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

Chapter Two

Zoe

“I can’t believe you did that.” My best friend, Delia, skipped a stone across the pond on the back of our property. “Oh wait a minute. You are the reigning drama queen so, yes, I can.”

“You know, I think a crown should come with that title.”

“I’ll bedazzle one for you. Now spill it.”

“You should’ve seen the look on Jack’s face.”

“Yeah, because that’s the highlight of the story.” She plopped down on the grass and patted the area next to her. “Get to the good part.”

I joined her on the ground, inhaling the scent of fresh cut grass. “It was the best kiss ever. I wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t nervous. It just happened like it was supposed to.”

“So it wasn’t like that time when Lee missed your lips and hit your chin?”

I cringed at the memory. “No. Nothing like that.”

She leaned back on her elbows and stared up at the sky. “Tell me about his friend.”

“Cute, blond, brown eyes, serious expression, looks like he’ll grow up to be a lawyer.”

“I do love serious boys. They’re so much fun to mess with. Maybe I’ll tell him I’m thinking about starting a cult.”

“You’re evil.”

“That’s why we get along so well.”

…

My alarm clock went off way too early the next day. The only good thing about being forced to wear a stupid blue and green plaid uniform was I didn’t have to agonize over what to wear the first day of school. I touched my favorite pair of Levi’s draped across the foot of my unmade bed. I planned to put them on the second I came home.

Next on the list, figure out what to do with my hair. For the past two years, I’d been growing it out, hoping to look like one of those actresses from a shampoo commercial. My hair hung past my shoulders down to my bra strap, but it sort of sat there, lifeless, brown, and in serious need of some highlights.

Maybe I’d have Jack stop at the drugstore on the way home so I could buy some hair color, and then I’d ask Delia to come over and work her magic. When I had tried highlighting my hair, it ended up looking like a kindergartener took a yellow marker to my head. When Delia did it, it was almost as good as the salon.

I grabbed my grandfather’s watch from my jewelry box and ran my fingers over the inscription on the back
Time matters less than the people you spend it with.
It was hard to believe he and my father had been gone for almost two years. I secured the black leather band around my wrist, using the extra hole I made with a nail so that the watch would fit. It still hung a little loose, but that was okay because when I was nervous, I played with it like a worry ring, turning it around and around on my wrist.

It had stopped working a few months ago, but I still wore it every day. It made me feel like a part of him was still around. Funny that I found memories of my grandfather comforting, but memories of my father knocked the wind out of me. Maybe it was because I was still mad at him.

I checked the time on my cell, twisted my hair into a knot, and put on some bronze-green eyeliner which, according to a magazine article I’d read, was supposed to make my eyes look more blue. I wasn’t sure if it worked but it didn’t make them look
less
blue. I added mascara and checked the results. Knowing I’d be attending school with girls who had unlimited budgets for makeup, hair, and shoes made my stomach hurt a little. At my former high school, everyone had worn the same type of jeans and shirts. There were a few girls who had gone all-out with hair and makeup, but the majority hadn’t.

Why am I worrying about this?
I belonged at Wilton just as much as anyone else. And I knew I wouldn’t be the only girl worrying about fitting in. My goal for the day was to keep things simple and blend in. I had no desire to make a name for myself, or be part of the popular crowd. I’d hang out with Delia, maybe make some new friends, nothing to worry about.

“Hurry up,” Jack yelled from downstairs.

When we pulled in the parking lot at school, Jack cut the engine and cracked his knuckles. “I know you, Zoe. If I tell you to stay away from Grant, you’ll go after him. Just remember, to him you’re nothing but a hick.”

Before I could return fire, he was out of the car. Fine. If he wanted to be a jerk, he could be. Why break an eighteen-year streak?

I checked my schedule before heading for my first class. The last thing I wanted to do was start the day off by going to the wrong room. Small clusters of students stood around in the parking lot, and on the quad, checking for old friends, and eying up the competition.

