the reason for that particular oddity was unknown to all, but rumors had a way of speculating. Some thought Miriam only accepted matchmaking jobs to couples likely to last. Others suggested a survival bias—it only seemed like most of her matches worked out because the ones that didn’t were forgotten to be Miss Donahue’s work. Fewer still believed it to be witchcraft. The truth, in all likelihood, was a combination of the first two, a measure of luck, and perhaps a bit of the third. And, ultimately, what mattered in the end is that she had built up a reputation that all but guaranteed she would always have eager fellow classmates seeking her out for advice, help, or both.

Enter Benjamin Park.

Miriam knew of Benjamin, because knowing people was her thing, but she never felt the need to approach the boy. They ran in different circles, shared only one class together, and were fundamentally different as people. Short, quiet Benjamin never smiled, as far as she could tell, forever maintaining a measured expression behind wire-rimmed glasses and beneath unruly black hair, leaving her clueless as to what he might be thinking at any given time.

Which is why it surprised her when, on that mid-September Thursday afternoon, Benjamin brushed past her desk in their ten o’clock class and muttered, “After school. Behind the shed.”

Miriam hadn’t asked why. There was only one reason anybody sought her out. And her curiosity was piqued.

The shed behind the school hadn’t been used for anything short of entanglements and awkward confrontation for as long as anybody could remember. Indeed, the last time it stored anything was in the 1920s, when it held an exorbitant amount of booze for the local gang kingpins, a past that the founders and, indeed, the current staff do their darnedest to cover up. Sure, it held custodial equipment too, but only for clearing snow, salt bags and plows and the like and whatnot.

I digress. The shed is certainly unimportant, I assure you. It will hold no further point in this tale, so far as the time being is concerned. Don’t worry about it. We’re talking about a liaison.

Miriam got to the shed first. Benjamin showed up a couple minutes later, and wasted no time getting to business.

“Lauren Ives,” Benjamin said. The afternoon sun shadowed half his face.

Miriam raised a brow. “Lauren Ives? You want me to match you with Lauren Ives?”

He nodded.

“Don’t you think that’s a little ambitious?”

Benjamin frowned, just barely. “Are you saying you can’t?”

“I’m saying it’s gonna take time.”

Relief crossed Benjamin’s face. It vanished quickly, or quickly enough that Miriam doubted if it’d been there at all. “That’s fine,” Benjamin said, “Yeah, no, yeah, that works.” He paused.

“How often should we meet?”

“We don’t meet. I don’t want to give your crush the wrong idea.” Miriam pulled her phone out of her back jean pocket and waved it around. “I’ll give you my number.”

Benjamin’s lips twitched up. “Okay. Cool.” He took his own phone out and typed in her info.

“Pleasure doing business,” Miriam said. She held out a hand.

They shook. His palms were cold and clammy. His grip was loose. Miriam thought nothing of it at the time.

Benji thought about it an awful lot. He had a tendency to overthink everything, sure, but that handshake in particular...

Not to say it was unwarranted. He was, after all, madly in love with her.

“Good luck, Benjamin,” Miriam said, “You’re gonna need it.”

Benjamin matched her gaze. “Trust me,” he said, “I know.”