She sounds stressed as she tries to explain why she’s so completely not up on our assignments—at all. “It’s just—I’m so behind because I’ve had to miss math class so much lately.”
“I’ve noticed,” I tell her.
She goes on as though ready to rip her pretty hair out, “And now I heard the test is tomorrow. I didn’t even know there was one coming up. I thought I was going to have time to catch up, but no way!”
“Chill, January. I’ll help you. I’ll come over to your house after school, and we’ll cram until you get it.”
“You will?”
“I’ll stay up all night with you if I have to—which it kind of looks like I will.” I tease her about this because she’s so monumentally lost in the class at the moment that it’s almost not a joke. Only she’s smart, she’ll catch on fast. She’s always understood whenever I go over math work with her. I’ve missed her coming to me. Missed her looking at me with her adoring eyes while I try to concentrate on her math, not her lips.
“So, you’ll come over after school?” she confirms.
“If you want me to.”
I know it’s pathetically sad that I’m glad she’s missed so much math class. But at least it has her talking to me—that will make it easier for me to make my “move.” You know, with her actually letting me into her house, and listening to me speak. Of course at this rate it looks like it’s only going to be about math. But at least I’ll be able to breathe easier knowing she won’t be with North.
CHAPTER 70
**JANUARY**
JANUARY
I practically skip to my class, breathless from the way Conrad kept looking at me while he patiently helped me with my math. It has me dreamy and dizzy and unable to focus on my teacher. No wonder I’m in jeopardy of failing math. Not that I’m in math class at the moment, but right now the thought of math class has me excited for once, since Conrad sits right in front of me in the class. His last name is Ripley, mine is Runey, and we were seated alphabetically; otherwise, I would have had to sit on the other side of the classroom from him to make a point and make it clear our contract is over: best friends we are not. At this point we’re not even “friends”
… except that he promised to help me with my math. If he does that, maybe I can forgive him, and we can be close again. I mean, we’ll get to actually talk, because I’ll have an actual excuse to let him talk to me.
So, getting so behind in math might actually be a good thing. (I do my best to look on the bright side of things whenever I can manage.) This is one of those times though—so yay!
I get a text from Bridget as I’m trying to figure out if my economics teacher is talking English, because I’m not able to focus on what she’s saying.
Bridget texts: “I saw you walking out of the tutor-lab with Conrad—what was that about?”
I roll my eyes at her message. Weird! She’s actually trying to act like we’re still friends? Like I’d tell her anything?
No way am I going to tell her that Conrad is coming over to my house after school. She’ll try to change his mind, or worse—tag along. (Cringe!)
“He was saying that he loves me,” I tell her, just to make her steam. But really, his eyes had been telling me that. Sort of. It seemed. Maybe. The way they had caressed me. Mmmm. And they had been telling me that he likes my eyes and lips too—the way his eyes kept stalling on them whenever he looked up at me to see if I was grasping what he was saying. Saying with his mouth I mean. His eyes were loud and clear—he loves me.
… Or am I delusional?
Unfortunately, that’s very possible.
“You wish,” Bridget says about my Conrad loves me comment.
I slump in my seat. Yeah, I do. I really, really wish it.
Bridget seems dead-set on trying to goad me into telling her what Conrad and I were talking about, since she sends me another text, and she never does that anymore—texts me like we’re friends. Because she knows we’re not. She knows she stabbed me in the back.
Yet she texts all fake-conversationally (or is she being confrontational?), “Conrad’s going with me on a picnic after school.”
I narrow my eyes at her words, tempted to tell her he’s had a change of plans. But like I said, I don’t want her to try changing his mind.
So I just type back: “We’ll see.”
CHAPTER 71
At lunch I see North watching me from across the crowded cafeteria. Then I see that Conrad’s watching me too—but he has Bridget gabbing beside him, so my heart dies a little seeing that. I mean, I’d felt actual true happiness when Conrad offered to come over to my house after school today, of course. Happiness on so many levels. One, I really truly need the help. Two, I was hoping it would give me a chance to be with him, and have it be like old times. The way he had looked at me while he helped me with my math, I’d kept hoping for that.
But seeing him with Bridget, it reminds me things aren’t really the same with us. They’ll never be the same.
So, I determinedly walk over to North, and I even feel a little bit satisfied to notice that Conrad winces when I do it. And that North smiles.
“I was going to be a good boy and stay away from you,” he tells me. “But, hey, you came to me.”
“As you know, I don’t live very far from here,” he tells me. “But what you may not know is, my mom is a waitress at a diner that serves excellent pie—and she brought an assortment of them home with her last night, because—well, I don’t know why. Some pie-ordering mix-up, but the point is—I have pie at my house.”
I bite my lip, but can only say, “Um …”
His gorgeous eyes twinkle. “Don’t worry, my mom is home.”
I jump to my feet. “Then come on!”
He smiles. “Awesome.”
CHAPTER 72
Walking beside North to his house for lunch (and pie!) I uncertainly suggest to him, since I just saw Conrad with Bridget again (sob!), “Maybe tomorrow—after my nightmare math test is over—you and I can go to the movies?”
