by Tina Ferraro
Now, my palm was always open for cash, but this girl was sooo out of his league that it would be like stealing the first fifty. I grabbed a copy of my hexagon and ran through the questions, making sure he “failed.”
As nicely as possible, I told him I couldn't make it happen for him and got off the phone as fast as I could. I had done him a favor, but still, I felt bad.
I was stretched out on my carpet thinking about business ethics when Suz appeared in my doorway. She was wearing her behind-closed-doors Coke-bottle glasses, but still looked pretty cute. She marched over to the mess I had made on the floor and plopped down beside me, grabbing the hexagon and a pen. Moments later, she handed the paper back with a circle in the center of the hexagon and half-circles between the numbered points around the connecting lines. The result was something that looked like a daisy.
“Tell people that every ‘No’ answer means a petal will be missing from their flower. And without all the petals, their love cannot bloom.”
I groaned and flopped back on the carpet.
“No, no, better,” she said. “You can pretend to pluck each petal with a ‘He loves me, he loves me not.’ ”
I laughed, sitting back up. “Suz, I'm not looking for marketing just now.”
My cell phone rang again.
“Maybe it's Brandon!” she said, lunging for it. She batted her eyes as she said hello. But the eagerness quickly vanished from her face, and she thrust the phone at me. “Dal,” she said, clearly disappointed.
I grabbed the phone, glad it was Dal.
“Jon Keller hangs out on the quad before school,” he announced.
“Perfect. See you there, bright and early tomorrow.”
I hung up and called Dakota. Then I turned off my phone. As closely as I heeded the call of the almighty dollar, on one point, I was just like everyone else at school: I was a student with homework.
Twelve
The next morning, I jammed from the parking lot to the quad. While some of my energy came from the French Roast my sister had brewed, I also couldn't wait to tell Dakota the great idea that had struck me in the shower.
Only one problem. After I tracked her down and revealed my plan, she tugged her hat down and told me to “go first.”
With Dal.
My eyelashes felt like they jacked up to my brows. “This isn't about Dal and me.”
“Who cares?”
“He has a girlfriend,” I reminded her.
“So. You're not offering to have his baby, DelVecchio. Just do it. I'll watch him. And if I like what I see, I'll go next.”
There was no question that Dakota was going to be a high-maintenance customer, and I needed to keep the upper hand. I knew I could always explain myself to Dal later, so I nodded and crossed the crowded quad with her. A contestant had once been fired from The Apprentice for refusing to embarrass herself for a task, and I would not lose Dakota for such a stupid reason. Hooking her up with Jon would be the coup I needed to hit the jackpot.
Dal stood in a small group right next to Jon, talking with a couple of hockey guys. Dakota and I moved in and tried to act natural. I had to wait for the right moment, the right positioning.
It came after the first bell rang. Dal reached down to grab his backpack from the ground. I turned my back on him, then glanced back over my shoulder.
“Dal,” I said, feeling like I couldn't breathe. “Stop looking at my butt.”
I turned to see him rise back to his full height, those hazel eyes gazing down at me with hundreds of chocolate brown speckles.
“I wasn't,” he said.
I inhaled, spun back around, and called back over my shoulder. “You are now.”
A totally genius idea, until I had to do it. As I strode off, I was dying inside. Absolutely dying.
I thought my heart might explode in mortification as I waited for Dakota to catch up with me.
“Not bad, DelVecchio. Not bad.”
“He looked?”
“I'd say he looked. You totally dared him to. How could he not?” She laughed. “And he liked what he saw, too.”
He did? “What?”
“Yes. I know it when I see it, and whether or not he's got a girlfriend, he likes your butt.”
I bit back a smile, feeling happier than I wanted to. “So you'll try it on Jon?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No, it's too out there for me. I want something more subtle, something that only plants the seed that I'm interested.”
I sighed. I'd humiliated myself for nothing? “Let me confer with Dal and get back to you.”
•
When I got to my locker, Yvette was waiting for me, waving and wiggling like she had to pee.
“Don't tell me,” I said flatly, slipping in beside her. “You've got a mad crush and you want to hire me to help you get him.”
She looked at me for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah. Are you psychic or something?”
“Just the supernatural talents that have made me what I am today,” I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. She didn't laugh, so I went with a more even
tone. “So . . . who are you into?”
“Well, considering Brandon's taken?”
Okay, my turn not to laugh. The whole Brandon 'n' Me thing was getting old.
“Lamont Barto,” she said, and did one of her full-body squirms. “He's so hot.”
I knew him. A senior who wore his carrot red hair all spiky. His head looked like it was on fire, but, hey—it wasn't me looking for the date. And he played hockey with Dal, and that qualified as an easy in, so why not?
“Sure,” I said, and told her my fee.
Yvette didn't flinch. How was it so many people could afford my outrageous prices? “Tomorrow,” she said, then strutted off.
The next thing I knew, a body was blocking mine. My locker was getting to be a dangerous place for my personal space. I looked up into Vince Hammer's eyes and fought back my irritation with him and his IM habits.
“Kate, you're coming Friday night, right?”
