Page 30 of It's in the Contract
“Of course we’ll make posters, badges, and ask for votes,” Suzy says. “But we need to think outside the box if Callie’s going to win.” Suzy taps her pen to her lower lip. “We could do an announcement? Maybe Cassidy and Brian will let us get on the school news. We can get in front of everyone and list the reasons that you’re the best.”
“Awww, Suzy,” I say. “Do you think that will really work?”
Dana’s cuddling Mr. Mochi and talking to her softly, so I guess it’s just me and Suzy brainstorming here.
“It could totally work,” Suzy says. “We’ll have to think of a creative, catchy way to do it, otherwise we’ll just bore people. So let’s table that idea for now.”
“Let’s table it, Mr. Mochi,” Dana says in a baby-talk voice. Her sunshine sweater is covered in guinea pig hair.
My phone buzzes with another text from Mom with a lengthy list of ideas. “My mom says we can try ‘posters, voting badges, slogans, a speech, social media posts, free T-shirts . . .’” I look up. “Should I go on?”
A sick, familiar feeling a little like being overwhelmed squeezes my chest. Mom follows her text with a thumbs up emoji and says,You got this! You are only as strong as you think you are!Oh great. One of her motivational fitness quotes.
Suzy tilts her head. “Those are some good ideas. We’ll have to choose where to focus our efforts. Let’s talk slogans.”
Suzy and I brainstorm for a while longer, my excitement growing. This is it. I might have a chance at winning this. Suzy and I have come up with a great plan. Her ideas plus working with Zeke might just give me the edge to beat Brielle.
I glance at Suzy, her black ponytail slung over one shoulder. Her eyes are focused as she neatly writes out our plan in a notebook. I want to tell her about my plan with Zeke, but I’m nervous about what she’d think of it. Would she think it’s a stupid idea, that it will never work? Will this plan backfire in some way, making me a social outcast instead of getting me votes?
I want Suzy’s opinion so badly, but Zeke and I promised not to tell anyone. Our fake friendship has to be a secret.
“We’re going to kick some butt, huh Mr. Mochi?” Dana says, holding the little furball up to her nose.
“Oh, and I’ve got my big tennis tournament coming up in three weeks,” Suzy says, packing up her notebook and pen. “Will you both be there?”
“Of course,” Dana says.
I smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
We stand and head down the hallway to Suzy’s living room for our traditional Chick-Flick-Friday. We plop down on brown leather couches, the untouched bowl of popcorn between us.
Eleven
#cantstoplaughing
Instagram caption by @seenatMVH.
I shutoff my phone to make myself stop scrolling through Instagram. It’s hard to see people talking about me, about my dad, posting pictures of me that I didn’t know were taken. It feels like a violation. A lot of it is nice—complimenting the outfit I wore today or the way I did my hair. But some of it is not nice. A photo of me wiping mustard off my face. An ugly snort laugh that I did today in the hallway between class periods.
I wish that I could just stop caring about it all.
I lay back on my bed and glance at the organic chemistry textbook lying on my desk. I should pick it up and study some more. But that makes me think of Zeke, and I smile. I don’t know why. It’s going to be tough to integrate him into my friend group when he’s so different from the people I normally hang out with.
Butter snuffles and snorts at my feet, in the middle of some doggy dream.
My stomach sinks at the thought of what Zeke and I are doing. Am I hurting him somehow, preventing him from making real friends?
I sit up and stare at the drizzle out the window and try to banish my doubts. I can do this.Wecan do this. Pretend to be friends with a super nerd who is totally not my crowd? While everyone stares at me and wonders what I’m thinking? No problem at all . . .
“Callie!” Mom yells from downstairs. “Dinner!”
I give Butter a kiss on her soft head and walk down the stairs, lost in my thoughts. When I enter the dining room I’m greeted by— “Dad!” I wrap my arms around him, and I’m enveloped by his scent, his favorite Giorgio Armani cologne, a little woodsy and a little spicy.
“I’m home early, Callie Berry.” Dad hugs me tight.
“How did the audition go?” I say, stepping back. Dad wears a red collared shirt that’s slightly wrinkled, probably from his flight, and his blond hair curls about his shoulders, no offending ponytail in sight. Mom’s back is to me in the kitchen, stirring something at the stove.
“Great, great,” Dad says, but his face falls a bit.
