Page 65 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

“I . . . am.” My eyes drift from her gown to her face. Her mouth is smug. Why did we date?

“I figured. I’m going to see you at the ball. I got asked by this guy, Nelson. He’s head of the physics club or something.”

I nod slowly.

“All right,” I say. “And you are going with him . . . why?”

I’m sure she has an angle. She’s not about to pretend she’s into some guy majoring in physics. Unless that guy owns actual rockets. And looks like a former boy-bander gone solo.

“Uh, same reason you are! The money,” she says, giving her body a little shake.

“What money?” I ask, regretting every extra second of this conversation.

She doesn’t answer so quickly now, and the lift to her brow feels like genuine surprise. She also gets this amused-looking grin that tickles her upper lip. It feels like an I told you so.

“Oh, my God, you don’t know?” She clearly knows I don’t.

I clear my throat and push myself up in my seat. I stay in the cab, resting my left wrist on the steering wheel while I twist to the side to stare her straight on.

“Oh, boy.” She breathes in. Her acting job is painful. I endure it. “I found out that every year at this nerd ball thing, they host a pool where they put in a ton of money. I mean like, thousands, Logan!”

Her eyes widen to accentuate that word—thousands. My mouth sours.

“Okay, so?”

“So . . . whoever shows up with the most prestigious date, and has confirmation of, well, you know . . .” She actually pokes her finger through the hole made by her other hand. She’s twelve.

“Like the hookup bet the freshmen athletes make?” I’m pretty sure Amy was a target for one of those. Maybe two.

“Yeah! Except bigger! And the winner is picked by popular opinion. And since the prize is up to seven grand this year, I thought”—she lifts her shoulders and glances up and to the right—“Why not!”

Now I’m the one who wants to throw up. From this conversation. From the realization that Rachel was using me for more than making someone jealous. And from my fear that this is somehow going to ruin us, or that what we were isn’t really that much after all.

“Well, I wish you luck. We might not even be going, so?—”

“Aww,” Amy says with a click of her mouth, her head tilting in a not-so-sympathetic way.

“Bye.” I leave it at that, drawing my window up and backing out of the cleaner’s lot. I head straight to the parking lot near the science building, not fully wanting to walk through the fire.

I decide I’m tough enough to push myself through and head up to the chemistry labs floor.

Per the norm, Rachel’s back is to me. And once again, she’s swirling what looks like acid. I laugh and shake my head, and she spins around but doesn’t drop the tube.

“Seriously!” she shouts. It’s not an angry face this time, however. It’s almost a pleasantly surprised expression. But as I walk into the room and close the door behind me, her high cheeks sink back to normal, and her slight smile straightens. The worry dent between her brow deepens as she puts her test tube away and moves to take a seat in one of the chairs at the workstation.

“We need to talk,” I say, and even coming from my mouth it sounds full of doom.

Rachel’s face washes of color, her skin suddenly pale.

“It’s not because I’m jealous or anything to do with Dalton. I swear,” she says, shaking her head side-to-side, her wide eyes pleading with me.

I settle my mouth into a reassuring smile and drag one of the chairs near hers, turning it around to sit backward. I hold on to the wooden backrest and sift through everything weighing on my mind.

“Okay, let’s start with that.”

She’s kneading her hands so I reach across and place my palm over them. Her fingers scurry to hold on to mine. I let her have my hand for strength as she swallows hard.

“She didn’t even go,” she says, blinking her way up to my gaze.

---