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cologne that smells kind-of woodsy and a little citrusey.
    “You smell nice,” I say, opening my water. Then I notice he’s wearing better jeans and a light-brown polo. His hair’s also neater. It’s like he planned to look cute today or something.
    “Thanks,” he says, but his voice breaks my distraction. It’s too loud.
    “Talk low. I don’t want this getting out.”
    A sly look enters his eyes. “You spiked the Kool-aid?”
    “What?”
    “Sorry. I thought we’d moved on to the next harebrained scheme.”
    “Would you focus? This is all your fault, you know.”
    “How so?” He stabs a nugget with his fork.
    “I’ve been working for weeks to get Trent to ask me out, and then you ruined it all in two seconds.”
    “I’m fast. But why the wait? Why didn’t you just ask him to the luau yourself?”
    “I had to wait because he’d just broken up with Stephanie Miller.” I stab at my salad, remembering those miserable days. I could still see Trent holding her hand, her smiling blissfully back at him. Ugh.
    “And anyway, I don’t do that.”
    “Do what?”
    “Ask guys out.”
    “Why not?”
    “Not relevant.”
    Then he leans back in his chair, studying me. “Is this one of those ‘nice girls don’t ask guys out’ things?”
    I point my fork at him. “That’s very stereotypical.”
    “Says the person doing it.”
    “I’m not doing anything. I’m breaking the cycle.” That makes me think of Shelly. And Trent asking her to the luau. Ugh! again.
    “Back to the blanks,” I say. My perfect plan has got to work. “Two weeks?”
    “What?” Jason looks lost.
    “Do you think two weeks is long enough to fake date? That’ll give us like, two Fridays.”
    “Oh. I don’t know. I’ve never fake dated anyone before.”
    “Well, you’re a guy. If there was a girl out there you liked and she was dating this other guy, how long would be long enough for them to date?”
    His eyes travel around my face and hair before he answers. “Never.”
    “What?”
    “If I liked a girl, I’d never want her dating another guy.”
    “Yes, but she doesn’t know you like her,” I explain. Jason can be so dense. “So if she dated another guy, say two weeks and he dumped her, would that effect your liking her?”
    “I’m getting confused. This is a girl I like?”
    “Yes.”
    “And she likes me?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then why is she dating another guy?”
    “Because some idiot walked up and asked her out before you had a chance to do it.”
    “So why didn’t she tell the idiot no?” he whispers, and something in his tone seems to suggest he thinks I’m the idiot.
    “Because he wouldn’t shut up about saving her life and saying she belonged to him. He scared you off.”
    “That wouldn’t scare me off.”
    Something about the way he says it causes a weird flutter in my stomach, which I choose to interpret it as maximum irritation. Or starvation.
    “Would you stop?” I say too loud. I stuff a large bite of lettuce in my mouth and smile at our fellow classmates, who are now staring in our direction. I take a few more bites and wait for them to resume their conversations.
    “So two weeks?” I whisper again after I’ve finished chewing.
    “Sure,” he says, still watching me with that look like he has his own plan.
    “I don’t think you’re really thinking about it.”
    “Sorry,” he breathes. “You’re right. Two weeks is probably long enough.”
    “Right. Because less time might mean something’s wrong with me, but longer might make him think I need a recovery period. And that could go on forever.”
    “I think you need a recovery period right now.”
    “And you should probably start driving me to school,” I continue, ignoring his remark. “I mean, if we’re dating and all. I’ll tell Shelly.”
    “We’re starting today?”
    “Well, yeah! You asked me to the luau in front of everyone. We’re clearly dating now.”
    “Sorry. It’s only my first day.”
    “After a busy weekend.