As I navigated my way across the stretch of concrete, I played with my grandfather’s watch, turning it in an endless circle. The cars were like a patchwork quilt of social class: BMW, Honda, Audi, Mercedes, Chevy, Acura, Ford. It’s not like some of the farmers in the area didn’t have money to buy high-end cars, but it was almost a source of pride that they didn’t. The snobs seemed to want everyone to know just how much money they had by the cars they drove. As long as a car had four wheels and took me where I needed to go, it was good enough for me.

I stepped foot onto the quad and checked out the other students. Maybe it was the school uniforms, but unlike my other school, no one here looked like a slacker. How hard would I have to work to maintain my B plus average? I was smart, though I had to work for my grades. Math and English were easy but science classes put me to sleep. No matter how exciting the teachers tried to make it, I couldn’t get into tectonic plates or the periodic table.

Since this was a small school, Delia and I would have most of our classes together. Lunch was a given since everyone ate at the same time. After coming from a public school where I could have been assigned one of three lunch periods, it was nice to know that worrying about who I’d eat lunch with on my first day wasn’t an issue.

The random groups of students grew into a shuffling crowd the closer I came to the main entrance of the school. The buildings were beautiful, made of old brick and large blocks of granite. They looked like those Ivy League colleges I’d seen in movies and on television. The savory scent of coffee drifted through the air. I noticed several students holding insulated paper cups with lids. Was there a place on campus where you could buy coffee before class? That would be awesome.

Once I made it over the threshold, I checked room numbers. Even though I’d done a walk-through yesterday, along with all the other new students, it never hurt to be cautious. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself by doing something stupid. My room, 107, was the fifth door on the left. Easy enough.

The seating chart on the chalkboard took care of figuring out where I’d sit. Unfortunately, there was a person seated between Delia and me. Since my last name started with a C and Delia’s last name was Desmond, I’d hoped we’d be seated together but some girl named Lena Clark sat between us. Hopefully, she’d be nice.

Students with coffee cups tossed them into a trashcan at the back of the room. The noise level in the hall increased. I, along with everyone else in the room, looked toward the door to see what the commotion was about. The most perfect girl in the world walked in. She had the perfect brunette ponytail. Perfect pink lips. Perfect curvy figure. Perfect unblemished skin. I stomped down my automatic hatred for her. It wasn’t right to hate someone because you envied him or her, my grandmother always tells me. I try to live by that rule. But as a highlighting impaired, not-so-curvy female, it’s not always easy.

When Miss Perfect checked the board for her name and came to sit behind me, I realized she must be Lena. Taking a deep breath, I turned to offer her a smile. She stared right through me. Of course my natural instinct was to cause a scene, so she’d have to pay attention to me, but I refrained. Despite what my mother thinks, I do have
some
self-control.

When Delia bounded into the room I laughed out loud. The school uniform must’ve been stifling her artistic personality, because she’d added hot pink stripes to her chemically enhanced platinum blond hair. At this point I wasn’t sure of her real hair color, but the stripes matched her eyeliner, which made her brown eyes look huge.

“Cool new look. When did you do that?”

She tossed her backpack on her assigned seat and came to lean against Princess Perfect’s desk. “Last night. I bought a box of blue. If you want, we can do yours tonight.”

Miss Perfect snorted and made a comment under her breath.

I was beginning to think my grandma would be okay with me hating this girl. “Did you want to join our conversation?” I asked.

“No. I don’t talk to hicks.”

I’d never had this word thrown at me like it was an insult. I never thought it would bother me, but it must’ve, because the words that popped out of my mouth were, “Better a hick than a bitch.”

“Congratulations, Zoe Cain. You win the first detention of the year,” an authoritative voice said from the doorway.

Great. My face burned as I met the teacher’s gaze, but I wasn’t about to apologize. Instead, I nodded, turned around, and faced the front of the room. I ground my teeth together as I listened to everyone around me whisper. I knew one thing for sure, Miss Perfect was going down.

The next sixty minutes of class took longer than my entire sophomore year. When the tone signaling the end of the period played over the loudspeaker, Mr. Fletcher said, “The bell doesn’t dismiss you. I dismiss you.”

I hate when teachers say that. It sounds like they’re playing God.

