Page 39 of It's in the Contract
Zeke grins and rips off a chunk of muffin top. “I need to have it all. Snow, crunchy leaves. Everything.”
“The leaves do change here, but we very rarely get snow,” I concede, tilting my coffee cup in his direction.
“And, well,” Zeke hesitates. “Nebraska is where I made some of my closest friends. Friends I really thought I’d stay in touch with. I see them sometimes on social media, pictures of them all hanging out together without me . . .” He clears his throat and trails off.
My heart twinges.
“I had a friend who I thought was my Suzy,” Zeke says.
“Your Suzy?”
“I mean, my best friend. Someone who would care about me forever.” Zeke trails off, staring out the window. A woman and toddler pass by, and she’s holding the little boy’s hand in one of hers and a large frog umbrella in the other. “He promised that we’d keep in touch. But it starts to feel pointless after a while when you’re the only one reaching out.”
“I’m so sorry, Zeke.” I offer the rest of the muffin to him, but he shakes his head.
“You finish it.”
I grudgingly oblige. Mom’s not here to disapprove, right? And yolo. That’s what I tell myself to take away the sting of guilt that should not accompany eating a delicious muffin but I feel anyway.
“That’s what this is all for, right?” Zeke says. “The whole—” he looks side to side—“fake friend thing? So that will never happen again.”
He’s putting on a cheerful attitude, and my heart hurts for him.
“How long have you and Suzy known each other?” Zeke asks, swirling his coffee cup so the whipped cream gets mixed in with the coffee. Weirdo. Everyone knows you have to keep them separated as long as humanly possible.
I smile. “I met Suzy in third grade. I was the weird girl in the back of the classroom with huge buck teeth and pigtails high up on my head that I insisted my mom do for me every morning. I always wanted her to tie in the biggest, sparkliest ribbons.” I shake my head. “Suzy complimented my hair when everyone else made fun of me. I didn’t care so much back then, what other people thought. I just wanted to be me. It’s hard when people don’t accept you for who you are, when they make you feel like you have to change . . .” I bite my lower lip. “Suzy asked me to play Harry Potter during recess and that was that. She’s been my best friend ever since.”
“That’s amazing.” Zeke shakes his head. “I don’t know anyone who’s had a friend and stayed loyal to them for so long.”
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right friend,” I say.
Zeke pauses, and I worry that I’ve said something wrong, but then he chuckles. “How exactly does one ‘play Harry Potter’?”
I flush. “Oh, you know, wave twigs at each other while shouting at the top of your lungs, ‘Expelliarmus’ and ‘Avada kedavra’.”
Zeke gasps. “Not the killing curse!”
I laugh and finish the last of my coffee, feeling warm and energized for the fun day we have planned.
I hold up my phone for a selfie with Zeke. “Say, ‘coffee’!” I snap the pic and tap out my caption, talking about how much funI’m having hanging out with my new friend, Zeke. At the end of the caption I have a call to action, asking people to vote for me and directing them to the link in my bio. A lot of my followers also go to our school, so the link will work for them and they’ll be able to vote. Outside of our school, no luck, but it’s the best plan I’ve got.
“What’s your Instagram handle?” I ask.
“@zekeharrisgaming.”
I tag Zeke, and my finger hovers over the “post” button. I take a deep breath.
“And you’re sure your parents are going to see this? Do they check your Instagram?”
“Oh yeah.” Zeke sucks a muffin crumb from his finger. “All the time.”
I hit post and glance up to find Zeke watching me. I show him the picture. “Just posted it. Ready to get out of here?”
He stands and holds out a hand to help me up. “Ready!”
“That is disgusting.”
I laugh. Zeke’s face is too good. I snap a picture. When I look at it, I laugh again. He’s got this horrified look on his face, and the famous Pike Place gum wall is behind him in all its shades of gum glory.
