“Are you serious? Sara, you don’t even do your own homework.”
“I will.” She sticks out her hand, fearless in this very moment. “Deal?”
Sara hates homework more than she hates losing money, so this may work in my favor. And if she talks to Joe, then she can stop talking to meaboutJoe. I swear, if I have to hear her describe how dreamy his hair is when it falls over his foreheadonemore time—
I shake her hand. “Fine, deal.”
A smile reaches her eyes. She looks extremely pleased with herself. But before I can get another word in, she takes her last bite of food, leaps to her feet, and grabs her empty tray.
“Where are you going?” I call after her.
“I have until the end of the day tomorrow,” she tosses over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go prepare conversation topics.”
That dork. Preparing conversation? Who even does that? Wait, is she going to practice on index cards?
Ha! She so would.
I glance over at Joe. He’s listening politely as Rose goes on about something—probably her favorite conditioner or something equally trivial—and then I wonder if this bet was a mistake. I can’t tell if Joe seems into Rose, but if he is, then that love story is inevitable. Rose always gets what she wants.
Agh, I should really cool it with the bets.
SEVENTEEN
Sara
“How am I so good at winning these bets?” Patrick folds his arms across his chest, puffing it out in victory. “Seriously, I’ll have to find a new hobby this week since you’ll be busy finishing all my homework.”
A rock sits in the pit of my stomach as I watch Joe walk out the school gates the next day. It’s official. I didn’t talk to Joe at all. Not even a teeny hello.
I suck. Worse? I’m so disappointed in myself.
Here’s the thing. I’d prepared.Overprepared, even. I mean, last night I’d stayed up late making flashcards and practicing my opening lines in front of the mirror. I tried on different tones, seeing how fluttery and high my voice could go, until I landed on one somewhere between friendly and approachable.
Then, to ease my anxiety, I’d blogged about how I wouldn’t let my fear get the best of me. I could do this! I talked to Patrick every day, didn’t I? If I pretended Joe was Patrick, maybe that would make it easier.
Itried. Really, I did. In history, I reached out to tap him on the shoulder. My plan was to say I loved his history essay, but then my throat constricted and my hand jerked back into my lap like I’d been shocked. Why? Because I imagined my words coming out all wrong—I thought your essay on the Fronch Reebolusionwas good. I mean Fresh Revolution! Agh! French! Like the country. Um, just wanted to tell you!—and, ugh, how embarrassing. I’d die.
Nope. History wasn’t the time to talk to Joe, I decided.
But I wasn’t worried, because after lunch we had gym class together.Thiswas my golden opportunity.
As Joe was stretching out his quads, I inched closer to him. The sun shone down on us and a crisp breeze blew, somehow making his hair look even more perfect. Like one of those runway models walking toward a giant fan. I could feel Patrick watching from afar while he stretched one arm across his chest, and suddenly I was emboldened.Watch this, I thought, and then, after clearing my throat, I attempted to speak.
“Uh—d-do you want, um?”
You know the tiny pitter patter sound a mouse makes? Yeah, that was about as loud as my vocal range went. Joe didn’t hear me. Instead, his attention turned to Rose, who sashayed over to his other side, eyelashes fluttering.
“Hey, Joe.” She spoke loudly and clearly. “Want to be my partner?”
Joe beamed, turning his back to me. “Sure.”
They walked to an open space near Coach Garcia, and I was left standing there like a total dork rocket. When I glanced over at Patrick, he was cackling into his hands.
My final opportunity was calculus. I’d worked up the courage to say,Hey, did you understand yesterday’s homework?Easy enough, right? But every time I opened my mouth, it was like an octopus had wrapped its tentacles around my throat. The bell rang, and Joe slid from his seat and moved out the door before I could even think about catching up.
Which brings us here. Now.
Patrick tugs me into a headlock and ruffles my hair. I elbow him in the stomach, which causes him to immediately release me as he doubles over. I don’t even feel bad.
