Page 109 of It's in the Contract
Dana checks the time on her phone. The rainbow hair streaks were temporary, just for Homecoming, and she’s changed it again to a single streak of purple. The rest of her hair looks a tad darker than it did before. “We better get going.”
I toss our plates in the trash. “You guys will be there for me?” I look around at my friends.
“Always, Cal,” Suzy says.
“And I have a whole pack of baby wipes.” Dana pulls a giant pack of fragrance-free wipes from her purse.
I give her a hug. “Thanks. I love your hair like that, by the way.”
“Oof,” Dana says. When I pull back, she’s beaming. “Thank you.”
We head toward the booth where the Homecoming losers are going to get pied.
Brielle’s already there, wearing a pink sequined tank top. Does she think she’s going to keep that clean? I’m wearing an old cheer T-shirt and my hair is up in a tight bun, curtain bangs pinned back. I know I’ll still get dirty, but hopefully the damage will be minimal. Beth and Hana are already at their places. Beth stares ahead stoically, but Hana looks like she might be sick.
I take my place next to Beth behind the booth, and my stomach does a flip. This is going to be awful.
But. I find that there’s a flicker of hope inside of me that I really can change. That I can let all the mean comments on social media and the gossip roll off of me. Because getting a pie in the face is definitely not the end of the world, even if there is a group gathering on the lawn to watch. This humiliating event, something that would’ve had me anxious for days before, isn’t so bad.
A crowd is forming, mostly students and some families, to witness the event. Suzy, Zeke, and Dana stand at the forefront of the group. I catch Zeke’s eye and smile.
“I cannotbelieve they’re making us do this,” Brielle wails. A tear rolls down her cheek.
“Oh, shut up, Brielle,” Beth growls. “You’re making it worse.”
Brian steps forward with a mic. His bowtie today is bright orange. “All right, ladies. It’s time.” He turns back to the crowd. “Are you ready to see these beautiful girls get pied?”
At a table to our right sit four deliciously creamy, luscious-looking pies. They’re banana cream, with homemade vanilla pudding on top of an all-butter crust piled with mounds of fresh whipped cream. I know because I made them.
The crowd claps and whoops. Zeke looks worried for me, so I give him a wider smile.
“Without further ado.” Brian turns back to us and sets down the mic. Three other boys from the school step forward and each takes a pie from the table.
Oh bleh. This is going to be so gross.
“And one . . .” Brian calls. He steps closer to me and lowers his voice. “Don’t worry, Callie. I’ll go easy on you. No cap.” He winks then continues on in a louder voice. “Two . . . THREE!”
Brielle screams, but she’s cut off by the sound of wet whipped cream and pudding slapping against skin.
I shut my eyes and hold my breath. There’s a whoosh of air, and then ice cold, gooey pudding smooshes against my face and gets in my hair despite my efforts. I gasp, my lips parting. This feels sooooo unbelievably gross, but the pudding that does get in my mouth is sweet and creamy.
I blink open my pudding-encrusted eyelashes and give the crowd a smile and a thumbs up. Everyone’s laughing at us, and Brielle is making it worse by crying and frantically flinging pudding off her face.
Brian hands me a towel, and I wipe off the pudding as best as I can. Dana rushes forward with her pack of wipes to finish removing the sticky goo.
Phone lights flash, and people are definitely recording. This will for sure go up on social media to be seen by a lot of people.
I wait for the swoop of worry in my stomach, but it doesn’t come.
Forty-Seven
TWO MONTHS LATER
Remindme why I’m doing this again?
Sweat pours down my face. I’m sitting at a table across from a girl from a rival high school, and we’re both working on the same calc problem. It’s been a grueling day of solving equation after equation, and my brain is exhausted.
The final problem is written on a pristine white paper in front of me, and I don’t immediately know how to solve it. Stress worms its way through my stomach. Everyone is counting on me, and the answer is not presenting itself.
