“It might have something to do you as well,” Eve adds.
My brows draw together. “What do you mean, me?”
She cringes. “Ahh … okay, what I’m going to say next is going to sound mean. But … people like me — unpopular, nerdy people like me — dislike people like you. It’s partly irritation because we think you’re dumb. No offence.”
I blink. “Shit.”
“But it’s partly jealousy because you’re so popular and all. Everyone likes you. Everyone wishes you a happy birthday. You never sit alone. You always get invited to parties—”
“Don’t you get invited to parties?”
She looks at the path. “I’ve never been to a party.”
I’ve embarrassed her. I don’t know why I asked her that question in the first place — now that I think about it, I’ve never seen her, or Ruby, at a party. I wouldn’t have thought she cared though.
“You know, it makes sense. I don’t think my friends like you much either.”
“What?” she shouts.
I rush to explain. “Like you said, it’s not personal. I think they’re jealous of anyone smart, so you, Ruby, etcetera. Also, your personality.”
“My personality?”
Okay, I’m making this worse. “Your personality is fine! But remember what I said on Monday. You can be a bit … aloof.”
She slumps. “I remember.”
“The point is,” I say, changing the topic, “I think people are annoyed when their friends hang out with someone outside of their social circle.”
“I suppose …”
I don’t hear the rest of her sentence because I’ve stopped in my tracks. Henry. Alison. Eve. Oliver. Me. In my mind, faces come in and out of focus. Clips of conversations replay in my head.
Making people jealous yields tangible results.
“Oh my god,” I breathe.
Three metres away, Eve stops walking and turns. “Noah? Why did you stop?”
“I’ve just had the smartest idea I’ve had in my life.”
“What?”
“An idea that will solve all of our love life problems.” I wave my hands.
“Well, tell me what it is.”
I meet her eyes. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
She stares at me like I’m crazy. “I have no clue what the hell—”
“Let’s date,” I say.
11
Eve: The Jealousy Pact
Noah Rosselli is standing in the middle of my room, on a fluffy lilac rug. His eyes wander around the room, and I know he’s judging how my clothing explodes out of my wardrobe. The doors are perpetually open because it’s impossible to close them. I’ve tried.
