I take a deep breath. “Alright. Okay. Let’s do it.”
Noah jumps up in his seat. “Really? You won’t regret it!” He takes a breath and lowers himself back into the seat. “Thanks, Eve. This is a genius idea, and it will work. I swear it.”
A giggle bubbles out of me. “Operation try-to-use-jealousy-to-get-a-boyfriend. When do we start?”
“As soon as possible. Monday morning. Maths. Also, that’s a long name.”
“Maybe we should just call it The Pact.”
He nods. “The try-to-use-jealousy-to-get-a-boyfriend Pact. Or maybe just the Boyfriend Pact.”
“That sounds like a pact between boyfriends, rather than a pact to get boyfriends.”
“The Jealousy Pact,” Noah suggests.
“I like it.” I writeThe Jealousy Pactat the top of the notebook page. “Do you think we’re insane for naming it?”
He shakes his head, smiling, leaning back in his chair. “No! Makes it official.”
“Which reminds me — we need to shake on it.” I stick out my hand and he takes it. We shake.
There. Now we’re partners in this ridiculous but possibly brilliant plan. We can trust each other — not that I had any qualms about trusting Noah before.
Once our hands let go, I pull out the notebook page I’ve scribbled on and tear it to shreds.
Noah’s jaw drops. “What are you doing? You’re ruining the sanctity of The Jealousy Pact!”
“I know this looks dramatic, but I’m hiding the evidence.”
He stares at me.
“In case someone finds it and exposes us,” I explain. He might not think about consequences, but I do. “Remember, the entire school will think we’re psycho if they found out.”
He considers it. “True,” he concedes.
I finish tearing the page into a pile of paper snowflakes, then look at the mess of notebooks and scraps of paper I’ve made on the floor from cleaning the desk. “Damn it. Now I have to deal with this.”
Noah gets off the chair, crouches, and picks up a handful. “I can’t believe you have so much paper. This is like a forest of trees.”
I get down beside him and pick up a stack of books. “It’s not that much paper. A lot of it is old homework and tests that I need to recycle.”
“I’m surprised at how messy your room is. Not that it’s super messy, but I figured you were more organised.”
“I know,” I moan. “My mum doesn’t understand it either. I say that it’s organised because I know where everything is, but my life would be so much easier if I were neat.”
We finish putting the final armful of notebooks onto the desk, and I notice a book under an old English essay. “Look,” I say, digging it out. “It’s the book I was talking about.Pride and Prejudice.”
He takes it from me and reads the blurb. “I feel like I’ve heard of Mr Darcy,” he says.
“You would have. He’s theperfectman.”
“Really?”
Encouraged, I rush over to my bookshelf, displaying not only books but my film and music collection. “I’ve got the 2005 movie version. There’s that and a miniseries with Colin Firth. People always debate over which one is better.”
I hear him flick through the pages ofPride and Prejudice. “I can’t believe you read classic romances for fun, like a fifty-year-old.”
“Hey,” I say, returning with a Blu-Ray case in hand. “You’ll take that back when you watch this.”
