Page 60 of Didn't See That Coming

“Yeah.” Cassie winces. “Even telling you to reassure him gave me the ick. No, you should definitely stand up to him. I think maybe there isn’t much you can do aside from sucking it up and going out with him until the Spring Dance. Oh, and you could be the worst-ever girlfriend in the meantime. Maybe he’ll get so annoyed that he’ll break up with you before then.” She glances at her watch. “Oh shoot, I have to go. It’s almost dinnertime. You got this.”

My stomach churns as I watch Cassie leave. I do not have this. Not even close. This is a nightmare scenario. With a groan, I flop onto my seat and log back on toWarfront Heroes.But when the theme song starts up, the familiar, dramatic notes remind me of how Jonas knows about me andWarfront Heroes.A choked cry of frustration burbles up my throat, and I slam my laptop shut. I can’t believe Jonas has ruined not just school for me butWarfront Heroestoo.

My phone beeps with a message from Discord.

Sourdawg:Hey, did I see you log on toWHfor a second and then log off? Everything OK?

For the first time ever, reading a message from Sourdawg doesn’t make me feel good. In fact, it makes me feel like crying.

True to his promise—or, rather, his threat—Jonas picks me up from my house on Monday morning. Mami practically squeals and claps with excitement when she sees his flashy Aston Martin outside our house.

“Aren’t you afraid that he might speed and we might get into an accident?” I point out helpfully.

Mami gives me a look. “Where, pray tell, can you speed in Jakarta?”

I hate to admit it, but she’s right. Jakarta traffic is notoriously bad. Most streets have stop-and-go traffic. Even if Jonas wanted to, there’s no way he can go over twenty-five miles an hour unless he goes outside the city.

I can only watch helplessly as Mami steps out of the house. Jonas climbs out of his ridiculous car and saunters up our driveway, waving at us. When he reaches the doorstep, he gives us a winning smile and hands Mami a box.

“Hi, Tante. Mami says to give you this. It’s macarons, straight from Pierre Hermé in Paris. She had it ordered especially for you when she heard that Kiki and I are”—he pauses for a second to give a bashful smile—“going out.”

Mami practically swoons at that. She grabs the box and clasps it to her chest. “Oh, you are such a good child! What a polite Chinese boy you are! Jonas, have you had breakfast? Can I get you anything?”

“We’re going to be late,” I say flatly, pushing past Mami, keeping my glare locked on Jonas and his smarmy face.

“Kiki!” Mami snaps.

“She’s right, Tante,” Jonas says with an easygoing shrug. “We should get to school.”

“Have a wonderful day!” Mami says. “And please thank your mami for the macarons.” I know she’s already frantically scouring her mental list of patisseries to find the perfect thank-you gift for Jonas’s mom. It’s going to be an ongoing battle where they are stuck in this hellish loop, each one sourcing more expensive gifts for the other until they realize they just dropped five grand on a cream puff and call a truce.

“Great job sucking up to my mom.” I refuse to meet his eye as he opens the passenger door for me.

“It’s called having manners. You might want to try it sometime.” He lets me in with a flourish and gives one last wave to Mami, who’s still standing on our doorstep like some 1950s housewife seeing her husband off as he leaves for Wall Street.

Jonas is a surprisingly good driver. I fully expected him to be a complete douche on the road, bullying everyone like he does in person, but he carefully maneuvers the car and doesn’t speed. Then I realize he’s so careful because he doesn’t want to accidentally nick his precious car, because of course. I bethe’s one of those jerks who call their cars their baby and make kissy noises at them as they wash them with gentle caresses.

He glances at me. “How was your weekend?”

“Oh god, no.”

“No what?” He actually looks confused.

“No, let’s not do small talk.” I maintain eye contact with him and give him a defiant smile as I put on my headphones.

“So rude.” He laughs. Then he reaches over and actually pulls off my headphones. He does so gently, but it’s still soshocking, an actual violation of my personal space. When my mouth drops open, he gives me a look. “Come on, Kiki. Let’s not behave like toddlers.”

I grind my teeth. I have never in my life wanted to hit someone as much as I want to hit Jonas Arifin. How long do I have to keep this up? The answer floats up like a bubble of toxic gas from a swamp. Until he gets bored of me. Yes, of course. And he will, no doubt about that, because privileged rich kids like Jonas have one thing in common: they get bored very easily. They can’t help it. They grew up getting anything they wanted. When you have access to all the toys the world has to offer, it doesn’t take long for you to get bored with the ones you have and move on to the next thing. And to Jonas, I’m nothing more than a toy.

Okay, new strategy: I am going to bore the hell out of Jonas. I’m going to be such an uninteresting, droning, tedious girlfriend that he’s going to beg me to leave him alone.Good plan, self.

I turn to Jonas and smile. “I had a great weekend, actually.”

“Oh?” He brightens up, and I nearly laugh in his face. This asshole thinks I’m actually about to share how my weekend went with him because I want to.

“Yeah, so I spent it…” I consider topics that he might find boring. Knitting? Gardening? “Scrapbooking.”

“Really? I didn’t think you’d be into that sort of thing.” The disdain in his voice comes through loud and clear.

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