One of the Guys (11 page)

“Okay. MONEY,” Lemon says. “Not everyone understands the nature of love, but everybody gets the nature of money. Name your price, Tonya.”

“It's Toni,” I correct.

Emma falls back a step, hiding behind a false quiet persona.

“I need a boy for next Friday night,” Lemon continues. “A boy who can be mature about my relationship. Which means he won't ask to watch us kiss or anything stupid like that. Oh, and he should also have a car. He should know how to say a complete sentence. He should also have some manners because my parents will have to meet him.”

As I open my locker and drop my book bag on the floor, Lemon slides something into my palm. A large wad of cash. I look at her, perplexed. The desperation behind her green eyes is sort of disturbing.

“I can't take this.” I try to hand the cash back, but Lemon folds her hands behind her back and shakes her head. Across the hall, I catch Shauna Hamilton glaring at me. She looks suspicious. I hide the money behind the locker door, praying no one sees it and labels me a drug dealer. Or a guy dealer.

“That should get me one reliable guy for Friday night,” Lemon says. I open my mouth to protest, but Lemon interjects in an unsteady voice that shuts me up. “Please, Toni.”

I press my business book against my chest, pondering her offer. I don't know if I can get her what she wants. Loch will probably be working Friday. But—Ollie. Cowboy. They might be available. I don't want to admit this to Lemon or anyone, but I'm not as dude-savvy as I once was. I think the plaid skirt is scaring them away this year.

Instead, I tell her I'll do my best, and that seems to be good enough for her. She hugs me before skipping down the hallway, singing a love song I don't recognize as her black bob disappears into the thinning crowd.

I adjust my basketball shorts again. What am I getting myself into?

Emma tries to slink away, but I grab the strap of her bag, holding her in place. “Not so fast,” I say. “I didn't know I was starting a service here.”

“I'm not the only girl around here who could use a dependable guy,” Emma says, pulling her hair back into a sleek ponytail. “Some of us need a trustworthy platonic male. I wouldn't be a good friend if I didn't tell Lemon how you helped me.”

I let go, close my locker, and lean against the cold metal, sighing. “I'm glad you're back with Kevin. You look happy.” She really does. A subtle glow oozes from her cleansed pores.

“I'm not back with Kevin.” She smooths a loose hair.

“I'm confused.” I make a face. “How did I help you then?”

“You made him realize his mistake,” Emma says, examining her nails. “But I won't take him back right away. Nope. He needs to suffer.”

Her ponytail flaps behind her as she disappears around the corner. I stare at the money in my hand. I still don't know about this. After several moments, the first bell rings. I tuck the cash inside my book and hurry off to class.

After lunch, I settle into a bathroom stall, close the door, and lean against the brick wall, feeling the weight of the money in my palm. I count it. Twice. Lemon handed me $200 to rent my best friend on Friday night. Just to pick her up, chat up her parents for a few minutes, and then drop her off later. As easy and simple as a chauffeur service.

$200
.

I remember what Emma said. About other girls needing my help. How many Winston girls needed a fake date? How much would they pay for one?

345 girls at Winston. Approximately 30 Friday nights in a school year. Based on Lemon's $200 fee for each Friday night date, that's a $10,345 profit for the year. If I provide a second or third guy for another date that same night, that number triples. Maybe a young lady would need to rent a boy for a fake study date on a Tuesday or something.

Bam.

Another $200.

A semester's tuition at UVM is something like $27,000, including room and board. I looked it up when he told me about his situation. Loch could save cash by living at home for the year, but I doubt he would want to do that. Plus, I could charge more. If demand increases and supply remains unchanged, the price for goods will increase.

There's a demand.

I've got the goods.

I know three trustworthy gentlemen for the job. Well, maybe not exactly
gentlemen
, but I could work on that. Help them become whoever they need to be for a particular evening.

No sex stuff. That I want to be clear on. Just friends helping friends with money. What could be the harm in that?

I run my fingertips over the bills, folding them before sliding them into my sock. I smile, pull out my phone, and text the guys. If cash won't get us all back together, nothing will.

eleven

A
WEEK LATER, THE GUYS AND
I
ARE
together again. At last! All four of us! We're watching Monday Night Football in the Garrys' basement. It's not the monster hunt I had proposed—Ollie and Cowboy didn't want to miss the game—but I'll take what I can get.

The New England Patriots (Boo! Hiss! Boo!) are playing the Indianapolis Colts (Yay! Yeah! Woo!). I'm the only one rooting for the Colts. My dad was a huge Colts fan and spent a large chunk of his childhood in Indiana. Some of my earliest memories involve my dad, football, and a giant mound of nachos. A picture of me sitting on Dad's shoulders, my arms raised, both of us dressed in Colts' gear, sits on the mantel in the living room. A thin layer of dust covers it now because Mom often skips over it when she cleans. I think she's afraid to look at it too closely, like she might get sucked into the past and forget about her new life with Brian.

During halftime, I propose my business plan to the guys. The Colts are winning (naturally) so they're all in a bit of a bad mood, but I hope to change that.

“Gentlemen! I have gathered you here today for a very specific purpose,” I announce. I stand on an overturned trash can as the basement buzzes with subdued chatter and random belches.

Loch shifts his weight on the crumb-filled couch. “Finally!” he says. “Get to the
money
you mentioned. Don't make me sit through more football.”

