Page 144 of We Can't Be Friends

Attentively, Cal listens to me ramble on about why they are my favorites, which is because of their cunning attributes and manipulative gameplay. And the fact that they are beasts at every challenge.

“Oh my gosh,” I cut myself off. “This is epic.”

Cal's light laughter pulls my head and attention to his, which is on me. I nudge his thigh with my feet.

“Pay attention.” I nudge my head toward the TV.

“I’m watching,” he says and turns his attention from me to the screen. “Swear.”

I dig the remote out of the couch and turn up the volume. Placing it on the coffee table, I bring the bowl of popcorn to my lap. Grabbing the perfect bite—you have to get a ratio of two pieces of popcorn for one M&M—I drop it into my mouth as the votes are about to be read.

“If anyone has an immunity idol they would like to play, now is the time to do so,” the host announces to the tribe.

One of the female castaways pulls out an idol, playing it for herself. While Jeff Probst, the host, reads the votes any casted for her do not count. Turns out her and her small alliance pull off one of the most epic blindsides.

My attention is pulled away from the torch snuffing by Cal’s contagious laughter.

“What are you laughing at?” I ask.

“No wonder you like her.”

“Who, Kelly?”

“She’s cunning too.”

“Well, duh! That’s what makes a great player. Even though everyone wants the nice person to win.”

“Did you just roll your eyes and huff?”

“No.” Yes.

Cal catches my foot right before I jam it into his thigh. He tugs on it, dragging me closer to him.

“You’re a Slytherin, aren’t you?”

“A what?” I play dumb. He’s the reader, not me, but I’ve seen the movies. Who hasn’t?

“You’re joking. Please tell me you are joking.”

I toss my head from side to side. “Nope.”

Cal tugs at my foot. I scoot another few inches closer to him.

“Dais. You do know what Harry Potter is?”

I shrug playfully. “Of course, the boy from England talks about Harry Potter.”

“Everyone knows Harry Potter, except for you, apparently.”

“You see it, don’t you, Harry?” I say in my best—terrible—British accent as I imitate Ron. “Once I make my move, the Queen will take me. Then you’re free to check the King.”

I give him at cunning smile which isn’t all that different from my normal, resting face.

Instead of tugging on my foot, Cal runs a finger up the sole. I shriek.

“I knew you were a Slytherin, you liar.” He tickles me again.

I can’t help but laugh. “Stop,” I say between laughs. “Cal, I’m ticklish.”

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