The Boyfriend Contract

by Melanie Marks

  “No. It’s late.”

  “Well, I’m already here. I’m at your front door. Will you let me in?—and before you say no, I should warn you, I’ll climb up to your window.” Then he adds, “You know I will.”

  I sigh. I really don’t want to let him. I’ve been bawling. My eyes are all puffy, and my nose is red. But he will climb up to my window. That would be worse.

  I splash cold water on my face, then go downstairs.

  As soon as I open the front door, he apologizes. “I’m really sorry, January. It’s just when I saw Bridget,” he runs a hand through his hair, “—like I said, I lost my mind.”

  I cross my arms, glaring at him. “Yeah, you sure did. And you lost it for hours.” Since that’s how long it took to finally even start apologizing for bailing on me—right after his song had said he wants a ‘chance’ with me. Fat chance of that happening now. (Especially with beautiful Bridget around.)

  I grumble in pain, “It was like you were under a love-spell.”

  He swallows. “Yeah, I sort of was.”

  My heart shatters.

  He squeezes his eyes shut. When he finally speaks, his voice is ragged and strangled. “Remember my girlfriend, Lydia?”

  The girl that died. I choke out, “Of course.”

  He draws out a breath and scrubs a hand over his face. Slowly he hands me his phone. “That’s a picture of her.”

  A chill runs down my spine. The girl looks exactly like Bridget.

  CHAPTER 59

  Conrad begged me to forgive him for bailing on me. What could I do? After all, he’d looked like he’d seen an angel … because to him, he’d sort of seen one.

  It still hurt—massively killed, actually—but, unfortunately, I could understand.

  So we made firm plans to fry Oreos tomorrow.

  After Conrad left, I went upstairs, almost feeling okay. Well, less traumatized anyway. But then Bridget called to gush about Conrad and how much she liked him and the wonderful time they had together after they left my house.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “You basically called him a psychopath murderer before you left for Hawaii,” I remind her through gritted teeth.

  “That’s before I got to know him,” Bridget chirps. “He’s the sweetest guy on earth.”

  Yeah, no kidding.

  She goes on and on and on about how he seemed in ‘love’ with her and couldn’t stop ‘staring’ at her. Hey, I’d seen it for myself, so I knew. But having to hear about it, in detail, for eons, finally I couldn’t take it. I blurted out, “He came by my house tonight—after he left you.”

  “Oh … he did?” She sounds a little pouty about it. “What did you talk about?”

  “His girlfriend—the one that was murdered. That’s why he was ‘staring’ at you. You look just like her—except that she was blond.”

  ***

  The next day in the cafeteria, I’m in the middle of telling Paige about my incident with Bridget and Conrad yesterday, when suddenly Bridget comes sauntering through the cafeteria door.

  From across the crowded cafeteria, I see Conrad notice her too. He sees her walk in, and he drops the soda he was about to drink.

  Because Bridget is now a platinum blond.

  She bleached her friggin’ hair.

  What the—??

  CHAPTER 60

  After school, my heart crumbles and dies. Because Conrad never shows.

  CHAPTER 61

  Of course Conrad spent the next week trying to apologize to me after he stood me up, ditching our plans to fry Oreos. Of course he didn’t know it was supposed to be a “date.” But who does that, anyway? Bails on plans with a friend, and doesn’t even bother to tell the friend?—and instead goes waltzing off with a blond goddess?

  I wanted to bash his head through a wall, and push Bridget out a window. And cry.

  I didn’t answer any of Conrad’s many, many texts or acknowledge his presence whenever he tried to talk to me. But he was always with Bridget anyway, so it didn’t really matter to him as much as he was letting on, obviously. Since he acted like it mattered a lot.

  He broke my heart—again!—and I couldn’t forgive him. Not this time. No way. The wound was too deep. And the knife in my heart twisted even deeper every time I saw him with Bridget. Which was always. It huuuurt.

