by Mariano, Sam
“Yes.” I nod my head once. “I’ve been doing all that. My history grade slipped a little, but Mr. Hassenfeld gave me extra credit, so I was able to pull it back up.”
She nods her head. “Yes, and that’s wonderful. You’re still very comfortably in the top ten percent of your graduating class. In fact, your GPA is the 4th highest. Now, here’s the problem,” she says, slapping a palm down on the open folder and meeting my gaze.
“Problem?”
“Unfortunately, the school you want to attend had to make some budget cuts this year. They still want to make it easier for the best and the brightest to study there so they’re still offering scholarships to high school students in the top ten percent of their graduating class… unfortunately, that will no longer be a full ride, but a half ride. Only valedictorians and salutatorians will be offered full rides this year. That means you’re two spots below a full-ride. I know we discussed that financial aid was pretty important in order for you to be able to attend there, and with your family’s income, you would also be able to get a Pell grant, so all is not lost.”
She keeps talking, but I can’t focus on what she’s saying. All is lost. Half the tuition rate alone would be 18 grand a year, and that’s not even factoring in the cost of housing and living expenses. A Pell grant wouldn’t make up the other half of the lost scholarship. It would put a dent in it, but not a big one.
Shaking myself out of it, I ask her, “Okay, so what do I have to do to catch up?”
“Well, there’s no catching up to the valedictorian. Charlie’s GPA is—you’re not taking enough of the right classes to compete with him, and even if we could get special permissions to transfer you into the classes you’d need, you still can’t catch up. He has been taking AP courses too long. With only senior year left, it’s simply not possible to catch up.”
“But I only have to make salutatorian, not valedictorian,” I point out. “I’m ranked 4th in my class and I have to move up to 2nd. That’s not an impossible climb. Tell me how to get there and I’ll do it.”
Grimacing in a way that fills me with dread, she says, “Currently, Carter Mahoney is ranked 2nd highest in your graduating class. If his grades remain on course, he will make salutatorian.” Flipping a paper over, she tells me, “I believe with dedication you can move up to third, but if I’m bein’ honest with you, sweetheart, I don’t think you can bump Carter out of second. Don’t tell anybody I said so, but that boy is obnoxiously smart. I know he doesn’t try as hard as you do, but if not for Charlie, he would have valedictorian in the bag.”
That doesn’t even make sense. Yes, Carter is extremely intelligent, especially in a wily kind of way, but he hasn’t even read Catcher in the Rye. Was he playing up his disinterest in schoolwork? With his friends I might be able to make the jump that he doesn’t want to come off like a nerd, but with me? I’m a nerd. I would never think of him as being less cool for doing his best in school. I would admire that, so it doesn’t make sense to lie to me about it.
A suspicion clicks into place and I look up at Ms. Cunningham. “Who is third?”
“Hm? Oh.” She drags her finger down a printout and reads the name of the student between me and Carter. “Sara Knowles.”
I start laughing. It’s a crazy, maniacal, I’m-cracking kind of laugh, and the guidance counselor begins to look concerned.
Sara Knowles. Carter’s rally girl. Accomplished not only at making cute chocolate covered strawberries, but assembling baskets, and probably doing Carter’s schoolwork when he doesn’t feel like doing it.
Of fucking course Carter would land the smartest rally girl in the history of fucking rally girls to do his bitchwork.
Nothing is fair. Everything is shit. Carter Mahoney is the worst. I’m laughing so hard a tear creeps out of the corner of my eye, and the moisture triggers a stinging behind my eyes like I might actually cry. That kills my maniacal humor and I settle down, trying to focus and grasp at the remaining straws.
“Sorry. Okay, so, you said I should be able to catch up to Sara. That means we’re not that far apart.”
She nods her head. “That’s right. It would add a lot of stress on ya, though, and I know you’ve got a lot on your plate already. Even if you don’t catch up to Carter, all is not lost. If you’re open to Prairie View, you can attend there tuition free. You won’t be able to commute that far, of course, but if you go to this one,” she says, sliding a pamphlet across the desk and tapping it, “This one is in Dallas, so it’s close enough that you could commute, that way you wouldn’t have to pay for campus housing.”
