Page 61 of Adorkable

“Well, there you go, ladies and gentlemen.” Pinkerton took the ball and ran, seeing he wouldn’t give her anymore details. “It’s going to take that special spark to get Becks Kent through the door. We’ll have the answer to which school has it in a couple of weeks.”

As they went to commercial, I turned off the screen.

Trying to sound carefree, feeling anything but, I repeated Pinkerton’s words. “So Becks,” I said to the silence on the other end, “where’s it going to be?”

“We talked about this, Sal.” I couldn’t see it, but I knew he was shaking his head.

“But Becks—”

“You’ll find out when everyone else does.”

“But I’m your best friend,” I protested.

“Yeah,” Becks said, “and you promised you wouldn’t nag me about this.”

“I just don’t see why I have to wait,” I said. “At least tell me this. Have you made your decision?”

“I have an idea,” Becks said, which told me nothing. “Have you gotten your letter from Duke, yet?”

“Way to change the subject, and no. I haven’t heard.”

“You’ll get in.”

I forced a laugh. “Don’t be so sure.” It would take a miracle. Mom was a middle-income single-parent, and I’d need a scholarship to fit the bill. I’d worked on my writing samples for months in advance, editing, perfecting, until everything was spit-shined. Problem was I wasn’t the only Salutatorian applying to major in creative writing with nothing but a few clubs, good grades and a dream to her name.

“You will,” Becks said. “I know you will. You’ll get in and write a freaking bestseller your first time out.”

I played along. “And you’ll be on a soccer pitch somewhere, winning your third World Cup.”

“And we’ll still be friends,” Becks added. “Through everything, no matter where we are, no matter what happens, we’ll always be friends, right Sal?”

I thought of how I’d kissed him, how he’d kissed me back. I thought of how he’d held my hand, been there whenever I needed him, the poem I’d never known he’d written until just a few days ago.

“Right?” Becks insisted.

“Right,” I choked. “Becks, I’ve gotta go, okay?”

“Okay. Night, Sal.”

“Night.”

I hung up, utterly defeated. It’d been less than three weeks, but I couldn’t keep doing this. The F.B.F. plan was good in theory, but in practice it was more trouble than I could handle. The havoc it was wreaking on my heart was too much. Something had to be done and fast. Becks would understand. He’d probably be relieved, might even thank me for it.

Tomorrow, I decided. Slytherin or not, I would do it tomorrow. What I needed to figure out was how best to do the deed.

CHAPTER 11

Becks wasn’t happy.

“What the hell, Sal?”

Correction, Becks waspissed.

As I approached, he stayed locked in his position against my locker, stiff-legged, an unfamiliar scowl on his face. I only ever saw it those rare times when he failed a test (hardly ever) or lost a game. The expression had been safely tucked away for over a year, but it was clearly on display today.

I decided to play dumb.

“How’s it going, Becks?” I asked. “Your ankle any better?”

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