  So, I walked the other way every time I saw Conrad coming towards me.

  However, Conrad saw me turn away from him one day when I noticed him in the crowded school hallway, he left Bridget in a flash and came chasing after me.

  “January!” he called. “January, I know you can hear me.”

  He ran ahead of me and blocked my way. “I am so sorry,” he said. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

  “Dunk your head in a toilet?”

  “Oh-kay, I’ll do that—if it will get you to forgive me.” He gestures to the boy’s bathroom. “Come and witness the length I’m willing to go to get you to listen to my sincere apology and explanation about what happened, and why I ended up missing a delicious event with my very best friend.”

  Bridget is now at his elbow, looking miffed that he’d left her side without a word—and that he’s now talking to me, and called me his ‘very best friend.’

  “What’s going on?” she asked with a frown.

  “I’m going to let January dunk my head in a toilet.”

  Bridget looks angry as much as baffled. “Why?”

  “Because she’s my best friend, and that’s what she wants.”

  I grit my teeth and start to storm away without a word, but Conrad quickly puts his hand on my shoulder and pulls me back to him. He says softly, speaking as though he’s still talking to Bridget, yet he’s looking into my eyes, “I’m going to do it because she’s my best friend, and I screwed up phenomenally bad—and I’ll do anything to get her to forgive me.” He raises his eyebrows, “Anything.”

  The late bell rings and a teacher tells us, “Get to class,” which Conrad seems to be going to ignore. His eyes don’t leave mine.

  The teacher says, “Do I need to hand out detention slips?”

  “Not to me,” I tell him. I look Conrad in the eyes as I say crisply, “I’m done.”

  Conrad winces at my words, but I stomp away.

  ***

  After school, Conrad sends me a picture of the doll I gave him at that fateful birthday party—the one where I first got my heart broken by him. In the photo, the doll is facing a picture of Betty with drips of water running down his face. The caption says, “Gabe misses his love.”

  Then Conrad sends me a picture of himself looking at a photo of me and him together. It says: “I miss my best friend.”

  Weeks went by without me forgiving Conrad, or listening to his attempts at some sort of apology, because I knew nothing he said could make things better, or help my wounded broken heart. He had chosen Bridget over me, it was that simple. I got that it had a lot to do with Bridget being beautiful, and looking like his gorgeous “perfect” dead girlfriend. I got it, and even sort of understood it. But it didn’t help me, not at all.

  And really, to be honest—no. I didn’t even understand it. He had stood me up. I couldn’t believe he had done that. That he had treated me so poorly. That’s not the way you treat someone you care about. It’s the way you treat someone you take for granted.

  Well I was tired of being taken for granted by him.

  And for having to endure so many apologies from him.

  I wish I could say it didn’t matter enough to me to put up with it—only it did matter to me. It mattered too much, beyond words. But that’s why I wouldn’t listen to him, or forgive him. I had to build a wall around my fragile wounded heart to guard against him again.

  It was painful—not forgiving him. But it would be even more painful to let him back into my heart—especially when his heart now belonged to Bridget. (Sob!)

  So, I avoided Conrad’s texts and attempts at apologies.

  But then one day, Conrad cornered me in the s
chool library. I had just found the book I was desperately looking for, then I jumped in shock when I found Conrad next to me. The thing was, when I jumped sky-high, I also dropped the book.

  “Sorry,” Conrad murmured, picking the book up for me. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

  I grunted. “Not going to happen,” I muttered, trying to snatch the book from him.

  He grabbed the book tighter as I tried to snatch it away. “You want this book?—you have to listen to me first.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. I would have just stomped off without the book, but I was on a deadline and really needed the book—also, I was slightly curious what he had to say. Well, okay, actually, I was very curious. But I didn’t want to be.