I stop listening. Staying in Texas for college is the absolute last resort. I’m not going to give up on my first choice school. Ms. Cunningham thinks I need to jump two spots, but I know I only really have to jump one. Only Sara.
If I can catch up to her, I might be able to catch up to Carter, because Sara is probably why Carter is salutatorian in the first place. If it comes down to it, I might be able to play dirty and distract Carter from his schoolwork. She does some of his work, but surely not all of it. If I can get his authentic grades to suffer a little bit, even Sara’s help won’t keep him in second.
I don’t like playing Carter’s manipulative games, but he doesn’t need this as much as I do. He’s already in at Columbia because of his football talent. If he isn’t salutatorian, it won’t make a difference. Meanwhile, my future depends upon it.
Chapter 44
Over the next couple days, I spin a dozen different plans to distract Carter and sabotage his academic standing. I study up on Sara to see which classes she’s taking so I can get an idea of how the hell I can get ahead of her. The main problem I see is that she’s in AP math classes and I’m not. It’s hard as hell to leap frog someone who is acing a class that scores them more GPA points than mine. I need her to be weak in another class that I can ace. The problem is, she isn’t. The dumbest thing about her seems to be that she likes Carter, and I can’t very well blame her for that.
So, that’s inconvenient. Why couldn’t he just have a bimbo for a rally girl?
By Thursday, I feel terrible about all my plans of sabotage. This isn’t me. I’m not a saboteur. I don’t scheme and deceive to get my way. If I get out of this town only because I played like that, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to feel proud of my own accomplishments.
Thursday is also the day of a math exam that I have to ace if I stand a chance of catching up to Carter. I’ve been studying my ass off for it, practicing exam questions until my vision blurs, but math is my weakest subject. I tend to get vaguely anxious halfway through every exam, and by the second half, I end up missing a couple of questions that I know the answer to when I get the test back.
I bet Carter doesn’t let any exam psyche him out.
As mad as I am at myself for it, I text Carter when I get to school and tell him I need to see him as soon as he has a minute. I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do or say to him until the moment arrives. I go back and forth, warring with what I need and what I’m willing to do.
I’m at my locker putting books away and getting out my history book when he shows up.
“You rang?”
I sigh, closing my locker door and looking over at him. “Did you know you’re on track to be the class salutatorian?”
He blinks, clearly not expecting me to say that. “I’m aware of that, yes.”
I nod, my gaze dropping. I don’t have math until after lunch, but it’s Carter’s next class. “Is that because of Sara?”
Carter frowns and pushes off the locker, appearing out of his element. Whatever he thought I summoned him for, this isn’t it. “No, it’s because I have a brain. I told you that before. You called me here to ask about my grades?”
“I need you to throw the math exam today,” I state, without further preamble.
His eyebrows rise in surprise. “Excuse me?”
This is lower than I want to stoop, but not as low as I could go, so I try to soothe myself with
that. “Remember I told you about the school I wanted to go to? Top ten percent isn’t enough for a full ride anymore, only valedictorians and salutatorians get it. If I don’t graduate second in our class, I can’t afford to go. I’ll end up at University of North Texas in Dallas, and I’ll have to commute from home. If I don’t catch up to you, I’m never gettin’ out of this town.”
“And if I bomb the math exam, you’ll catch up?”
“Not exactly. Your damn rally girl is in the spot between me and you, but the counselor thinks I can catch up to her if I work really hard.”
The corners of Carter’s mouth tip up in amusement. “Yeah, she’s a smart cookie. Makes good cookies, too.”
Ignoring him, I go on, “I can’t catch you, though. The AP biology class you took last year puts you ahead of me if you ace all your classes this year, even if I ace mine, too. I need you to get a B in math, which means…”
“I need to bomb this test,” he says, following along.
