Page 27 of It's in the Contract
Zeke raises an eyebrow.
“I want to add some sprinkles,” I say. “I want to spread on some tie-dye swirl frosting and snickerdoodle cinnamon sugar and chocolate chunks.” Excitement fills my voice, but a huge dose of nerves does a back handspring in my stomach. If I can’t even let people know how good at math I am, this is going to be brutal.
“I thought you told my mom you couldn’t bake?—"
I ignore Zeke. “I need your help. With you—” I gesture up and down Zeke’s body. “Being you, plus the exposure your channel could give me, you have something to offer. And I hope I can help you with your problem, too.”
Zeke tilts his head, thinking. “This could actually work.”
I hold in my squeal of excitement. “Of course it’s going to work!” I dig in my backpack and pull out a pink notebook and fuzzy fuchsia pen. “Let’s lay down some ground rules.”
“Ground rules?”
“Of course!” I say. “Haven’t you seen any romcoms? Fake relationships need rules.” I hesitate, my pen poised above the paper. There are a million reasons not to do this. People will talk, that’s for sure. And Zeke is so . . . Zeke. With his dorky t-shirts and Dungeons and Dragons set up.
But I have to beat Brielle. And I can see no other way to do it.
My pen clicks, and at the top of the paper I write, “Contract for Zeke and Callie’s Friendship.”
I write a “1)” and look at Zeke expectantly.
His eyes widen. “Why are you looking at me? You’re the one who’s seen the romcoms.”
I smile and talk as I write, “Rule number one: We must eat lunch together three out of five days of the week.” I look up at Zeke. “That okay?” Maybe I should’ve asked before writing it down. For all I know, he likes eating lunch alone.
But Zeke gives me a warm smile. “I’d like that.”
The rain still pounds on the windshield, and a chill is settling in the air now that Zeke’s turned the car off and we’re sitting in the driveway. “Rule number 2.” I think for a moment. “We must do at least one thing outside of school a week, with or without my friends, not including tutoring. We will post a picture of our activities on social media for the nerd crowd and your parents to see.”
Zeke nods his approval, and I write it down. “We’ll hang out with the girl with red-streaked hair and your Korean friend.”
“Rule number three: Zeke must learn Callie’s friends’ names.”
Zeke grins. “I’ll do my best.”
“Rule number 4,” I talk and write. “Zeke must help convince the nerds to care about Homecoming and vote for Callie.” I hesitate. “Rule number 5: he must join Callie for Chick-Flick-Fridays at least once a month.”
Zeke groans. “Chick-Flick-Friday? No.”
I grin. “That’s my price. Take it or leave it.”
“I’m going to add a rule.” Zeke grabs the notebook and pen and writes something down without telling me what it is.
“What? What’s your rule?” I’m insanely curious.
Zeke hands the notebook back, and I read, “Rule number 6: Zeke must always have Callie’s back.”
I freeze, strangely touched. I clear my throat. “That’s . . . that’s a good rule.”
“And one more.” Zeke takes the notebook back and again doesn’t tell me what he’s writing.
When he hands it back I read, ”Rule number 7: Callie must play video games with Zeke at least once.”
I look up, my eyes wide. “I am not doing that. Take that rule off.”
“If I have to suffer through chick flicks, you are going to try my favorite game. Plus, my YouTube channel is all videogame walk-throughs. How are you going to appear on it without playing?”
I hesitate. “Good point.” Have I been thorough enough? “Isn’t your favorite game Dungeons and Dragons or whatever?”
