I’m blessed with only a few moments of silence and rich chocolate before the booth dips, Kenneth bouncing closer to my side.
“Care to make this project more interesting?” he asks.
“Not really.”
“Hmm. That doesn’t sound like the Edwards I know.”
My molars clash. I hate the way he says my last name, like a threat and a challenge wrapped into one word. Just like a kid who learned their first curse word and can’t wait to use it in every other sentence.
“Your first mistake is thinking you know me.”
“Hear me out, Ed,” he begs, holding up his hands. “If I proposed a game that puts the winner of junior year completely in the hands of this project, what would you say?”
I close my planner, distracted by the competitive spirit burning a hole in my chest. “We’ve never done that before. Why would we do it now?”
Kenneth grins, as if the fire inside of me is warming him too. “Shaking things up, I guess. Win the internship. Win junior year.”
“What happens if neither of us get it? You heard Dr. Martin. It’s competitive as hell.”
“Then we’ll go off our usual rules. We’re still counting points all semester, so a Brain Bowl winner will be chosen regardless.”
Kenneth is answering these questions too quickly. Is this something he’s been thinking about?
“If you’re okay with that,” he continues, “let’s discuss punishments.”
When Kenneth lost freshman year, he had to attend every home soccer game in a soccer-ball onesie with a sign that read, “I Love Balls.” He was a social media sensation and burned it when the season ended. WhenI lost sophomore year, he confiscated my planner for a month. If I was caught using my phone calendar or bought another, he added an extra week.
I got caught three times.
“Nothing will ever beat losing my planner, asshole.”
“I’m glad to hear that because when I win,” Kenneth taps his chin, “you have to go to the gala with me. Color coordinated and all.”
My stomach rolls, hot chocolate threatening to make a reappearance on the table. “I stand corrected because that’s a million times worse!”
“I guess you’ll have to win.”
Trust me. I will.“Fine, Gray. When I win, you’ll be my errand boy at the gala. Getting my drinks and fetching those little quiches I love.” His smug face falls when I land the final blow. “And you have to attend karaoke. Three songs of my choosing, and I get to record them all.”
His throat bobs nervously. After freshman year’s student-athlete gala, Cade pulled him on stage and forced him to duet “Promiscuous.” Much to his dismay, I was quick enough to record the whole thing. Kenneth hasn’t been to a single karaoke night since.
But for some strange reason, he agrees with my terms. After scribbling down the rules on a sheet of notebook paper, we sign our contract.
With his hand outstretched, he grins. “You seem at peace with the fact you’ll be going to the gala as mydate.Makes me think you might want this, Eddie.”
“Don’t be so sure that you’ll be the one winning.” I fight the urge to vomit and grip his hand. “And it’ssonot a date, Gray.”
“That issoa date!” Shay’s face is a mix of intrigue anddisgust. Mostly disgust.
Giving Shay a rundown of my meeting with Kenneth is making me tired. After setting the rules, he sent cringey prom photos of couples in matching fuchsia outfits while I tried to keep hold of my sanity and finish the preparation questions that are due on Tuesday. In an hour, I got through two questions.
One punch down. Two to go.
“Look, I get it,” Shay says, fixing her pink eyeshadow. “The game is meant to embarrass the loser, but have you really thought about how weird it’ll be when you win? Kenneth following you around all night like a red-haired puppy dog.”
“I would rather have him follow me around than be his date.”
She weighs the options in her head before slamming the vanity mirror closed. “Valid.”
