The memory still haunts me. It hurts. Bad.
My phone rings, and I’m relieved for the interruption.
“Saved by the bell, huh?” Conrad says softly, knowing me too well.
I nod weakly. “That’s Nate. I need to go.”
CHAPTER 34
When I get home from dance practice, and being traumatized by Conrad’s reappearance, I drift to my front door, then freeze a moment when I find a wrapped gift sitting on the doorstep. I suck in my breath, then curiously I look for a card. There isn’t one. But the wrapping paper is covered with tiny little ballerinas. The gift is obviously for me.
Tenderly, I open the carefully wrapped gift, then hug its contents, my heart squeezing. It’s the sweatshirt. The one I’d finally given back to Conrad.
Inside the package is a note. I squeeze my eyes shut after I read it, then read it again. “I was going to attach a pair of my underwear to it—just in case we were doing that. But my underwear aren’t as sexy as yours, and I figured it wouldn’t have the same effect. But enjoy my sweatshirt. I know you love it (and secretly still love me). Your best friend, Conrad.”
I know he doesn’t mean the ‘secretly love me’ teasing remark the way I really feel towards him. He means that I secretly still cherish him in my heart—as a best friend—even if I’m all grumbling about the shabby way he had treated me before he left—and when he came back for that matter.
I hug the sweatshirt against my pounding heart, then drift into my house.
I text Conrad, “Thank you for the sweatshirt. I DO love it, so I will accept your kind gesture. But it doesn’t mean I forgive you … it just means you’re right—I love the SWEATSHIRT. But the rest is debatable … even doubtful.”
I mean it more playfully than it comes out sounding. But I press send anyway. I wish my love for him is debatable and doubtful. My heart would be a lot less tortured.
Face it, I need to put the walls back up. Fast.
CHAPTER 35
I babysit this eleven-year old boy every evening while his mom goes to a night college course she’s taking. The boy’s name is Kale and he is sweet as can be. He just sits at his desk and does his homework while I do mine. Plus, he’s teaching me to play chess. Conrad used to always want to teach me, but I knew Conrad was amazing at it, so I turned down learning from him—every time. (I don’t like losing to Conrad at everything.) However, little sweet Kale I don’t mind losing to at all.
Tonight though, I’m in a funk. I mean, I’d just seen Conrad. Talked to Conrad.
… and his eyes had caressed me.
There’s no way I can concentrate on a horse-head on a checker-board.
“What’s with the sweatshirt?” Kale asks. “You’re like, hugging it.”
I blink out of my Conrad-haze as Kale mutters more about the sweatshirt, “You’ve been molesting it all night.”
“Oh,” I toss it away from me, like it’s a snake. I need out of the house and away from the thing, so I quickly suggest, “How about we go get some snacks and then watch a video.”
“Not Pretty Woman,” he tells me suspiciously. Then he smiles, “But yeah, I could go for some snacks.”
“Great!”
When we get to the gas station’s convenience store near my house, I notice two things. First, the “Now Hiring” sign in the window. Second, that North Moretti works here. I’m instantly in a quandary. I’d like a job other than just watching sweet Kale, since it really can’t get my mind off Conrad. But on the other hand, would it be a good idea working with North? Okay, okay, I know the answer is a big: No way. But then again, if anyone can get my mind off Conrad, it’s North. But then again, what would get my mind off North if I did that?
While I deliberate my quandary, I act like I’m deliberating the store’s chip selection. But then I hear North accuse sweet Kale, “Hey, stop stealing, kid.”
I jerk my head up, then head over to where North is accusing sweet Kale of thievery. “He doesn’t steal!” I tell North incredulously. “Not every kid is a delinquent.”
North lets out a breath and cocks his head. “Are you insinuating something?”
I admit I have a chip on my shoulder about the guy. I think about his kiss wayy too much. It bugs me. I guess that’s why I blurt out so vehemently, “Just because you are a rebel bad-boy doesn’t mean every boy is that way.”
North blinks at me. Then looks me square in the eye with this little sigh in his glance. Then he turns away from me, and re-focuses on Kale. “I get in trouble if I let people steal, so put back the candy bar.”
To my shock, Kale takes a candy bar out of his pocket.
North says firmly, “And the fruit-pie.”
Kale ducks his head, then reluctantly fishes a snack fruit-pie out of his jacket pocket.
With a wary sigh, North says, “And the ho-ho’s.”
Out comes ho-ho’s from Kale’s delinquent jacket.
My mouth drops open. I mean, I’m stunned. Sweet Kale?? Really? I’m flabbergasted.
I turn to North. “Whoa, I—I mean …”
North says, “Wait.” He reaches out and brushes my shoulder.
I jump away from him. “W—what was that about?”
“Sorry, I was trying to get rid of that chip on your shoulder,” he says matter-of-factly.
Then he starts to walk away, like our conversation is through. I grab his arm. “Sorry, I didn’t know he was stealing.”
North grins, “Are you stalking me?”
“What?! No. I was buying comfort food.”
He eyes my candy bars that I’d selected before going to the chip isle. Then his lips twitch sympathetically, “Why do you need comfort?”