  “That day—the day I missed going to your house, it was because Bridget’s ex-boyfriend was giving her troubles. She was scared. She came to me for help—and in tears. She was really upset. She needed me to drive her to her friend’s house that lived way out of town. January, she was in no condition to drive, and she needed my help. So, I took her. It all happened really fast, and I was worried—and—and I forgot about our plans. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry too. Sorry that I’m so easy for you to forget about. It doesn’t feel very nice, Conrad. In fact, it hurts—a lot. So much that I’m not going to let it happen again.”

  He blocks my way as I try to storm away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I’m not going to forgive you.”

  He rubs the back of his neck looking tormented, “For how long January? How long are you going to be like this?”

  “Forever, Conrad.”

  “You’re not being fair January. Her ex-boyfriend is a stalker. She needed my help, what was I supposed to do?”

  I grit my teeth. “Look, Conrad, Bridget is a drama-queen, and she’s trying to manipulate you because she knows about Lydia, and your issues about Lydia. Bridget’s ex-boyfriend definitely isn’t abusive—at all . And I doubt he’s much of a ‘stalker.’ What he is, is a sad sap with a broken heart.”

  As I tell him this, I notice North watching us from across the non-fiction section. My heart jolts at the sight of him. I yelp and try to hide behind Conrad.

  Conrad cocks his brow quizzically. “What are you doing?” Then he sees North and draws out a long breath. He runs a hand over his face.

  “Come here,” he leads me to the end of the isle and out of North’s view, but I saw North tilt his head giving Conrad a “Really, dude?” type look before we turned the corner.

  Conrad runs a hand over his face again. “January, there’s something I need to tell you about North.” He squeezes his eyes shut, “But I don’t want to.” Then he adds reluctantly, “But I guess I should—I mean, it’s only fair, according to Bridget.”

  I roll my eyes and say dryly, “Yeah, I really care what Bridget thinks.”

  “Okay, well, I don’t want to tell you … but, here goes,” he sucks in his breath, “January, I paid North to act creepy towards you on your date with him, so I’d have time to figure things out—and meanwhile, not have you fall in love with someone while I do it.”

  “Wait, what?!” I gape at him. “You paid him to act like a sleaze?”

  Conrad’s answer is a slow nod. “… he was just trying to help me out.”

  I press my hands against the bookshelf to keep from doing a face-plant. “I thought he was helping me out.”

  When Conrad can tell I’m devastated, he goes on with a reluctant groan, his voice husky and apologetic, yet also sympathetic, “He thought he was doing that, January—helping you out by helping me. But that was back before Bridget, when it seemed you and I might get together. But now that I’ve blown it—again—and now you won’t even talk to me, things are looking grim for us even being friends again, let alone being more.”

  My heart dies. Again. It’s like he’s totally given up on us—which I should have known since he’s been with Bridget every second of every day. But still, it hurts so bad to hear, I almost double over from the pain.

  But I can’t take him feeling sorry for me, so instead I try to sound interested, “So, North’s not a criminal?”

  Wryly Conrad answers, “No, he probably is. He just doesn’t have his dates drive his getaway car—as far as I know. Or maybe he’s a straight arrow guy—it’s hard to tell with him. He likes to keep people guessing.”

  “Yeah. He does.”

  Right as I murmur this, Bridget comes rushing up to us.

  “There you are,” she says to Conrad all anxious-like. “I’ve been trying to hide from my stalker ex-boyfriend, but the only time he doesn’t try to contact me is when you’re near. Would you mind going with me to the computer lab? I need to finish up my assignment before class starts.”

  “Uh, okay, sure,” he tells her, giving me a look over his shoulder as she leads him away. His look seems to be saying, ‘Please understand, January.’

  But what I understand is, I’m losing my best friend to a conniving, manipulative fake-blond.

  As if for proof, Bridget looks back at me too. She smirks at me all smug and ‘he’s-mine’ like.

  As they walk away, North is suddenly beside me, and catches me watching them. “He’s messed up right now,” he says sympathetically.