North raises his eyebrows. “Like a date?”
“No, like friends.”
When he gives me a wary look (well, playful grimace), I add quickly, “Friends—with potential for more—maybe. Someday.”
He rolls his eyes. He says around a smile, “That’s such a tease.”
But hey, he’s smiling.
His house ends up being literally a block from the school. As soon as we walk in the door, his mom tells him to take out the garbage. He sighs, and turns to me, “I have to take out the garbage—but I’ll help you get pie first, and then you can use my computer to look up movies, since yes, I will go to the movies with you tomorrow—as ‘friends with potential.’”
He helps me carry my slices of pie up to his messy, very male room, then pulls out his computer chair for me. “Sit,” he says, somewhat gentlemanly.
He wakes up his computer for me.
“I have to warn you though,” he says. “I don’t normally go to movies—not to actually watch them, I mean. Unless they have a lot of explosions involved—explosions are nice—I enjoy explosions—but even then, I don’t follow the plot—no matter how simple it is. My ADD, it’s not conducive to sitting for two hours watching a screen—and if there’s not explosions, I’ll probably fall asleep. But don’t worry, I’ll try to stay awake by fetching you popcorn and soda and stuff while you watch the movie. And if I start playing with your hair, and you don’t want me to, you can just slap my hand. I won’t be offended … but I might keep doing it.”
I bite my lip, entertained, but now not quite sure where we stand. I mean?
“Um, maybe a movie isn’t the best idea?” I ask, since he seems to be talking me out of it, right?
“Nah, it will be fun,” he says. “Here, sit at the computer and enjoy your pie, and I’ll be right back.”
He leaves to take out the garbage and I turn to his computer to look up movie times—and to avoid looking at his bedroom walls that contain post
ers of scantily-clad women that probably gave him the inspiration to his song that he serenaded me with, and probably many, many more songs like it. Ah-hem.
But before he’s fully out of the bedroom (the guy has ADD) he abruptly turns back to me. “I saw you looking longingly at Conrad in the cafeteria.”
I bite my lip. “Yeah. But he was sitting with Bridget.”
North watches my eyes as he says, “But he was looking at you.”
My heart flutters big time at his words as I remember that—Conrad’s hungry eyes on me. Warm sparks shoot through me from the memory, and having North say it like that, it like confirms it in my brain and lets it actually sink into my conscious—Conrad’s eyes were longingly on me—they were—even if he was sitting next to beautiful Bridget, his eyes were on me. And you know what else? He promised profusely to come over to my house after school today, even though I know Bridget has some sort of elaborate picnic plans with him, and the way he was looking at me when he was helping me with my math this morning, Mmmm. My longing mind didn’t make that up after all. Pretty sure. His hungry eyes had been looking at me just like they were in the cafeteria.
I say with thrilled wonder, “Yeah, he was looking at me, right? And you know why?”
“Uh …”
“That’s right!” I exclaim. “Because we have a connection—one way bigger than the one he has with Bridget. And you know why?”
“Uh …”
“That’s right! Because what we have is real.”
North’s mom calls for him to take out the garbage again.
North snaps his mouth shut, then tells me, “I’m going to take out the garbage.”
He leaves the room, and I turn back to his computer, now feeling all happy and lightheaded.
But THEN—
Oh. My. Gosh!
I leap up from the chair and away from that computer like it’s on fire.
As I scramble to the front door, North is just coming back inside the house.
“Where you going? What’s going on?”
“I have to go.”
“Are you coming back?”
No, never!
“Uh, I really, really have to go.”
“Okay,” he says with a quizzical brow.
As I race out of his house, he calls after me with bewildered amusement in his voice, “We have a toilet plunger!”
CHAPTER 73
“Are you still paying North to be a terrifying date?” I ask Conrad as soon as I get back to the school.
Conrad shuts his locker with a little smirk. “Nope. He’s terrifying all on his own—I’m glad you finally noticed. Why? What he do?” He adds, “You do look terrified.”
Well, yeah.
“I—I was using his computer—he said I could. But um, it had a bunch of—um, porn on it.”
Conrad gasps with dry amusement, “Porn? Shocking.”
He draws out a breath. “Look, you guys have just kissed, right?”
“Wild, hot, passionate kissing,” I inform him.
He smirks, like I’m entertaining. And ten. “I’m sure it was. But look, the guy is used to more. You might want to give him some slack.”
When I squint at him, he goes on with a sigh. “Look, he’s not a saint. But it seems like he’s trying to be a saint for you.”
I scoff. “With porn?”
“January, you can’t have it both ways with him.”
No clue what he’s talking about. I moan in torment, “I can’t un-see what I saw.”
“What exactly did you see? Was he on the porn-site?—like, starring in it?”
“No.”
He smirks mildly. “Then thank the heavens.”
When I just stare at him, he says, “You know that saying about the scorpion on the frog’s back?”
Uncertainly I nod, just to not seem clueless.
“Well, be a good frog. You knew what you were getting.”
I bite my lip. “Maybe refresh me on this lovely creature analogy.”