“Because I’m probably going to die with hundreds of cats and all alone.”
He raises his eyebrows, “—and huge, if you need a lot of ‘comforting.’”
“Right.”
He tilts his head. “So, what you’re saying is, you’re single?”
“I—well—no, that’s not what I was saying.”
His smile twitches, “Then what were you saying?”
“That I’m sorry—about all of it—the whole thing.”
“List them,” he says.
“What?”
“List what you’re sorry for, ‘the whole thing.’” He grins mildly. “I’d like to get my apology’s worth.”
I draw out a breath. “Okay. I’m sorry that I accused you of thinking every guy is a rebel bad-boy, just because you are. And I’m sorry that sweet innocent Kale is a thief. And, hey listen,” I tell him, straying from my list of apologies, “There’s that sign in the window about hiring—do you think I could get a job application?”
“You could do better than that. The manager just came in the store while you were calling me a rebel bad-boy.”
“Um, oh.”
“You could have a quick job interview with him,” North says. “—right now.”
“Um, oh.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll watch the little thief while you go in.”
I look to the back of the store, where North gestured. There’s a sign on the door that says, “Manager’s office.”
I gulp. “Um, I should just, uh, go in?”
North’s eyes twinkle. “If you want to get the job, yeah.”
“Um, okay. Thank you.”
He nods.
With dramatic flourish he gestures for me to go in when I just stand there, chicken.
***
Ten minutes later, I come out of the manager’s office, flushed and even more flustered than when I went in.
“How did it go?” North asks, taking his earbuds back from Kale, who he had apparently been sharing his music with.
“Um—it went not very well, I think.”
“Want me to go check?” North asks.
I lift my eyebrows hopefully, “Will you?”
“Sure. Watch the store—make sure no one takes stuff.” He gives Kale the eye as he says that, but he does it in a playful way, and Kale just
shrugs sheepishly, but avoids my eyes, since he knows I’m not being playful when I say, “Oh, I will.” The sly con-artist! I had thought the kid was so sweet and innocent, what with his chess teaching, and homework doing.
North goes into his manager’s office. When he finally comes back out, I look at him hopefully, though I know I’d been a bumbling mess—all flustered from just having a conversation with North, who I couldn’t stop remembering kissing (and enjoying).
“You got the job,” he says quickly after staring at me a moment.
“I did?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Well no, but you looked so hopeful, I lied. I don’t know why I do that. It gets me in trouble. I just don’t like to disappoint girls.”
“Oh … well I guess I’ll be going then,” I start to head out of the door.
“Okay, but could you pay for your stuff first?”
I freeze.
Face-palm.
Slowly I turn towards him. “Oh, right.”
He rings me up, then says, “I don’t think you have to worry about dying alone—just randomly kiss a guy at a party. He’ll be yours for life.”
CHAPTER 36
**CONRAD**
CONRAD
I’m in a daze from seeing January dance tonight—and getting to talk to her. It had been so long since I’ve got to do it, it was like a dream. Of course in all my dreams of getting to be with her again, it had gone way different. In my dreams, it ended with us kissing. But in true life it has me longing and restless—which is why I’m at the hockey rink in the middle of the night, blowing off energy on the ice instead of in bed, where I should be, though I don’t have to get up for anything particular in the morning. I haven’t returned to school yet. Small steps, that’s all I can manage.
As I’m practicing goal shots, North Moretti saunters over to me. He takes a shot—scores.
“Saw January tonight,” he says. “Can I ask her out?”
“If you want your legs broken, sure.”
He sighs dramatically. “Dude, are you ever going to make a move?”
“Yeah, I was going to. I was. I was all set, but then something happened.”
He takes a deep breath. “I know you’re going through something bad—I get that. But I’m having trouble not making moves on your dream girl, cuz she’s hot—and she kind of came on to me.”
I give him a sideways look. The guy gives me a weak grin. I don’t know if he’s trying to goad me into not being a wuss and finally telling January how I feel. But all he manages to do is give me a knot in my gut—and it was already there, the knot. But now it tightens. The dude blows through girls like lightning. I don’t want him anywhere near January. He knows that, and he’s trying be a good guy. But he’s not very good at resisting—anything.
I scrub a hand over my face. “Go play goalie.”
CHAPTER 37
**JANUARY**
JANUARY
Conrad probably doesn’t know I’m on the school paper, I realize in class, adding to my Things-Conrad-No-Longer-Knows-About-Me list. The list is getting quite long. It’s sad. But the reason I’m adding the school paper to my list is I just got a text from Ms. Worth, the teacher that resides over the paper. She wants to see me before my next class. I’m not exactly thrilled to hear it. I’m new to the paper, and the girl in charge of the paper thinks I tried to steal her boyfriend. She’s delusional … but alas, powerful. Well, when it comes to the school paper. So my article assignments have been pretty yawn-worthy at best.
Ms. Worth swivels around at her desk when I get to her office. “January, lovely to see you! We have a new student at our school.” She leans towards me as though to talk confidentially, though we’re alone in the room. “His girlfriend was murdered.”
A chill goes through me.
