Page 82 of Betting on the Brainiac

“I do,” he says.

Sami smiles. “By the power vested in me by the church I found on the internet, I pronounce you business husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!”

A kiss? I can’t believe we didn’t discuss this, and Oliver’s surprised expression suggests he’s thinking the same thing. My stomach flutters the way it sometimes does before a first kiss. Why not? Oliver is the sweetest of all frogs, and I’m curious about these skills Ava mentioned. As our guests cheer, I’m all for giving them what they want. I lean forward with an exaggerated pucker, but Oliver meets it with a hand over my mouth and a smile.

“Business deals are handshakes, Mads. Don’t want to give the neighbors the wrong idea.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” Sami says. “You may shake hands! And smile big for the photographer!”

That’s Joey again, since he’s a pretty good amateur. The marriage certificate is all the legal proof I’ll need to get the trust released. Adding pictures of our minimart marriage is the extra tasty icing on the cake as I imagine my parents’ faces when they see how neatly I’ve met the letter of the law without in any way satisfying the spirit of it.

Oliver drops his hand from my mouth. I laugh when he does, but it’s to hide my confusion because I feel a split second of disappointment. Unmet curiosity, that’s all.

We both turn to Joey and his camera, hands clasped in a shake. “Big fake smile for the corporate newsletter,” I tell him.

Joey clicks several times while Oliver and I try to win the biggest audience laugh with increasingly faker smiles. When Joey nods that he’s got what he needs, instead of dropping my hand, Oliver pulls me into a hug. “Thanks, Mads. I’ll owe you forever.”

I hug him back, surprised again at how substantial he feels. He really does drown in those hoodies. “Legally, you can’t owe me for more than three years.”

He pulls back with a grin. “I won’t. I guarantee it.”

I turn us around, join our hands again, and swing them in the air like a real married couple does. “Party time, people!”

More cheers erupt as Joey puts on the playlist the Gatsby’s deejay made for me. Everyone drifts toward the food. A few people congratulate us, but mostly everyone gives Oliver a warm welcome. I smile as I watch people ponder their Slim Jim choices or snag the candy bars you only find at gas stations.

It’s unconventional. Bonkers, even. And fun.

Oliver wanders over to join me.

“Thanks for my bling.” I spin it on my waist like a tassel.

He pulls his from his pocket. “I need to figure out how to wear mine with pride.”

“Zipper pull for your hoodies,” I suggest.

“Stop mocking my hoodies.” He plucks at his collar. “I own this shirt now too.”

“This shirtisdoing you favors your hoodies don’t.”

One eyebrow goes up. “Say more.”

I shrug. “I’ve known you, what, two months? Seen you almost daily, and yet this is the first time I realized you are not a code titi.”

“A what?”

“Atee tee,” I enunciate slowly. “Those scrawny monkeys?”

He looks at me like Ava does when she is not buying my nonsense. “That is not what you meant.”

I give him my best Scarlett O’Hara. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” I switch to my regular voice. “Anyway, in this shirt, you are less code monkey and more . . .”

He swells his chest and deepens his voice. “Code gorilla?”

I pat an inflated pec. “Settle down, Kong. Let’s go with code chimpanzee.”

He pulls me into another hug, and I’m reminded that I like his manhandling. Uh, make that assertiveness.

“Madi with the jokes,” he says, a puff of his laughter stirring my hair. “But remember, I’m a code monkey the wayPlanet of the Apeschimps are sweet little pets.”

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