  I close my eyes, knowing that. But it still hurts, and it also hurts knowing that nothing I say to Conrad will make him see that Bridget is just manipulating him.

  With a sigh, I sardonically turn to North. “So you don’t really want my sexy sex?”

  He grins. “I never said that.”

  CHAPTER 62

  **CONRAD**

  CONRAD

  The night before the bidding, North came through my window as I was strumming my guitar, longing for January.

  I put down my guitar. “Of all the people I’ve fantasized about coming through my window—you?” I shake my head.

  He huffs. “I’m offended.”

  He goes to my mini-fridge. “Want a soda?” he asks as he gets himself one.

  “One of my sodas? Sure, thanks,” I tell him dryly.

  He hands it to me, then tells me the news that brought him to my window. “Look, I don’t know if I can keep messing up with your pretty girlfriend. I like her, dude.”

  I sigh. “What, you need more money?”

  “I always need more money. But no, that’s not it. I like her. Dude, I’m having dreams about your dream-girl. I can’t do this.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “Look, I plan to marry her someday—okay? It’s her—only her. That’s why I can’t afford to mess this up and blow it. She is the most precious, most important thing in my life. It’s terrifying.”

  “Okay, then tell her that, idiot.”

  I nod. “Will.”

  “I mean, in this life-time.”

  I suck in my breath. “Tragic things keep happening. Look, when I let her down—which I’ve done—” I really don’t want to admit this, “she’s always retaliating by going after guys. Like subconsciously she knows that’s the most assured way to wound me—I can’t take that right now.”

  “So, I’m supposed to keep her from doing that—going after a new guy—by being a creep.”

  I give him a sardonic look. “Just be your normal self—only worse.”

  … I guess it was right after that, that he serenaded January his ‘Sexy Sex’ song.

  CHAPTER 63

  **CONRAD**

  CONRAD

  I was going to confess my guts out to January. When I went to her house that day with my songs, I had every intention of confessing my heart to her. But now there’s Bridget … so, I’m royally messed up.

  Surprise, surprise.

  CHAPTER 64

  **JANUARY**

  JANUARY

  “There’s mail for you,” Mom says, handing me a wedding announcement addressed to me. It’s from Conrad, so a dark ominous sick feeling hovers over me as I anxiously open the envelope. But the invitation is from his grandma.

&
nbsp; His grandma is getting married!!

  Cautiously, I read the note Conrad enclosed with the invitation explaining that his grandma didn’t know my address. He went on from there, “I know you’re not talking to me right now but my grandma really loves you and wants you to come. So, come—okay? You don’t even have to talk to me there. You can give me dirty looks the whole time. I signed you up to have the prime-rib, so you have to come. And, just in case, I also signed for your plus-one to have prime-rib also—if you invite one. I hope you don’t. But in case you do.”

  Sigh. I love his grandma. She would often visit her late husband’s grave at the cemetery, while I visited my grandma’s grave. Then we’d go to Conrad’s house together and have root beer floats with him and his mom. It was our “thing.” It was nice.

  I’m happy to hear she’s getting remarried—and that she wants me to come to her wedding.

  So, I’m torn.

  I don’t want to go there and have to see Conrad with Bridget.

  Finally, I tell Paige that she is going to have a free prime-rib dinner, “Because you’re going to a wedding with me.”

  “Cool!” she squeals. “I love weddings!”

  But then she texts me a week later as I’m leaving to pick her up for the big event, “January, I just barfed.”

  I groan, then quickly type back, “I’m truly sorry to hear that.” I send her some sympathetic emojis, then I type determinedly, “I will be picking you up in less than five minutes—so, ship-shape, baby.”

  “Barfed again.”

  I read her text, then pound my head against the steering wheel.

  ***

  Lucky for me, my car broke down not long after I hesitantly continued on my journey to the wedding—without a plus-one. What could I do? I had to show—I’d said I would (sort of) (by not saying I wouldn’t), and prime-rib isn’t cheap.