The Boyfriend Bet (Boyfriend Chronicles #2) (3 page)

A pear-shaped, gray-haired woman entered the classroom and gave a grandmotherly smile. “My name is Ms. Ida. Everyone take a seat, please.”

Crap. Decision time.

Grant stalked into the room, looking like he wanted to rip someone’s head off. He approached the teacher and spoke to her in furtive whispers.

She patted him on the arm like he was a toddler. “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll love my class. Everyone does.”

Lips pressed together in a thin line, Grant turned to face the class. I took a seat at a table with three open spots hoping he’d join me. When he sat next to me, I did a happy dance in my head.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck in this stupid class.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

Someone was crabby. “For me, it was either this or art. I can’t draw a recognizable stick figure, so here I am.”

He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “I signed up for journalism, but some idiot overloaded the class. The teacher claims the guidance counselor checked all our schedules to see who would have to make the least changes in their schedule, and I was the lucky winner. If they’d gone by whose family made the largest contribution to Wilton Genetics, I wouldn’t be here.”

Okay. I was beginning to understand why my brother called Grant a jerk.

The girl to my left tapped me on the shoulder and passed me a stack of textbooks. I took the top book and passed the stack to Grant. He glared at the pile and shoved all of them to the girl on his right.

“You’re supposed to take one,” the girl said.

He didn’t bother responding.

“All eyes up here, please.” Ms. Ida stood in front of a white board. “Cooking is chemistry. If you understand what the components do, you can concoct wonderful creations. Man cannot live on carryout alone.” She laughed like this was hilarious and didn’t seem to care if anyone joined in.

“Now, can anyone tell me what baking powder does?”

“It makes things rise,” a girl answered.

“Yes it does. Baking soda releases carbon dioxide into the batter and acts as a leavening agent. For those of you who are wondering why you should care about this process.” She stared straight at Grant. “Let me give an example.” She removed the lid from a container on the desk and pulled out two cupcakes. One resembled a beach ball, which had lost most of its air. The other one was fat and round with a swirl of icing on top.

She replaced the cupcakes in the container, and then walked to the back of the room that was divided into tiny apartment sized kitchens. From a refrigerator she produced a metal tray covered in cupcakes.

“You don’t have to take one if you don’t want one, but I made these fresh this morning. It’s a new recipe I’m experimenting with called praline cream.” She carried the tray around and allowed each student at the table to take a cupcake. When she came to my table, the sweet caramel scent of the icing made my mouth water.

I grabbed the one with the most icing. “I think this is going to be my favorite class.”

“Thank you. Since you have such a positive attitude, I’ll partner you up with this young man.” She inclined her head toward Grant.

“It’s your lucky day,” I told Grant.

He looked at me like I was nuts.

“Take a cupcake, dear. It might sweeten your disposition.” Ms. Ida shoved the tray toward him.

He picked one off the tray and glared at me. While it was an impressive glare, I’d faced off with my brother for years, so it had little effect.

I leaned over and whispered, “I hate to tell you, but your fear-me-puny-human look doesn’t work on me.”

The corners of his mouth turned up for a moment before he slammed them back down into an exaggerated scowl. “How about now?”

I pulled the wrapper off my cupcake. “Now you look like a Muppet.”

Chapter Three

Grant

“I look like a ridiculous furry puppet. Is that what you’re saying?”

Zoe nodded and took another bite of her cupcake.

It was all I could do not to laugh. She seemed so satisfied with herself. Her eyes were bright, her face flushed. If we were anywhere but class I would’ve given in to my instinct to kiss her. In the mean time, I’d plot revenge for that comment.

“Class, if you’ll pair up with someone and come back to a kitchen, we’re going to go over measuring ingredients. Do be sure to write your name on the bags of ingredients. You’ll use them tomorrow to bake cupcakes.”

“Are you going to eat that?” Zoe pointed at the cupcake Ms. Ida had forced on me.

