“Um, about Doug . . . ” I said. “I might be willing to do you a favor, if you do one for me first.”

Logan let the opening close, turned to me, and smiled. “What kind of favor?”

“I’ve decided to run for student body president, and I’m going to need people to help with my campaign—”

I didn’t get any further before Logan’s smile turned into coughs of laughter. I glared at him while I waited for him to stop. “You could have just said no.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to help you,” he said, after more coughing. “It’s just the idea of you campaigning is so funny.”

“You don’t think I can campaign?”

“To campaign, you have to talk to people outside your clique.”

I folded my arms tightly across my chest. “I know how to be friendly.”

Logan leaned toward me, using his height to make a point of looking down at me.

“Samantha, you can’t walk into a room of six people without insulting five of them.”

“Forget I ever asked you anything. I hope you and Veronica both live long, lonely lives, and die single.” I turned and walked back to the book cart with fast, long strides.

Logan followed me. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t campaign for you.”

“And what a fine campaigner you’d be. I can just imagine your posters. VOTE FOR

SAMANTHA, SHE’S SHALLOW AND INSULTING, BUT AN INTEGRAL PART OF GETTING

ME A DATE. Just forget it, Logan.”

I tried to take a book from the cart, but he held on to one end and wouldn’t let go. He looked as though he might laugh again but was trying hard to suppress the emo tion. “I’m sorry, but you have to admit it. Insulting people is your favorite pastime.”

“No, it isn’t.” I yanked the book from his hand. “It only seems that way to you because you’re so easy to insult.”

“I wasn’t even counting the times you insult me. If I counted those, you’d be in the Olympic insulting category.”

“Logan, you’re delusional.” I stopped momentarily and held up my hands in mock horror. “I suppose now I’ve won the gold medal, haven’t I?” Without waiting for his response, I picked up my books and headed to general fiction. Logan trailed after me. When we got there, he put one hand on the bookshelf, making it hard to ignore him. I tried anyway.

“All right,” he said, “you don’t agree with me. Fine. Let’s see if you’ll put your money where your caustic little mouth is.”

“Was that an insult?” I handed him half of my books to hold while I tried to jimmy the rest onto the shelf.

“Let’s make a bet of it. I bet you can’t make it through the next week without insulting someone. If I win, you’ll have to go out on a date with Doug.”

“And if I win?”

“Then I’ll take you out on a date.”

I took the rest of the books from his hands and gave him a patronizing stare. “That’s supposed to be some big reward for me?”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking of rewarding you. I was thinking more of punishing me.”

I didn’t insult him then, even though I wanted to, just to prove I could exercise self-control. “Fine, you’ll take me to the Hilltop restaurant, where I will order lobster, and you’ll stand on the school steps passing out flyers and telling everyone who walks by to vote for me.”

Logan hesitated, but only for a moment. “All right. You have a bet.”

“Fine. I won’t insult anyone until”—I looked down at my watch—“four thirty-five next Wednesday, when I’ll break my streak with a running commentary on your personality deficiencies. Then I’ll give you flyers to hand out.”

“Don’t think for a minute I’ll take your word about your behavior,” he said. “I’m going to employ spies.”

“Fine. Employ away.”

Mr. Donaldson walked out of his office and looked over in our direction. I said, “Speaking of being employed . . . ," and gave Logan the we-are-being-watched look. He turned and went back to the cart, and I rearranged a few books on the shelf that someone had misplaced.

It’s hard to alphabetize when you’re mentally berating someone, so I replaced the books slowly. Really, Logan never ceased to amaze me. He seriously thought I’d have a hard time going a week without insulting someone. Like I have nothing better to do with my time than critique everyone. I’d show him, and any and all of his spies. I would be the very model of kindness and charm for the next week. All it would take on my part was a little effort and thought. It would be a piece of cake—or in this case, a nice big juicy lobster.

CHAPTER 6

At school on Thursday the office announced that those students interested in running for next year’s executive council needed to come to the office and pick up a petition sheet. Every candidate had to get at least fifty signatures of support from fellow students. I went to the office during lunch to get mine.

When the secretary handed me the papers, my stomach lurched. What if I couldn’t find fifty people willing to sign for me? How humiliating that would be.

But then again, I’d been a cheerleader for the last three years. I’d given support, encouragement, and cookies to basketball and football players for years. They owed me. If they didn’t sign my petition, then next year they’d get nothing to take on the away-game buses but burnt toast. And I’d tell them that too. In fact, I’d make it a campaign slogan.

I didn’t want to walk around all day getting signatures, so I photocopied the paper and gave my friends the assignment of getting thirteen signatures each by the next day. At one point I saw Logan getting things out of his locker, and just to bother him, I went up and asked him to sign my petition. “It’s only right for you to sign this,” I told him, “since you’ll be campaigning for me next week.”

He took the paper and pen, then surveyed me skeptically. “You haven’t insulted anyone today?”

“Well, only you; but it was in my mind, so it didn’t count.” He tapped the pen against the paper but didn’t sign it. “Hmm. Do you want to chat for a while? Tell me, who do you think is the most popular girl at PHS, and do you like her?”

I pointed to a line on the paper. “Just put your signature right there.”

“Do you think Rachel is the best cheerleader in your squad, or would that have to be Aubrie?”

“It’s not going to work. I’m the very essence of kindness, and I find it incredibly easy not to insult anyone.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, then signed my petition.

I smiled and replaced the paper on top of my math book. “By the way, I like to order those expensive sundaes from the dessert menu.”

“I’ll let Doug know,” Logan said, and turned back to his locker. Which is another annoying thing about Logan. He always has to get the last word in. When he did take me out on a date, and I made him eat every rotten word he’d ever said about me, it still probably wouldn’t be an enjoyable evening. He’d find some way to ruin it. Somehow Logan would take all the fun out of gloating.

I wished him a cheerful goodbye and continued down the hallway.

I hadn’t heard that Logan had asked anyone to the prom yet, and it occurred to me I could make him take me there for our date. He’d have to rent a tux, buy a corsage, and have pictures taken with me. Years hence, his children would flip through his high-school memorabilia and find his prom pictures.

“Who’s that incredibly gorgeous woman you didn’t have the brains to marry?” they would ask him, and then with pinpricks of shame he’d remember me and how he’d lost our bet.

It would be fitting justice. Except it meant I would have to suffer through the prom with him, and I didn’t want to do that. I only had the opportunity to go to two proms in my life. I wanted both of them to be wonderful, magical—like Cinderella going to the ball. It could never be that way if I went with Logan.

After lunch, while I got my English book out of my locker I saw Amy talking with a couple of guys, petition in hand. “But that’s the beauty of the democratic system," she said.