"It's possible. Your stuff is so randomly interesting." He eyes my science kit and then scans through the pile of papers in his hands. "You got any other lists that need checking off? College tuition aside, I'm also trying to save for a new car." He laughs.

When I don't answer, his expression changes to genuinely concerned. "Hey. Kidding. I make stupid jokes all the time. You'll get used to me, don't worry...or...I can stop making the jokes, I guess."

"I...I'm not worried," I lie, trying to keep my voice steady because I feel like I've entered another world. A world where Gray Porter is holding my things and telling me I'm going to get used to him. "We need to meet and flesh out the details of our...you know...whatever. I don't know what to call it. Our contract."

"I was thinking the same thing. But can we call it our epic summer romance? Contract sounds so stuffy." He smiles again.

Again, I don't smile back.

"Sorry." His laugh sounds embarra.s.sed. "It's quite possible I won't be able to stop the jokes."

"Try. I'd prefer to keep this-us-all business."

"I'm going to work on it. Promise. What should I do first? For the job, I mean. Besides no more joking."

I let out a long sigh. "You'll need to break up with all your hopefuls, or whatever you call the girls sniffing about your ankles. And I mean today." I jerk my head at the gaggle of girls waiting for Gray at the top of the steps that lead down to the parking lot.

He glances behind him and grins. "Wow. We have quite an audience. I'm holding at single status. Waiting only for you. And that's not a joke, by the way. So where should we meet later?"

It's all I can do not to cringe and run away. Instead, I swallow, realizing too late that I've hired the wrong guy. Pretend-dating Gray Porter is going to be like pretend-dating a rainbow. Everyone looks at him all the time. Which means, if I'm near him, everyone's looking at me. Not ideal. I feel like holes are being stared into my back right now. "I help with Coach Williams' after school music program from two-thirty to four-thirty. How about you meet me in his cla.s.sroom at 3:45?"

He shakes his head. "Coach Williams' cla.s.sroom? h.e.l.l, no. He's a complete a.s.s. Pick another spot."

"No. I only have a thirty minute break in there. Meaning, I can't leave to meet you anywhere else. Coach Williams heads to the weight room to check on the hockey team. I'm supposed to set up his room for the next group of kids. I'm mostly a babysitter to anyone who's dropped off early. After the music program's finished, Coach Williams meets the team over at the Golden sports complex and-"

"I know where he goes." Gray's voice has turned cold. "I work afternoons and nights at the sports complex. I simply don't want to go near that guy's cla.s.sroom."

"Why? Did he cut you from the hockey team and now you're bitter?" I guess, relieved his bad att.i.tude has nothing to do with me. As much as Coach Williams is a softie for the music kids, everyone knows he's rough on his team.

"Not even. I play compet.i.tive inline hockey. My ice time is spent teaching the little guys at the complex. I'd never play ice for that tool."

"Okay." I shrug. "I don't speak Hockey. I have no idea what you just said. You're going to have to get over your Coach Williams phobia and meet me in the music room. 3:45. Don't be late."

"Listen to the boss-girl." He sounds really agitated.

"Please," I soften my tone. "I swear he won't be around. Meeting there will be private. No one will see us." I point to the now even larger crowd of people watching us. "Your pride and your popularity will be safe."

He shakes his head. "That's what you think? That I don't want anyone to see me with you? Why do you think I approached you with everyone watching? I did it on purpose."

"Oh...well...next time can you not be so obvious? I'm truly uncomfortable, if you must know."

He sighs. "We're about to be going out. Us going out has to start with us at least hanging in public and talking, or no one's going to buy it."

I nod, hating that he's right. "I guess I didn't think through the day-to-day mechanics of having a fake boyfriend. Hmm. Public hanging out...seems so extreme. We only have this week of school left. Will anyone really care or notice?"

"It's up to you, but you need to decide. Don't think I'm giving up the money. We shook. Next week we both report to Geekstuff.com. How deeply you want to play the rest of our deal is up to you."

His smile is shameless as he points to the audience at the top of the steps. "If you don't want my services, then it's only fair you cut me loose so I can make another girl or two happy this summer. Or three." He shifts my papers into a neater pile.

"What will they do once I take you off the market?" I ask. "I can only imagine the poor girls wandering around like a lost herd of sheep all summer, wondering where you went." I risk another glance at the staring girls and shudder. "Do they even blink? Baa. Baa. Baa."

He shakes his head and laughs. "Like I said yesterday, you're really funny."

I arch one brow as high as I possibly can, pretending to ignore him and the fact that his compliment almost made me smile. "It's nice to know Mich.e.l.le Hopkins has some other skill besides chewing gum and tossing pom-poms. She's texting so fast her phone's about to catch fire. And what's up with the tall blonde who's giving me the stink eye?"