“Huh?”
“My eighteenth birthday. My brother's getting me a keg. You have to be there.”
I wanted to tell him to shove it, that I did not appreciate making his invite list simply because of Brandon. But it was so much easier to nod.
“Bring a present,” he said, and ambled away.
Riiiiight.
As I propelled myself back into the hall traffic, I spotted Dal's dark wavy hair. I weaved my way over to him and looked him in the eyes, trying to get an early read, but his face was expressionless, betraying nothing of what might be going on in his guy brain.
“So . . . that thing before,” I said, then felt the overwhelming urge to study the toes of my boots.
“You did that for Dakota.”
I looked back up, relieved. “Uh-huh.”
“Yeah—it threw me for a minute. But then I was like, why would you want me to check out your butt?”
I tried to smile. Yep, good old pal Kate.
“Which is not to say it's not a fine one,” he added, a similarly strained smile lifting his mouth.
“Good save, Dal,” I said. “I mean, I suppose someday, somewhere, a guy might actually find me attractive.”
I expected him to laugh, or radically change the subject, but instead, the little bits of gold glittered in his eyes and his brows pulled together in this serious V. “Whoever gets you will be damn lucky, Kate. And if it turns out to be Brandon, I suppose I can live with it.”
I'm pretty sure my mouth fell open. I know frustration flared up in me like a match on dry, winter wood. I mean, bad enough that everyone—including my own family—considered my forehead branded PROPERTY OF BRANDON CALLISTER, but I'd told Dal how I felt about Brandon over and over. Why didn't anyone believe me?
“I'm not going to end up with him.”
“I just think you can do a lot better.”
“I know I can,” I said harshly. It was like no one could hear me. I jacked up my voice for com
plete and final emphasis. “I am not Brandon Callister's girlfriend. Okay?”
I felt like my words thundered out of me, but I figured the blood pounding in my ears had probably altered my perception.
Dal broke from my gaze and did a quick sweep of the hallway. It took me a moment to realize how quiet it had gotten. How deadly quiet.
I turned around to see face after face looking my way. Staring.
Heat rose to my cheeks. Evidently I had been as loud as I'd thought.
But you know what? Good. Great. Now everyone knew what I'd been trying to tell them all along. Big whoop.
Could we all return to our own lives now, please?
“I think you got your point across,” Dal finally said, and laughed.
“About time.” I forced a laugh of my own. “Now,” I said, and turned toward my classroom. “If you don't mind walking with me, we've got a whole lot of business to discuss in a real short time.”
We fell into step together.
Because we had so many clients beginning the program at once, we decided to start them all with the same exercise. Dal had found a terrific icebreaker on the Internet. Our client was to say, as casually as possible, “Oh, I was going to call you last night,” whether about homework or some other nonincriminating thing, and try to get a read on his or her crush's reaction.
“Good one, Dal,” I said as we went our separate ways. When I sat next to Yvette in class, I quietly went over it with her.
“Sure,” she said. “If that's what you and Dal think will work best for us. You guys are the experts.”
That made me flinch, but I gave her a strong, confident smile. Never let &em see you sweat, said all the business journals. Even when you were swimming in it.
•
In the second-floor bathroom, I ran into Dakota and gave her the assignment as well. And right as I was heading back to class, I ran smack dab into some girl. I'd never seen her before in my life, but she smiled at me as if we were friends. Then, as if something had crossed her mind, a frown creased her face.
“I‘m sorry about you and Brandon.” She pressed her lips together.
I must have looked as confused as I felt, because she continued.
“People say you were acting real defensive out on the quad earlier, like you might break up with him before he breaks up with you.”
Omigod—could this thing get any weirder? “Uh . . . thanks. But nothing happened.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I'm so glad.” Her face lit up. “You two are pure dynamite together. You're totally going to be prom king and queen.”
Was I in the Twilight Zone? Besides Mama's, the only time I'd ever breathed the same air with Brandon was in the stinky chem lab. How did that qualify us as “dynamite”? Things were getting stranger and stranger.
•
At lunch later, Dal had already heard about my and Brandon's so-called fight.
“But the good news?” he said with a smile that started on his lips and traveled to his eyes. “Somebody called him in Arizona to get the real scoop.”
“No . . .”
“He assured them you two are still very much together, and he can't wait to get back to you. Although he does wish you'd call more.”
I laughed, spitting out a huge bite of apple. Was this still Franklin Pierce High School, or had I entered some alternate universe?
I had just enough time to finish my apple and choke down a peanut butter and Fluff sandwich before Carlton lumbered up.
“It didn't go real good, guys,” he said, sitting between Dal and me. “Brianne was like, ‘Why would you want to call me?’ I said, ‘Homework,’ and she said, ‘Well, next time, almost call someone else.’ ”
Ouch.
“So we need a more direct approach,” Dal said. “Kate, why don't you track her down and tell her you know someone who's interested in her? She might have heard about our business. See if she makes the connection to Carlton, and if she seems interested at all.”
It seemed like Dal was a natural at this.