“Zoe Cain, please see me before you leave the room. The rest of you are free to go.”

Crap.

Delia signaled she’d wait for me in the hall. I trudged up to Mr. Fletcher’s desk doing my best to appear respectful.

“Zoe, from the answers you gave during our discussion today, I can tell you have great potential. Don’t let girls like Lena, or your temper, drag you down.”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy. “Where do I report for detention?”

“Come here. You can staple papers for me.”

I escaped the room and found Delia waiting in the hall. She handed me a Hershey’s kiss, part of the emergency chocolate stash she kept in her backpack.

“Thank you.”

“Chocolate makes everything better.” She bumped me with her hip. “Think about it this way. You’re starting the school year with an I-don’t-take-crap-from-anyone reputation.”

I half-listened while the chocolate melted on my tongue, creating instant joy. Too soon, it was gone. I held my hand out, palm up. “One isn’t going to cut it.”

She dug out two more foil wrapped candies and passed them to me. “That’s it. Unless you’re bleeding, there’s a three kiss limit.”

“That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard,” a male voice said.

We glanced back. Aiden and Grant walked behind us.

“Hershey’s kisses,” Delia clarified.

“Oh.” Aiden seemed to think about it. “That makes more sense.” And then he pointed at Delia’s hair. “Why did you do that?”

I interrupted before Delia could answer. “Delia, meet Aiden and Grant.”

“Hey.” Grant smiled at me and my anger over detention drifted away.

“You’re right. He does look like a lawyer,” Delia said.

“I look like a lawyer?” Grant sounded offended.

“No. Aiden does.” I noticed the room number across the hall. “That’s us. See you later.”

…

For the next two hours, I played the model student. This was made easier by the fact that neither my second or third hour teachers seated us in alphabetical order. Lena sat near the windows, so I stayed by the door. Putting a little distance between us seemed like a good idea.

When the tone sounded for lunch, Delia and I escaped out onto the quad and headed over to the cafeteria. Unlike our previous cafeteria, it wasn’t made of cinderblocks and it didn’t smell like old grease. It looked and smelled like a restaurant, which served actual edible food. That alone might be worth the cost of tuition. Plus the long rectangular room had windows lining three of the walls, letting in a ton of light.

“So where do we sit?” Delia asked.

Students had staked out about two thirds of the round tables with their backpacks or notebooks. “Let’s grab our food first, and then we’ll figure it out.”

A boy walked by with three slices of pizza on his plate. Real pizza. Not the weird rectangular pizza they normally serve in school cafeterias.

“Pepperoni,” Delia said.

“You read my mind.”

Once we’d filled our plates, it was time to play, Pick-a-table.

Delia pointed to the single empty table near the windows. “Want to sit over there?”

All the tables by the windows were staked out except that one. Was there a reason it was empty? Grant and Aiden were at a table across the room, which was already full. And it wasn’t like they’d invited us to join them. I checked our other options. “Jack is over there. Let’s swing by his table and ask him how this works.”

My brother saw us coming and frowned.

“Don’t worry, we’re not coming to sit with you. I wanted to know if it mattered where we sat.”

He pointed at the table by the windows. “Anyplace but there.”

“Why?”

“Because teachers sit there.”

“Good to know.”

“No problem. Now go away.”

“One more thing. I may be late getting to the car after school, because I have—”

“Detention.” He actually smiled. “Good job. I think receiving a detention the first hour on first day is a new school record.”

“Gee, maybe they’ll give me a medal.”

…

After lunch Delia headed to art class, while I went to Foods. The school required one creative elective a semester. Delia could draw almost anything, but she couldn’t touch my coconut lime bars. I loved to bake and I’d been cooking dinner for my family since I was ten, so this class should be easy. There was a seventy to thirty percent ratio of girls to boys in the class. Most of the students sat at rectangular tables. A few loners stood off to the side. I recognized the where-the-heck-am-I-supposed-to-sit expression on their faces, because I’m pretty sure it was the same one I wore. Why did everything in life seem to come down to figuring out where you belonged?