"Hey, Mich.e.l.le's cool. But you're right about the blonde. She's got some sort of crush on me. I'm hoping our budding relationship will kill it, so thanks. My bonus will be her moving along."

"Serious?" I glare. "I'll need a list of your most dangerous stalkers. I don't want to end up in a surprise nail scratching event over you."

"Would you please try to muster at least one expression showing you might be happy we're talking to each other?" He reaches forward and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

I'm startled, but then happy because, just like yesterday, I didn't have the urge to flinch!

And then, I'm annoyed. With him and myself.

Those stupid b.u.t.terflies are back. Wreaking havoc from my stomach to my toes. Does this mean all summer long I'll be dropping stuff, feeling slightly dizzy and unable to breathe?

I'm about to launch one of my scathing comments; but before I can zing one, Gray places his fingertip gently against my lips.

He shakes his head as though he knows my game and jerks his head toward the people behind us. "I'm thinking a smile would work better. We should use the attention to our advantage."

His voice is b.u.t.ter soft as he continues, "Come on, Jess. Just try...or pretend or whatever works to get you through this. It's all for show."

Brutally aware of just how warm his finger is against my lips, I oblige his request. "Like this?" I roll my eyes, pulling my fake, too-many-teeth-showing camera smile, and I shove my Bunsen Burner between us like a shield.

He grins. "Ridiculous, but it's a start. No more snide comments." He moves his finger to run it down the bridge of my nose, tapping the tip once.

I'm completely undone. Melted, mush.

All I can do is stare at the way his smile makes the corners of his eyes crinkle! Do all cute guys have these things?

And his lips...the guy has amazing lips.

And d.a.m.n those eyes straight to h.e.l.l. How is it possible he has lashes that look like they came from a magazine?

I clutch the beakers close when I realize my grip has become dangerously loose. Tearing my gaze away from his face, I feel heat hit my cheeks and burn down to my toes. With two small touches and a smile, he's killed my brain.

Baa, Baa, Baa! I'm just like those other sheep.

Just in case Gray's noticed my complete lapse, I widen my smile and speak through my teeth, trying to make myself look like an obnoxious ventriloquist. "How long do I have to keep up the happy part? I'm getting a cramp."

"That's the spirit." He chuckles, leaning forward as though to look deep into my eyes. I figure he's trying to make a show to his friends that we're sharing a private joke. So awkward. Instead of pulling back like I want, I laugh too, and continue to avoid his gaze by darting a glance over my shoulder to check if everyone's still watching us.

Oh, they are. My heart is racing so fast I feel faint.

The way Mich.e.l.le's holding up her phone, I wonder if this moment is about to be posted on YouTube.

When I turn back, Gray's moved even closer. As in, double-awkward-closer.

"Jess," he starts, flushing slightly. "I'm a.s.suming we could make the best of this. Us hanging out-it doesn't have to be terrible, does it? We could try for some fun? Be friends when it's all over?"

"I-I-uh-possibly," I cover, because his suggestion is a complete impossibility. He has no need to worry about me making any more snide comments, either. The only thing I can think of saying now involves adjectives describing how breathtaking his voice is.

Keyword: Breathtaking. As in, stopped my breath. Yep. I've stopped breathing.

Baa, baa, BAA-OHMYG.o.d. I hate myself right now. I think I also just blatantly sniffed him! But he smells so-fresh.

"Do you want me to help you walk to your car?" he asks, breaking the huge silence I've created.

"No. Absolutely not!" I shout, half-grateful I'm not making any farm animal noises out loud.

"Why?" He steps back, looking slightly surprised.

Should I tell him the truth? That if he takes one more step I might pa.s.s out because he's so gorgeous? Maybe I could mention I had this odd idea I wanted to kiss him back when I was staring at his lips? For real! What is wrong with me?

What in the heck would Dr. Brodie and my parents think about that?

What would the audience on the steps have done? What would Gray have done? Run screaming, probably.

Is this considered progress or do I need to be committed? I don't even know this guy!

"Give. Me. My. Stuff."

"I'll be happy to walk you?"

"No. I'm good. Just hand it over. Now," I order.

"Okay. Whatever you say, boss." His grin returns. It's the double-wide one from yesterday. Dimpled, square chinned...UGH.

I refuse to look at his dumb smile or his cute eye-crinkles one more time. He gingerly stacks my pile of things onto my newly-adjusted science kit and beakers. This leaves me staring at his strong-looking hands. Of course it does. And of course his hands are also amazingly, perfectly, and annoyingly well made. Like the rest of him.

Without another word, I turn my back and start for my Jeep, wondering if he can hear how loudly he's made my heart pound.

"Okay then, see you after school, Jess. It's a date. We'll have some fun! Good luck on your afternoon final!"