“And if she's not, Carlton,” Dal went on, “we'll talk about refunding your money.”
I nodded but heard myself repeat the word “talk.” As much as I hated to disappoint a customer, giving money back was about as painful to me as . . . as . . . well, having a conversation with my mother.
When I walked into English class later, a couple of girls shot me sad smiles.
“Hang in there, Kate,” one told me.
“Yeah, we know you two will work things out.”
Aimee McDonald glanced up from her compact. She looked lost without her trail of ducklings, but I knew the minute class was over, they'd be following her again. While my life might have changed from time to time, charmed ones like hers just stayed charmed.
“Oh, haven't you heard?” Aimee said to the girls. “Brandon says they're still good as gold.” She turned back to me. “I think things got blown out of proportion a little, huh, Kate?”
I nodded. She had no idea.
“Which reminds me,” Aimee said, and snapped the compact closed. “When you have some time, I need to talk to you about, you know, that thing.”
Cha-ching.
Our teacher announced a free study period, so I moved over to the empty desk beside Aimee—best friends that we were—and got straight to work.
I was surprised she'd need help getting any guy—until I found out her heart was set on the basketball team's center. With his blond hair and china blue eyes, he looked a lot like Chad Michael Murray. But his utter lack of personality made him charmless and relatively friendless, and therefore nearly impossible to get next to. Quality choice.
Aimee admitted she'd made some overtures to him and had been completely blown off. And now she was ready for Plan B.
“He's probably just shy,” she added.
I held back a smile. Maybe he just wasn't into Queen Bees.
I wanted another hundred dollars so badly I could taste it. But this hookup would be more like a miracle than giving Mother Nature a nudge. I wasn't sure I could pull it off. Especially not while closing the deals with Dakota, Carlton, and Yvette. What I needed was a compromise, a way to get money but keep her at bay. . . .
And that would be a Wait List.
“You know I want to help you,” I said, trying to sound sincere, like we were really and truly friends.
“But I've got several clients already, and there's only so much time in the day.”
Anxiety grew in her eyes, mixed with disbelief. “You're . . . turning me down?”
My smile was getting harder to hold back. No one said no to Aimee McDonald—ever. Except for this basketball center guy, and look at how well she'd taken that. But my wanting to help her had nothing to do with high school hierarchy and everything to do with my wallet.
“For you,” I said, and managed a smile, “I'll make an exception. I'll put you on the top of my Wait List, next up for service as soon as one of my clients rides off into the sunset with his or her honey.” I studied her face. “And the twenty you give me up front will of course be applied to the initial fifty-dollar fee.”
Her frown told me she wasn't happy. But the twenty that suddenly appeared on my desk told me she'd do it my way. I slipped it into my pocket, letting my grin free.
Thirteen
After “signing” two of Aimee's ducklings and one of Yvette's friends to the Wait List as well, I had a wallet full of cash. And one cranky twelve-year-old at my side.
“You really need to talk to your mom,” I told Lexie, lugging her ice skates across the parking lot. Not only did she need a tote bag, but the $3,500 for the skating competition was now way overdue. Mrs. H. had to get her head out of her book. Or whatever dark place she had it stuck.
“I've tried,” Lexie whined. “You don't know what it's like. She's still totally on my case about my homework and where I go and what I eat. But it's like she doesn't care about my skating anymore.”
Lex
ie glanced up at me, her squinty blue eyes enlarging. For once she looked her age, and unless I was mistaken, vulnerable? I felt something inside me, something suspiciously like sympathy. I knew how tough it could be to deal with a difficult mother. Especially a mother who was changing her stripes.
“How about if I talk to your mom?” I suggested. “Maybe she'll let me pick up a tote bag for you like she did the laces. What's a good time to call, when she's not normally writing?”
“Writing?” Her face settled back into her natural what's-your-problem frown. “She hasn't written in, like, forever. All she ever does is cook, eat, and walk on the treadmill. Oh, and yell at my dad. When he's home.”
Why would Mrs. H. have hired me if she could have carted her kid around herself? “I'm sure she writes when you aren't around.”
Lexie shook her head like I was the child. “I know a little bit more about this than you do, Kate.”
I shook my head and opened the rink door, delighted to deposit her in the locker room so I could go get some important work done.
•
Mrs. Hoppenfeffer was on the treadmill when I dropped Lexie off, so I figured the big convo could wait another day.
Back home, I raced through the kitchen door, only to have the phone thrust at me. And since anyone who was anyone called on my cell, Dad didn't even have to tell me whose voice to expect on the line.
My stomach soured as he clomped away. I was never in the mood for my mother, but now was a particularly bad time.
“Hey,” I said into the receiver, keeping to my resolution not to call her Mom since she'd stopped being one.
“Hi, honey.” (Clearly she hadn't picked up on the no-endearments vibe.) “How's your week going?”
“Fine.” Dad and Suz weren't close, so short and sweet would do. I didn't feel the need to make nice for their sakes.
“And your little matchmaking business?”
“It's not match—” I said, then caught myself. Getting me to correct her was one of the tricks she used to engage me in discussion. I was on to her.