I’m not good with sad stuff, especially not death—so no way something as grisly as murder. My stomach can’t take it, just hearing about it makes me feel as though I’m going to puke or faint, or both. Still, I try to shake the dark feeling that’s suddenly hovering over me, since Ms. Worth seems pretty excited.
I swallow back bile. “So, uh. You want to do a story on him?”
“Well, I want to,” she says. “I think it would be an excellent cautionary tale for the students. But the boy refuses to be interviewed. He wouldn’t talk to Vivian no matter how hard she coaxed—and you know Vivian, she’s very coaxing.”
Vivian is the head-editor—and the head thorn in my butt at the moment. Like I said, she gives me crap assignments, and the evil-eye since she thinks I’m scamming on her boyfriend. But it’s the other way around—her lame “boyfriend” is a scammer, circling around me like I’m carp (only, apparently, better looking than carp) but whatever. He’s a shark. And Vivian is a witch. And I hate them both and wish they would disappear.
But no. Instead, Vivian is the school editor. And therefore my boss. Sort of.
But Ms. Worth is the boss over the whole paper—so boss over even Vivian.
Ms. Worth tells me confidential-like again, “The boy refused to give his story to anyone.” Then she adds with emphasis, “—except you. He wants you to interview him.”
My heart jolts.
“Me? Why me? How does he even know me?”
“I’m not sure? Maybe he read one of your articles. They’re quite good.”
“They’re horrible!”
Like I said, Vivian assigns me crap.
Ms. Worth shrugs, not denying my ‘horrible’ remark. “In any case, he wants you to do his interview, and he’s made it quite clear he won’t do it for anyone else.”
I gulp. “Is he gross?”
Suddenly thoughts of Rene’s creepy brother are swimming in my head. Cringe!
“I only talked to him on the phone,” Ms. Worth said. “But he sounded despondent—and sad.” She reminds me, though she knows I don’t need the reminder, “His girlfriend was murdered.”
I nod slowly. “Right.”
Though I feel sick, after a moment of knowing I really can’t stomach it, I murmur, “Okay, I’ll take the assignment.”
“Good. I hope he’s still willing to do it. He sounded so haunted. I’ll give him a call and try to set up the interview for you.”
I know she said the guy is new, but that has me even more bewildered and curious. I mean, I still don’t get how he knows anything about me.
“What’s the guy’s name?” I ask, but she’s about to answer a phone call.
Distractedly she says, “Calvin or something—Corey, maybe? Anyway,” she doesn’t finish, instead she answers her phone, “Hello, Mr. Davenport, lovely to hear from you!”
I leave her office with a sigh, but then I get an idea. If this “Calvin” guy will only talk to me—only me—I have some negotiation room, right? I mean, Ms. Worth really wants the story, really bad, and she can only get it from me. Me!
I whirl back around and knock on her door, then bounce back into her office. I may have been a wimpy mess last night and not gotten the job I wanted, but today is a new day—and this is a new me. I’m tired of crap stories.
Thank you “Calvin.”
(Though I’m very sorry your girlfriend was murdered.)
CHAPTER 38
Once I leave Ms. Worth’s office for the second time, I hunt down North Moretti. He’s not that easy to find, since I know practically nothing about the boy except that he plays hockey. Oh, and that he works at the convenience store that I can never show my face in again.
And, oh yeah—he’s a good kisser.
When I finally track him down, I skip over to him.
“Exciting news!” I tell him over-the-top-cheerfully. “Brace yourself.”
He gives me a wary smile, as though amused, but suspecting strongly he’s not going to be excited by my “exciting” news. He eyes me cautiously, then says dryly, “I’m prepared to jump up and down.” He leans the back of his head against his locker. “Hit me with it.”
“I’m going to interview you for the school
paper.”
“Pass.”
“Please.”
He squeezes his eyes shut.
“Please, please!”
With a tiny groan, he ducks his head.
“You don’t like to disappoint girls,” I remind him.
He sighs deeply.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I tell him, jumping up and down. He seems quite a bit more pleased with this than the interview idea. But whatever. Take that, Vivian!—two cool interviews. One with the school’s hot hockey star, the other with a grief-filled cautionary tale to tell.
Things are looking up!
… I just wish Conrad was around to tell it to.
I sigh, Conrad.
CHAPTER 39
**CONRAD**
CONRAD
That day in the store, when I finally got to be close to January again, I’d practically molested her hand. I’d just been so high getting to see her again, touch her again. I was drunk on it. It had me saying crazy things and doing crazy things. Man, I stole her hand and didn’t want to let go. I never used to do that—hold her hand. I wanted a second chance with her, but I’d already known: she had a boyfriend. One that she actually gave the coveted title to: “Boyfriend.” But I took her hand anyway, I was that delirious seeing her again—and her hand felt so soft and warm I wanted to press it against my cheek and attack it with kisses. But of course she pulled it away like I was nuts … because I was being nuts.
CHAPTER 40
**JANUARY**
JANUARY
After getting my heart all ramped up from getting a glare from Vivian—a glare because she knows I’ve got two awesome stories that she would die to have, I feel quite ecstatic. Which is fortifying for what happens next. (Be warned.)
CHAPTER 41
The Boyfriend Contract Page 9