He leans the back of his head against the wall, like the explanation is going to be long and tiresome. “The scorpion wants a ride across the pond, so the frog gives him one, the whole time thinking/fantasizing “the scorpion will be so grateful for my goodness and generosity we can be besties and slide down rainbows together and kiss and chase butterflies.’ But no. Only a little bit after the frog gives the scorpion the glorious ride, the scorpion bites the frog. And as the frog is shocked and dying he asks the scorpion, ‘You’re killing me and my goodness. Why did you do this to me when I was so nice to you?’ And the scorpion is like, ‘you knew what I was when you gave me the ride.”
I stare at him a moment. He stares back.
“I didn’t give him a ride,” I finally tell him.
“Didn’t think you did, January. But I don’t want to see your goodness die because you lovingly felt like being generous to a poor longing scorpion.”
“Okay, I’ve had enough of this analogy,” I inform him.
As I whisk away down the crowded hallway, I hear Conrad call after me, “Don’t give him a ride, January.”
CHAPTER 74
After school, I bake cookies as I wait for Conrad. I know I should be working on my math, but he’s so good at explaining things, it seems like my time without him would be better spent making him a treat than wasting my time trying to understand stuff that I just don’t understand.
But once the cookies are done and Conrad’s still not here, I start to get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Where is he? Is he at a picnic? The thought of him choosing Bridget over me—yet again—makes my stomach twist with knots.
But maybe it’s not that. Maybe he has hockey practice, and what he really meant when he said he’d help me right after school was that he’d help me right after he left the school—after hockey practice.
… That makes sense.
Only, I don’t think there’s a hockey practice today. I’m pretty sure there’s not. I could text North to see. Only, nope. Not gonna do that. I’m going to stay away from the scorpion.
I could just breakdown and text Conrad. I mean, that’s highly reasonable, right? Text him to see where he is—why he’s not with me when he promised that he would be.
I open my math book and try to find stuff I’m actually able to do myself. That will save time for when he finally gets here … if he gets here.
No, he’ll come. He knows how important this is to me.
I sigh and text Ally: “Hi! Is Griffin at hockey practice?”
She answers: “No. There’s no hockey practice today. He’s at work. Sorry!”
Sorry? My stomach falls. Why’d she say that? Does she know something? I get the sinking feeling she does, or she would have asked why I was asking, but it’s like she knows why I’m asking—like she knows I’m looking for Conrad. Ally knows all.
Slowly, painfully I type: “Um, do you know where Conrad is?”
“Well, no …” Then she types, “… but I saw him leave after school with Bridget.”
My heart falls like a brick.
I clutch my stomach, then go back to trying to do my math. Okay, okay, I tell myself, Don’t be overly hurt. You knew he already had plans with Bridget for a picnic—she told you that. He was probably just going to hurry and do her picnic, since he had already promised her that he would, then he was going to come over to my house and help me.
That’s probably it. Most likely. But still I’m hurt. He knew how important this is to me—this test. And how lost I am right now in the class, and how long it’s going to take me to catch on enough that I can do well on the test.
Where is he??
How long does it take to eat on the ground?—especially when you have a girl waiting around for you that you’re trying to get back in good-graces with?—and that you know will fail without you?—and who you have a contract with?
Finally, I breakdown and text him. I don’t want to. I really, really don’t. Since it seems he’s having so much fun with Bridget he can’t b
ring himself to leave her. Also, Bridget will get to see she won, and that he doesn’t only not love me, he’s not even willing to punctually help me when I’m desperate.
It huuurts.
Yet I type, “Where are you??”
I go back to my math—hopeless!
When he doesn’t answer after an entire hour, I type: “You PROMISED to help me!”
I refuse to type more. Even when he STILL doesn’t answer.
Wiping away a tear, I start looking through my phone for possible tutors. But it’s the last minute and everyone is busy. They all say, “I could help you tomorrow.” But tomorrow is too late. Tomorrow I fail the test.
Finally, I call Conrad. When he doesn’t answer, I hang up, because what’s the use in leaving a message? He didn’t answer my texts, and my texts said it all. If I leave a voice message I’m just going to yell, or worse yet—cry.
I call again when it’s eight at night, because how long can a picnic possibly take?—even when it’s with Bridget, who has him wrapped around her finger?
But he still doesn’t answer.
I throw my phone, and go back to trying to figure out my math, now hating Conrad with all of my heart. I will never forgive him. Never.
Finally, right before going to bed, I call him one last time. “Never talk to me again,” is all I leave for a message.
Only moments later Conrad calls. Finally. But he’s too late. I’m too tired to try to work on my math, even if that’s what he’s calling about. But it’s probably not. It’s probably to apologize. That’s all he does anymore. Apologizes. Apologizes for choosing Bridget over me, again and again and again.
I don’t answer his call.
But then he keeps calling.
Doesn’t matter. I’m done.
Done with Conrad.
There is no way I will ever forgive him for this. No way.
So instead of answering my phone’s constant ringing, I wipe at tears and look over my math once last time, but I can’t even see it anymore, let alone get the right answers.
The Boyfriend Contract Page 15