I nod, not quite able to look at him.
“And what do I get out of it?” he asks.
“The pleasure of knowing that for once, you made a positive difference in my life?” I suggest hopefully.
Carter smiles and shakes his head. “Try again.”
“I’ll name the baby after you,” I deadpan.
He shakes his head again. “Nah. We’ll name him something else. Creeps me out to imagine you calling out my name and talking to a kid.”
I sigh, exasperated. “What do you want?”
“If you have to ask that, maybe you don’t deserve to be the class salutatorian,” he suggests.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You want me to prostitute myself, is that it? You want to fuck me? Fine. Throw the math test, and I’ll let you fuck me. Or not let you, if that’s what you’re in the mood for.”
Carter shakes his head. “Once isn’t enough. Twice, and you’ll be my date to homecoming, which will likely mean a third time. That seems like a fair deal.”
“I’m not going to homecoming,” I tell him. “I’ll agree to three fucks, but not homecoming. I don’t have a dress, I don’t have the money to buy one, and no, before you offer, I do not want you to buy me a homecoming dress.” Lighting up my phone, I see we both have less than a minute to get to our next class. “I have to go or I’m going to be late. Deal, or no deal?”
Carter nods once. “Deal.”
Relief trickles through me and I feel myself soften. Sure, he made me bargain for it, but I sort of can’t believe he’s willing to do this for me. “Thank you.”
Carter smirks and takes a step forward. Bringing a hand up behind me and cupping my neck, he draws me close and bends his head to seal our deal with a kiss. “You can thank me later.”
* * *
It’s lunch time on Friday and I am sitting in my car, eating a PB&J and reading the new book I bought to review for the school paper. My cell phone starts vibrating in my cup holder, so I glance at the screen. It’s a phone number I don’t recognize, so I slide a bookmark between the pages and close my book, grabbing the phone and answering it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Zoey?”
It’s a woman’s voice, but not one I recognize. “Yes, I’m Zoey,” I tell her.
“Hi Zoey, this is Angela Mahoney. Carter’s mom,” she offers for clarification.
“Oh. Um, hello,” I say, awkwardly.
“Carter gave me your number,” she explains. “I was wondering if you were free tonight. Carter has an away game, as you probably know. His father and I intend to go, but Chloe gets bored of going to every game. She wants to stay home tonight. Normally I’d just stay with her, but Carter suggested you might be interested in babysitting to make a little extra money. I pay very well.”
I’m floored that she’s calling me in the first place, but to babysit Chloe? I would find it hard to say no to that even without the enticement of good pay. Chloe is adorable, and now that I know she’s technically Carter’s daughter… well, I’m still not sure I’ve wrapped my mind all the way around that, but it makes the offer even more compelling.
“Sure, I could probably do that,” I tell her.
“Wonderful. I’m so happy to hear that. I was afraid you might hold a grudge for the way Kevin behaved when you were here before.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I merely offer a half-hearted, “Oh, no.”
“He’s a bit of a grump sometimes and he doesn’t always approve of Carter’s promiscuous ways, but I think my husband will be much nicer to you now that he realizes you’re not one of those girls. That Carter trusts you to watch Chloe speaks volumes. Carter doesn’t trust anybody, but he clearly trusts you. I’m so sorry your first impression of us was what it was. I hope you’ll give us a chance to make a better one.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that Carter and I broke up, so my impression of them no longer matters. Instead I finish the conversation as politely as possible, go over the details of the babysitting job, and tell her my lunch is nearly over so I have to go, but I’ll see her then.
* * *
Chloe is already eating dinner when I arrive at the palatial residence Carter calls home. Angela gives me a tour of the house, showing me Chloe’s bedroom and going over her routine. She assures me I don’t need to give Chloe a bath tonight, just help her change into her pajamas and read her a story before she goes to sleep. She shows me to the media room, in case we want to watch a movie. Apparently Chloe is on a Sing kick right now. If we want to play video games, she redirects me to the living room. I get acquainted with the board game closet and Chloe’s designated playroom.