Cowboy is hunched in a brown armchair in the corner, happily flipping through his American History textbook, waiting for halftime to be over. Ollie is slouched beside Loch on the couch, sipping a Mountain Dew. Some dribbles down his chin as he stares at the television. He won't look at me and keeps checking his watch every five minutes. I get it. He's still mad. This will fix it, though. This plan will make everything better again.

I need all of them in on this, not just Loch, although he will benefit the most. If I can get all three involved, we can bring in more money. Plus, this is something we can do together. Life can be like old times again. We can bridge the divide.

“It also involves
women
,” I add. All eyes on me. I smile, struggling to keep my balance as the trash can wiggles beneath my weight. “I need you, gentlemen. The girls at Winston need you.”

“Again. You mentioned
money
,” Loch says, impatient.

“Emma isn't the only girl at my new school in need of a fake date,” I continue. “Winston girls don't have much opportunity to forge male friendships. They've had boyfriends, sure, but no one they can really trust. Boys, according to them, have very bad intentions. They've never known the benefits of a platonic relationship with the opposite sex or the favors that may come with such friendships.”

Ollie raises his hand. “I have bad intentions. Very. Bad. Intentions.”

I point to him and say, “You want to fall in love, Ollie. It's obvious from the stash of romantic comedies you keep under your bed.”

“So what are the Winston girls like?” Cowboy asks.

“Giving up on Katie Morris so soon?” Ollie reaches into a bag of chips and stuffs his face.

Cowboy reddens. Again. “I bored her at your party, man. She couldn't get away from me fast enough.”

“That can be fixed,” I say. “She'll come around.”

Cowboy shrugs and focuses on the textbook in his lap. Poor Cowboy. He's just too shy. If he could open up a little more, Katie would absolutely give him a chance. They've got a lot in common. I need to figure out a way to help him grow some confidence.

“These Winston girls are super-intelligent,” I say. “Ambitious.”
Intimidating. Scary. Terrifying
. “They just need guys,” I continue, keeping those thoughts to myself. “Guys they can use in platonic ways.”

“Use?” Loch asks. “Like how?”

“To make a boyfriend jealous. To piss off the parents. To please the parents. Whatever. You will become an alibi,” I say. “You will become a false door. Your job is to be a trustworthy gentleman and hide the truth. I would like to allow them access to three
dependable
guys. We'll split your date fees down the middle, so you each get paid for the time you put in. No pooling tips.”

Loch frowns and scratches his stubble. “This sounds like an escort service.”

“It's not an escort service,” I say, folding my hands. “There will be no exchange of fluids. This is a platonic and disease-free service. It will be no different than renting a car. Or a tuxedo.”

Loch raises his hand. “I've had sex in my car. While wearing a tuxedo.”

Cowboy groans. “Do you have to remind us every day?”

“Pretty sure this is the first time I've brought it up,” Loch says with a shrug.

After the reminder that Loch is the only non-virgin in the room, the trash can tips over, sending me flying forward. I land on my elbows with a giant thud. “Damn,” I mutter as Ollie bursts into laughter.

He stands and claps. “Nice one! So elegant!”

Asshole
. I feel someone's hand on my back. Loch helps me to my feet, checking my elbows for rug burn. I think he asks me something, but all I can hear is Ollie's irritating laughter. I kick the trash can, and it slams against the wall with a huge
clank
. Ollie's laughter stops.

“It's not funny!” My cheeks burn. “Would you even care if I legitimately hurt myself?”

Ollie's voice raises, drowning out the TV. “Do you even care that I can't go to snowboarding camp in Colorado because of you?”

The room is quiet. Too quiet. I suck in air, trembling. So I haven't been forgiven. Clearly. I talk slow. “I'm sorry you have to pay for your camp, Ollie. That sucks big time. It was a stupid prank, but I doubt it's the sole reason you're in trouble with your parents.”

“She's trying to help us make money,” Loch says, resting his hand on Ollie's shoulder. Ollie steps away, glaring at me. “Money you could put toward the camp. Didn't you listen to anything she said?”

“Did
you
listen? It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” Ollie spits. “Of course you would defend her.”

Loch clenches his jaw. Ollie looks away. Sips his soda. Sulks. This feels deeper than snowboarding camp. Am I missing something here? Why is Ollie so disappointed that he'll be stuck here for the summer? We're here. That should mean something.

“Game's back on,” Cowboy says, closing his textbook. He hunches over, looking uncomfortable.

“I'm going home,” Ollie says, pulling at his ear. “I just remembered. I have to help Jason with something.”

When Ollie stands, I step in front of him, puffing my chest out as if this will somehow make me taller or meaner or somehow more acceptable to him. He acts like we're inconveniences. Like we don't matter. Like he'd always rather be somewhere else. That's starting to piss me off.

I poke him in the chest. “Challenge.”

“You're delusional,” Ollie says, waving his hand in my face. “And stuck in sixth grade.” He moves past me, headed for the stairs.

“
Chicken
,” I whisper.

Ollie glares at me, his nostrils flaring. Ha. No matter how much he wants to move on, to grow up, to go to some stupid camp across the country, there are still some things about him that remain the same. He can't turn down a Challenge. Hasn't been able to since sixth grade.