He sounds like a stupid megaphone. When I don't answer and hunch my shoulders, his low laugh adds a trail of goose b.u.mps coursing down my neck.

The guy is out of control-which causes me to be out of control. That is an unacceptable option! This afternoon, I'm going to pin him down with some solid rules.

I make it to the Jeep, dump my stuff into the back, and scramble ungracefully into the driver's seat. I'd meant to catch a cat-nap during lunch, but now, that's going to be impossible. I decide to drive through Starbucks. I can get a triple anything or a snack to boost the two churning Red Bulls that got me through last period.

I start the engine and shoot a glance through the tinted window, figuring if anyone is still watching, they can no longer see past my silhouette. Gray seems to have been waiting for a movement like this. He's waving like a dork and swinging my long forgotten pink hoodie high in the air so I can see it.

He's yelling, "Bye Jess!" He flips my hoodie onto his shoulders and ties it around his neck until it looks like a ridiculous scarf-as though he means to wear it like that for a long time.

My stomach lurches. I want to laugh, but deep down I should cry. I'm going to be so far behind on sleep that I won't be able to avoid my bed tonight. Finals, plus all that's happened with Gray has me worried my nightmare is going to crash back in again. I need to come up with a new daytime sleep schedule. Fast. Things should settle down once the new job starts. Once I get used to Gray Porter talking to me as a daily norm. I'll also be able to log almost four hours of sleep each day after dawn, starting next week. I won't have to be at school at 7AM anymore. The internship starts at nine. That's lots of quality car napping. More than I'm used to.

In the meantime, I'm back on high alert. Tonight, I'll even stuff a towel under my door just in case I start making a bunch of uncontrollable noise in my sleep.

But I won't. I'm sure last night was just a one time stress thing. Positively, hopefully, almost sure that I'm going to be fine. Soon. Next week at the latest. Tonight if I'm lucky.

Please let me be lucky.

Chapter Eight.

Gray I stop one of the gangly-looking middle school boys exiting Coach Williams' music room. "Do you know Jess Jordan?"

"She's in there." The kid points over his shoulder.

"Thanks." I head in, surveying the giant room. A room I've avoided like the plague since freshman year. I linger near the door in case I spot Coach Williams. In case I need to make a quick exit. So far, all seems safe enough. Two oak teachers' desks are pushed up next to the far window. Heavy, iron music stands and folding chairs are arranged orchestra style in front of a large wooden podium. Choir risers have been set up in a semi-circle on the miniature stage filling half the room.

"Jess?" I call when the last kid files out and I still don't see her.

"Back here." Her voice is m.u.f.fled by the heavy, red and gold velvet curtain.

I hop onto the stage and joke-sing: "The Phaaaanntom of the Opera is there, innnnnside your mind." I attack the curtain with a flourish and sing on, "innnnside your mind."

Jess is sitting on an ancient, faded couch with her arms crossed over her stomach. Her face is extremely pale, and she's not at all impressed with my song.

"You okay?" I let the curtain drop.

She nods. "I didn't sleep well last night. And I-had a weird...lunch. After I saw you nothing went right."

"b.u.mmer." I walk nearer, taking in the deep shadows under her eyes, and I wonder if she's telling me the whole truth. "What can I do to help?"

"Honestly? Let's just get through this. I want to draw up a real contract. So we both know what to expect. And what not to expect." She shoots me a pointed look.

I want to tease her, but I don't have the heart. She looks so darn pitiful. "All right." I sit on the floor near her and look up. I'm instantly sidetracked by the color of her clear blue eyes under the stage light. It doesn't help that her cinnamon-sunshine smell has completely taken over the small s.p.a.ce. I concentrate on quieting the unsteady beat of my heart.

"What have you thought up so far?" I ask.

"I have some rough ideas. Like, each weekend we probably need to hang out like you said. You know. Go on sort of...real looking...dates?" She sounds so timid, like she thinks I'm going to laugh at her.

"I figured. Go on," I encourage quietly, taking note how supremely uncomfortable the word *dates' made her. I wonder if she's ever been out with anyone.

"We should also hang out a few nights during the week. If that works for you? And then, to keep the whole thing believable, you simply dump me at the end of the summer."

"Hold on there-I-"

She holds up her hand. "Wait. Just listen or I'll lose my train of thought. I don't care how you break up with me, or the reasons you give," she rushes on. "I'm so good with the break-up part. Looking forward to it, actually. No offense. I will also need you to call me, and text me. A few times a week. When my parents are home-after 5:30 PM. That, and pretend to like to me...when we're together. Sort of like today on the quad. I'll try not to hate it so much. So, yeah. Can you think of anything else?"

"You hated me talking to you?"