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fictional, then you won't have a family that my parents need to meet. I just need someone to pick me up in a car once in awhile and—”
“No. Stop. Absolutely not.”
“ Yes! It's perfect and you know it. I get the normal , you get the money, we both get the letters of recommendation. Plus, Mr. Foley gets two interns for the price of one. Say yes.” She blinks.
“Impossible.” I blink back. “You—you have no idea what you're asking me. I'm really busy,” I beg, hoping she will believe this is all about me—not her. “I work another job—at the sports complex, and I take care of my grandmother. No. Too complicated.”
I stand and pace the length of the room re-reading the items on her list. Even if I did agree, how would I be able to hide my identity from her pit-bull parents? If they ever found out they'd skewer me. Hell…I have to admit…she's right. It's a good idea. Could we pull it off if she doesn't use my real name? I rake my hands through my hair. “No. No. It's insane. It's impossible.”
I look back. She's crossed her arms and is tapping her ugly shoe on the carpet.
“You're doing it again,” she says.
“What?”
“You're turning all pasty and greenish. And you're muttering to yourself again. Can't you at least hide your complete aversion to me? A few more minutes in your company and I might as well go tie myself to a train track.”
“Don't say that. Don't even joke about it! The idea of ten weeks with a single, locked-down girlfriend—even the fake kind—gives me all over body hives. Sue me for making a face about that . I don't think you've thought any of this through. It would involve all of our friends, parents—even if we don't use my real name—text messaging, emails—and a lot of time. Time is something I don't have to burn. Plus, it would kill the variety of…of…yeah… girl fun in my summer,” I imply, wondering if she'll call my bluff. The only real summer varieties I score are the extra odd jobs I pick up at the rink.
She turns bright red and I have to hide my smile.
“Disgusting,” she snorts and reverts back to rubbing her temples. “But, if I can't convince you, then maybe you could put in a good word with one of your friends? One who isn't such a boy whore like you?”
“What?” I gasp. Amazed. She's hit me in the gut all over again. “If…if I say no , you—you—mean to ask someone else ? Are you completely mental?”
“I thought we'd covered that topic. Are you completely slow? YES. I'm mental. This is why I have a list called ‘how to be normal'.”
My heart twists because I think she truly believes that. “You'll be destroyed by gossip. Approaching anyone else would be social suicide. You can not tell anyone else this plan!”
She grimaces. “Would you stop yelling? My head split in half five minutes ago. No need to drain out what's left. Besides, I'm way beyond worrying about gossip that's applied to me. I'm sure I could find someone who would take $8K to pretend date me this summer.”
When I meet her gaze, I can tell she's in major pain but I'm almost sure it's got nothing to do with the bump on her head like she's been swearing.
I take in a deep breath, and slowly return to sit beside her on the couch. “Why don't you just try to get a boyfriend the usual way? You know…meet people. Talk. Be nice? Save your money,” I whisper.
“I don't… I can't…” She whispers back, not meeting my gaze. “I'm not like that. You wouldn't understand.”
But I do understand. And I hate that I do.
Before she can say more, Mr. Foley is back in the room. “Okay! Problem solved. Who's first?” He nods at me. “Ready, Mr. Porter? I can't wait to see your product ideas.”
“Ready.” I hand Jess the list and stand.
I make the mistake of giving her one last glance. I sort of expect to see her about to cry, but she surprises me again. Her expression has turned defiant, challenging. I'm pretty sure she's shooting me a bright blue, F-U with those big, closed-off