She looks me up and down, hands on her hips. “It’s not stupid. I just told you—I need motivation to help me go through with it.”
Now it makes sense. Assuming Sara would back down from a high-stakes bet was the wrong move. Instead, I’ve inadvertently added more fuel to her fire. She can’t lose tonight because, now, the thing she loves most is on the line.
“Fine.” I offer her a hand, and she shakes it. “Your loss.”
“Unless I win.” She steps around me and throws open her door. “And remember, don’t listen to Rose. And stay away from Subwayboy. Oh—and!” She cups her face and grins. “Kiss Joseph Yang!”
I reel back, making a face like I’ve just tasted bad fish. “Do I have to?”
“Me! I kiss Joe, not you.” She laughs as she skip out of her room. “Now let’s go already! Vicky’s already on her way. And the Yangs are waiting for us outside.”
I’m following behind her, but stop in my tracks when the last thing she said registers in my brain. “The Yangs? As in—plural?”
“Oh, didn’t you know?” She tosses a sly smile over her shoulder. “Oliver and Joe are brothers.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Sara
In only a few hours, Eagle Gate High School’s faculty, with the help from each grade’s student council, has completely transformed the track field into a festival wonderland.
Booths with pitched canvas awnings are lined in tidy rows with enough room for students to walk comfortably on either side. Blue and silver pennant banners crisscross overhead, promoting our school colors, and balloon clusters are arranged beside every other booth to add flair. Hand-painted signs are secured to the top of every booth, clearly labeled for students as they peruse the options. There’s a waft of marinara in the air—probably from the free pizza they’re giving out—and something sweet, like fried dough. I’ve never been an active member of a club during a festival night, so it feels extra exciting.
It’s easy to spot the Newspaper Club booth. Not because it’s fancy or done up or anything, but because Mickey Dean is yelling so enthusiastically, you’d think money had just started raining from the sky.
“Hey!Oliver!Hey, guys, over here!”
Joe had talked to me the entire walk over, sharing how excited he was to work on our first story together. I’d flushed crimson under the moonlight, because I was equally thrilled. Which is why I have to make sure I spend the entire night with him. We’re friends now, aren’t we? We’ve had multiple conversations, have common interests, and are even in the same club. I just know there’s some romantic opportunity waiting for us at the festival. I can practically feel it in the way my skin hums with anticipation.
Joe turns to his brother, pressing back a smile. “Someone’s excited to see you.”
Oliver sighs, which is cut short when Mickey Dean tears away from the booth and bear tackles him into a hug.
Mickey Dean squeezes tighter. “Olly boy!”
Patrick leans next to my ear. “‘Olly boy’? More like Subwayboy.”
I snort. “That’s not even funny, Patrick.”
“Then why did you snort-laugh?”
Oliver glares at us as Mickey Dean releases him. Whoops. Were we that loud?
“Nice of you tofinallyshow up,” Rose says, a bite to her tone.
Of course she looks perfect. I bet she didn’t even try that hard either. She’s wearing a gorgeous plaid peacoat in various shades of pink, which she’s paired with an expensive-looking cream turtleneck sweaterdress. Lips glossed, hair shiny as ever.
“Sorry we’re a bit late,” Joe offers, one hand nervously smoothing the back of his hair.
“It’s fine, but we should go ahead and get started.”
I’m about to ask what I can do to help when, from my periphery, I spot a familiar face. “Vicky!” I exclaim, throwing my arms around her. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
She laughs. “Hey, Sara.”
It’s so good to see her. There’s no time to fill her in on the kiss bet, but her presence helps calm my nerves. When I let go, she grins at everyone as she adjusts the lavender scarf secured around her neck. Joe shifts closer to us, waving to her in polite greeting. She waves back.
“Okay, no time to lose, everyone,” Rose commands, all business. “Mickey Dean and Cordelia, you’re on photojournalism duty. Get good pictures. Oliver, you’ll stay at the booth and pass out pamphlets. And Joe”—I swear her eyes sparkle—“you and I will get these interviews.”
