Page 16 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

“Fifty bucks is a lot of money.”

It’s the excuse I’m sticking with for now on why I haven’t bought in for this year’s pool, but it’s wearing thin with Claire. I shouldn’t have told her that I talked Logan into going to the ball with me. She lit up with the joy of a child meeting Santa for the first time. (Important to note that I cried the first time I met Santa. We aren’t all built the same.)

It’s been a week since Logan and I made our deal, and I’ve thought about letting him off the hook every time we’ve met for tutoring. Not that he’s asked to be unhooked. In fact, he’s embraced the whole make Dalton jealous thing with massive zeal, even slinging an arm around my shoulder and pulling me close the one time Dalton passed our table in the library. The issue is, making Dalton jealous is a by-product of me winning thousands of dollars, and I can’t seem to get myself to own up to the real reason I asked Logan to the ball.

“Is it the consummating part that has you hung up?” Claire says this at normal volume as we enter the science building and has me turtling my head into the collar of my sweatshirt. She pokes my arm and laughs.

“Look how red your cheeks are!”

My eyes widen as I make that face my mom is accustomed to seeing me make, the one usually accompanied by, “Mom, stop!”

“Do you have to use that word? Consummate? It sounds so . . . arranged marriage-y.” It actually sounds like Game of Thrones, and my virtues are for sale.

“Fine. I won’t use that word,” she says, and I relax my shoulders a hint. “Is it the fucking part?”

And . . . shoulders back at ear-level.

I slap her arm and flash her a warning of bulging-wide eyes and gritted teeth, which only makes her laugh. This is why she can’t be a best friend. No more best friends. Ever.

She tags along with me to my lab room, follows me inside, and I’ve never wished for a trap door more in my life. I prop my backpack on the side table and dig out my lab results book. I’m close to abandoning this experiment altogether, but the thought of starting from scratch feels daunting. I’m not sure my psyche can handle one more academic letdown this year.

“Seriously, Rachel. If it’s the fucking thing, just tell Logan about it. Split the money with him, or better yet—sleep with him!” She waggles her brows.

I let my face fall into my palms, and actually feel the heat of my cheeks against my fingertips. I shift my index fingers to rub my temples.

“Splitting the money with him would be pointless. I need nearly a full five grand. And besides, how do I even explain this entire stupid concept?” I lift my head to meet her gaze, her lips caught in a knowing smirk.

“It’s the fucking part.”

“Gah! I wish you would quit saying that!” I turn my attention back to my work station, her words ringing in my ear. So blunt. So, I don’t know . . . dirty? Not that I’m a virgin. She’s not wrong, though. Maybe if this whole thing were predicated on showing up with him as my date I could live with it. But the other part? Now I’m just locked into bringing him with me to a formal dance he likely has zero interest in, and there is no way I can win the pool because there is no way I’m going to broach the topic of, well, fucking.

“I’m not a brave person. That’s what I get for being bold out of the blue. You know?”

I flatten my hands on the table top and spin around, my gaze flashing by Claire and landing on Logan, who I pray only heard the tail end of our conversation.

“Sure,” Logan says, his head tilted in such a way I think he missed the embarrassing part.

“Experiment gone wrong,” I blurt out.

He nods slowly, a hint of a grin on his face as his eyes shift to Claire. If he’s looking to her for confirmation of my lie, I have no idea if she’ll have my back. For all I know, she’ll lay the terms out on my behalf and drum up a quickie contract.

I want to die.

“And I was just leaving.” She shifts her gaze to me as she shakes Logan’s hand. Why must she make it seem so suspicious. I don’t think my throat is working. And my lungs. Yeah, my lungs are definitely broken.

“Nice to see you, Claire,” Logan says over his shoulder, turning his attention back to me. I do my best to shake off everything that happened and was said in the moments before he was in the room, or that I knew he was here.

I straighten my spine and tilt my head.

“Were we meeting today?” I check my phone for a missed text, but there’s nothing. He’s here unannounced. And it’s making my heart juggle around my chest cavity.

His gaze rakes over me for a second, his tongue caught in his front teeth. His expression gives me the sense that he’s still working out exactly what he walked in on. I gesture to the paper rolled up in his hand, redirecting his focus.

“Oh, this?” He’s suddenly coy and now I’m genuinely curious. “Just a quiz that I . . . cough, cough . . . did not fail.”

He unfurls the page and holds it out in presentation. A red 71 is circled at the top. I take the paper from him and scan the questions he missed, making mental notes for myself. He should have gotten those right.

“Logan!” I sweep the errors to the side and focus on his pride. “While I think you should aim higher than not failing, I’m very proud of you.”

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