Now that I knew she was interested, I grabbed the cupcake and studied it. “Not right now. I’m going to keep it for later.”

“You’re just toying with me.” She headed for one of the kitchen areas.

When I joined her she held up a spoon with writing on it. “Do you know what this is?”

I leaned in to read the markings. “It says tablespoon, so I think we can safely assume it’s a tablespoon.”

“Smart ass,” she whispered so no one else could hear.

“Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer.” I picked up a smaller spoon and studied it. “They’re all labeled. I don’t know why people act like cooking is difficult.”

Her eyes went wide, which could only mean one thing. Ms. Ida must be standing behind me, so I improvised. “If I can learn how to do this, I’m sure anyone can.”

“I’m so glad you’ve come around.” Ms. Ida patted my shoulder and then moved on to the next kitchen.

Zoe sidled closer. “I saved you. You should give me your cupcake.”

“Wrong. You clued me in. I saved myself.”

“Then you should give me half your cupcake.”

“You already ate one cupcake.”

“So?”

“So this one is mine.”

“We’ll see about that.”

We took turns measuring out ingredients. It wasn’t hard. Once we had the right amount of flour, sugar, and salt measured into Ziploc bags, I wrote our names on them with a navy blue sharpie.

While we were working, I noticed Zoe wore a man’s watch. It looked old, and the hands weren’t moving. “Cool watch.”

She smiled. “Thanks. It was my grandfather’s.”

“Does it need a new battery?”

“No. It’s supposed to be self-winding, but it stopped working a while ago.”

“Then why do you wear it?”

“It reminds me of him.”

“Time to clean up your areas.” Ms. Ida walked around supervising. “We never leave a messy kitchen.”

“Good thing she’s never been to my house.” Zoe wiped the counter down and tossed the paper towel in the trash. “Jack is legendary for making a huge mess and then claiming he has to go mow the lawn. One time, I left his dishes in the sink for three days. He still didn’t clean them up.”

“And what did you do?”

“I threw a new red tee shirt in the washer with his whites, on accident of course. Turned all his underwear pink.” The evil grin on her face was contagious.

“Is it a constant war zone around your house?”

“No. There are moments of calm. My grandma is pretty good at keeping the peace.”

“You live with your grandma?”

“My grandma and my mom. After my dad and grandpa passed away, she moved into the big house with us.”

What did I say to that? I went with the obvious. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

I tried to lighten the mood. “Big house? Isn’t that what they call prisons in old movies?”

“My grandparents built themselves a smaller house on our property and gave the farm house to my mom and dad when my brother was born. Grandma said she didn’t need all those bedrooms, so they built a two bedroom house out back.”

“Sounds like you have your own compound.”

“We have our own water, a generator, and a huge garden. When the zombie apocalypse comes, we’ll be prepared.”

“Yes, but you’ll be stuck in the middle of a corn field with nothing to do.”

Her eyes narrowed. “There’s a ton of stuff to do. You can go fishing or swimming. What can you do at your house?”

“Watch TV, use the Internet, read.”

“First off, there wouldn’t be any electricity, so your TV and computer wouldn’t work. Second, you think I don’t have those things at my house? Why is that?”

And this fun conversation had taken a weird turn. “You do realize you’re getting mad about a zombie apocalypse scenario.”

The tone to dismiss class rang. She stomped over to her backpack and out the door.

I was beginning to think Zoe had anger management issues. I’d be better off staying away from her. Too bad. When she was sane, she was fun. I reached for my cupcake, but it was gone.

…

Zoe

How long would it take Grant to realize I’d stolen his cupcake? My next class was down the hall, so I leaned against the wall and waited for him to come find me. He appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, scanning the hall. There was something magnetic about him. It wasn’t just the dark hair and blue eyes. Maybe it was the way the school jacket and shirt fit like they’d been tailor-made for him, while some of the other boys looked like kids trying on their big brother’s clothes.