As we head back into the kitchen, Angela tells me, “We pretty much let her eat whatever she wants for snacks. We have plenty of stuff in the refrigerator and cupboards. If you’re feeling ambitious, you could bake some cookies or cupcakes.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Chloe says, bouncing in her seat. “I wanna make cookies!”
Angela smiles at her, then looks back at me. “She has crackers and fruit snacks and all sorts of things in the cupboard. She likes to snack on pretzel sticks. Whatever she wants, she’ll tell you. She’s far from shy about expressing her desires.”
I crack a smile, thinking she must get that from Carter. Since I obviously can’t say that to his mother, I nod my head and say, “Yeah, I’ve noticed that.”
Clasping her hands together, she looks around and says, “I guess that’s it. You girls have fun. Can we get a good luck cheer from Carter’s favorite cheerleader?”
Chloe throws her hands in the air and calls out, “Go Longhorns!”
Angela smiles. “There we go. I’ll pass it along. I’m sure they’ll win now.”
Chloe nods, looking at me seriously. “My brother’s really good at football. He wins a lot.”
I offer a smile back. “I know he is. I went to one of his games.”
“There’s too many of them,” she informs me.
“That’s a true story. There are an awful lot of them. You can take a break tonight and hang out with me.”
Nodding her head, Chloe grabs her juice box and takes a drink. “We can make Carter cookies for when he gets home. And I’ll eat some of them, too.”
“Naturally. Gotta give ‘em a taste test and make sure they’re delicious.”
“Exactly. See, she knows,” Chloe says.
Angela walks over to the counter and grabs her purse. “I do believe you ladies will fare just fine.” To me, she adds, “Thanks so much for watching her.”
“No problem,” I assure her, heading over to the table to keep Chloe company while she finishes eating.
* * *
After a long night of playing and baking cookies, it’s time to read Chloe a story and put her to bed. She informs me no one but her family has ever put her to bed before and I’m doing it “weird,” and I don’t know what that means.
Sitting on the edge of her bed with the finished storybook in my lap, I inquire, “How am I supposed t
o do it? I’m new to this. I don’t know the drill.”
“Don’t you have a little brother or sister?”
I nod my head. “I do. I have a younger brother, but I don’t put him to bed. I did a couple times when my mom was sick, but usually older siblings don’t do that. Not in my house, anyway. Maybe you do things differently at your house.”
Chloe nods. “Carter puts me to bed a lot. Our mom gets sleepy sometimes and she stays in bed a long time.”
Absently reaching out and smoothing a long, dark strand of hair out of her face, I murmur, “That must be kind of tough, huh?”
“Yeah. I don’t like when she’s sad. I like when Carter puts me to bed though, he does funny voices when he reads stories.”
“I didn’t think of funny voices. My bad. If I ever babysit you again, I’ll make a note.”
“You should ask him for some tips,” she advises.
Biting back a smile, I assure her, “I’ll do that.” Pushing off the bed, I cross the room and return her storybook to the bookshelf, then walk back over to tuck her in. “I don’t know the correct protocol. Should I give you a forehead kiss?”
Chloe pulls the covers up to her chest and nods. “Sure.”
“Okay.” I smile and lean down, kissing her little forehead. “Have sweet dreams. If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs in the living room until someone gets home.”
“G’night, bookstore lady.”
“Good night, Chloe.” I pause to turn out her light, steal one last glance at her and her nightstand to make sure she has her water bottle, then I pull the door shut behind me.
I intend to go directly downstairs so I can start studying, but I can’t help a faint stirring of curiosity when I go to walk past Carter’s bedroom. His door is closed, but my hand finds its way to the knob and it twists easily. I don’t know why I imagined he might have his bedroom door locked, but I’m surprised when it easily unlatches and drifts open. It shouldn’t be so easy to penetrate his sanctuary, when in so many ways, he is so well-guarded.