He spotted me, and stalked across the hall. I did my best to appear calm even though my nerves were going off like fireworks.

Giving a slow grin, I held out the half of the cupcake I hadn’t eaten.

He stood there for a moment, looking at me like I was crazy.

“What? It’s your half of the cupcake.”

He snatched it from my hand. “Two questions. Do you steal food on a regular basis? And, were you really mad back there or was that just a cover so you could steal my cupcake?”

“First, I only took the half of the cupcake which was rightfully mine. Second. I don’t plan ahead. I act on the spur of the moment. So yes, it ticked me off that you thought I was a farm girl who didn’t have Internet, TV, and books, but I seized the opportunity to take my half of the cupcake while you were distracted.”

“Okay.” He took a bite of cupcake while he seemed to consider the situation. “I didn’t mean you didn’t have electricity. My dad loves his gadgets and can’t bear to be without them, so we have backup battery storage on everything in the house, plus a generator.”

Okay…now what? Time to confess. “I might be sensitive about people looking down on me because I started off the day with this Lena girl calling me a hick.”

He stopped mid-chew, then hurried up and swallowed what was in his mouth. “You’re the girl who called Lena a bitch?”

“I figured everybody knew the story by now.”

“The story yes, but not your name.”

The way he spoke about Lena made it sound like he knew her. “Are you friends with her?”

“God, no. She’s my ex.”

And my stomach hit the floor. He’d dated Miss Perfect. Well, of course he had. He was Mr. Perfect.

“Odds are she was mean to you because she’s mad I kissed you yesterday. I think she wants us to get back together.”

“And what do you want?” I held my breath waiting for an answer.

“I want her to sink her claws into a new guy and leave me alone. Maybe we should introduce her to your brother.”

And I could breathe again. “Bad idea. I’d have to deal with her if she dated my brother.” The halls were clearing out. “You better go.”

The rest of the day flew by. Classes here didn’t seem harder than the ones I had before. But there seemed to be more worksheets. While the worksheets weren’t hard, they weren’t much fun, either.

After the final bell, Delia walked me back to Mr. Fletcher’s room. “Think Jack will remember you need a ride?”

“I hope so. It’s a long walk.”

“If he forgets, call me.”

Delia and I didn’t ride to school together, because she lived ten minutes in the opposite direction from Wilton. When she came to my house, there were back roads, which cut the drive to twenty minutes. But the main roads, which led to Wilton, took longer to travel.

“Thanks. Hopefully, I won’t need to call.”

She took off, and I went into Mr. Fletcher’s room. He pointed at three stacks of paper each three inches high. “One from each pile and then staple. Three papers each. Got it?”

“Got it.” I wanted to point out there were copy machines that stapled papers for you, but I didn’t think that would get me out of detention. So, I sat and stapled until my hand was sore. Then I stapled some more. The good news is, the half an hour flew by. The bad news is, my hand resembled a claw by the time I finished.

When time was up, Mr. Fletcher waved me out the door. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I bolted from the room and out the main entrance. Freedom. I took a deep breath of air, which still smelled like summer, but had a slight tinge of fall. Jack, who was supposed to be waiting in the parking lot, was nowhere to be seen. Neither was his car.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Yep.”

I jumped.

Jack laughed. “I owed you after yesterday. Come on, I moved the car to a side lot.”

“Jerk.”

…

Jack drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as we drove to school the next day. A sure sign he had something to say which he knew wouldn’t go over well.

“Spit it out.” I turned in my seat to face him.

“Here’s the thing. I know you think I’m telling you to stay away from Grant because he’s a dick, which he is, but that’s not the only reason. Guys like him might flirt with local girls. They might even go on a few dates with them, but they never take them to the big events. There’s a fall dance coming up at school. I’m telling you straight up, Grant won’t ask you.”

And now I wanted to punch him. “Where do you get off—?”

He spoke over me. “I’m trying to warn you. Snobs don’t date hicks.”

In his own, obnoxious way, Jack was trying to protect me. “I get the message, but you need to work on your delivery. Because it sucks.”

“It’s not like you’re ugly. Other guys might be interested, if you stopped hanging around Delia.”

“Oh. My. God. Could you be more of a jerk if you tried?”

The last ten minutes of the ride was spent in stony silence. He’d barely put the car in park when I jumped out. Delia waved at me from a bench. I stalked across the parking lot, so mad I was surprised flames weren’t shooting out of my nose. I joined her and opened my mouth to rant.

“This is for you.” She held out a cup of coffee.

“You are the best friend ever.” I sipped from the insulated cup and sighed.

“What did Jack say to tick you off this time?” she asked.

I gave her a brief overview of my conversation with my tact-impaired brother.

“Your brother is such a jerk.”

I tracked Jack’s progress from the car. He stopped and talked to several people who seemed happy to see him which was weird, since I avoided him as much as possible. Not that things had always been this way. Ever since the accident, he’d turned sort of angry at the world. I understood, because I was just as devastated by our dad’s and grandfather’s deaths as he was, but I didn’t take it out on him.

“Do you think what Jack said is true?” Delia asked. “About guys like Aiden and Grant not dating girls like us?”

“I hope not, because that would suck.” Not far from us, Grant and Aiden stood talking with two girls carrying designer backpacks. “Let’s perform a little experiment. I’m almost done with my coffee, and there’s a trashcan over there by Grant and Aiden. Let’s see if they say, hello.”

Delia held out her half full cup of coffee. “I’m not done.”

“Then you don’t have to throw yours away, but you’re coming with me.”

Delia knew arguing with me was a no-win situation. She’d learned this in kindergarten when she’d shoved me out of the chair I sat in because she wanted it. Of course, I shoved her right back and true friendship was born.

“Fine,” Delia said. “I’ll play along. Pretend I said something funny.”

I laughed. As we approached the objects of our social experiment, Delia became more animated. When we came even with Aiden, he glanced over and stared at her. Then in an unexpected move, he stepped in front of her blocking her path.

“You never answered my question yesterday. Why did you put pink stripes in your hair?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I’m not sure what to think of it.” He reached out and touched a hot pink strand next to her face. “It’s really your hair, isn’t it?”

The girl who’d had Aiden’s attention a moment ago shot death glares at Delia. And I was about to lose it and laugh out loud. Hoping to avoid an ugly scene, I continued on to the trashcan to toss my empty coffee cup.

On my return trip, I realized Grant hadn’t made eye contact with me once. He kept touching the girl he was talking to. Nothing too obvious, but he brushed his fingertips across her shoulder and down her forearm in a familiar way, which I’m pretty sure is non-verbal-guy-language for, “I want to kiss you.”

So, to recap, Aiden was touching Delia’s hair. Grant was touching Miss Designer Backpack. No one was touching me. The up side of this experiment? It proved my brother wrong. Sort of. Just not in my favor.

A warning tone for first hour rang through the quad. I forced myself not to glance in Grant’s direction as I joined Delia and we headed to class. As my brother had so tactlessly pointed out, while I wasn’t likely to be courted by an agency hunting for the next top supermodel, I wasn’t unattractive. I had modest curves, no different than most of the girls around me. I was average height. There had to be someone on campus, besides Grant, who might want to ask me on a date.

Once we were in first hour, I ignored Lena and concentrated on not receiving another detention. She seemed content to ignore me until I passed her a set of the worksheets I’d stapled the night before.

“Grant didn’t want a thing to do with you this morning,” she chirped as she took the papers.

I took a deep breath and blew it out. It was best not to respond. Responding could lead to yelling, which could lead to another detention. At the end of class when we passed the papers back up to Mr. Fletcher, she smiled like she’d won a prize.

A spark went off in my brain. I smiled right back at her. “He told me he’s done with you.”