As Logan said this, two guys from our class rounded the corner and walked by us.

They looked at us with raised eyebrows, and one snickered, but neither said anything.

I waited until they’d passed, then whispered to Logan, “See, there go two more misinformed people. And by the way, you’re leaning toward me again.”

He stood up straight and took a step away from me. “I am not, and those guys are only misinformed because I just said that stuff about our love life.”

“Exactly my point. You have to stop doing that kind of thing.”

For a moment he looked like he didn’t know what to say, and then he shook a finger at me. “You’re only saying all of this because you don’t want me to be around you at school— because you know if I talk to you, you’re going to lose our bet.”

“I just think it would be better because of all the gossip if you didn’t hang around me for a while . . . say a week.”

“Not a chance. I’m going to be your second shadow.” And then he took two steps toward me and purposely leaned over until he was almost touching me.

I’m not sure why, but I felt myself blush. I hadn’t been this close to Logan since the eighth grade. If I reached out my fingertips just a bit, I could touch his hand. I had held his hand once at a junior-high dance, but the funny thing was, it had never made me blush back then.

I couldn’t help my smile. “If you’d just stop hanging around me for a while, I’m sure I’d let my guard down and slip up.”

“No way. I’m sticking so close to you that by the end of the week the rumor mill will have predicted our engagement date, named our children, and picked out the family dog.”

As we walked together to the cafeteria I kept telling Logan he should leave me alone for the next week, and he kept insisting he wasn’t going to leave my side. Which, somehow, didn’t seem all that bad of an arrangement.

You know, I’d never put much stock in reverse psychology, but suddenly, suddenly I’d gained a newfound respect for the idea.

On Monday a girl from the journalism class took the candidates’ pictures for the school newspaper. She also asked each of us what our main goal as president would be. I said I wanted to promote school unity.

Amy said she wanted to organize class projects, and then went on to explain our need to be financially solvent and our obligation to provide community service. Technically, I thought this counted as listing more than one goal, but the reporter busily wrote it all down anyway. I wished I’d come up with something that could have branched off into other goals like Amy had, because it made her sound like she had an active agenda planned, which, come to think of it, she probably did.

Rick said if elected president his main goal would be to change our mascot to something besides a greyhound because greyhounds are skinny little dogs that other dogs would beat up if they could. No one, Rick insisted, is afraid of greyhounds; so he thought we should be, like, the Pullman High deranged postal workers. Classic Rick.

All through the week Logan was good to his word about being my shadow. I saw him at lunch, twice between classes, and after school. On Wednesday and Thursday I saw him not only at school but at work too. He was frequently at my side asking questions. “Do we have any more copies of that great Wrestlemania book in stock?” or “Do you think it’s too early to remind Mr. Donaldson to order the Hot Babes calendars?”

I wasn’t even tempted into uttering an insult, though. I actually liked all the attention Logan gave me. After all, he was Cassidy's prom date, and he was ignoring her and by my side every free moment. Who wouldn’t like that? And all of the extra time I took to choose my clothes and do my hair, well, that was just because of the campaign.

On Friday, just to annoy Logan, I called him some term of endearment every time I saw him. I also constantly reminded him this was the last day of our wager.

“Three more hours until our bet is through, darling,” I told him as we walked together to lunch.

He sighed. “I know.”

“You’ll just have to kiss the thought of Veronica goodbye.”

“I know.”

“She wasn’t good enough for you anyway, snookums.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Have I mentioned when you take me out, I’ll be ordering several appetizers?”

“Six or seven times.”

“See you after next period, O devoted one.”

I sat down at my table, and Logan walked over to the one where he sat. As I took the sandwich from my lunch sack, my friends all stared at me incredulously.

“What?” I asked.

“‘O devoted one’?” Chelsea said. “We’ve sunk to ‘O devoted one’?”

Rachel took a bite of her carrot. “And I thought all those perky ‘have-a-nice-day’ comments were annoying."

I held my sandwich up and nibbled on the crust. “It’s the last day of the bet. I’m going to wait until three o’clock and then tell Logan my opinion on everything from his taste in women to rap music.”

Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Just be back to normal when we see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Oh, definitely,” I said. “I’ll be as normal as ever.”

After school I waited by Logan’s locker. As he picked up his books I stared at my watch and gave him the countdown. “Fifteen minutes and thirty-five seconds left until our bet is over. Fifteen minutes and ten seconds until our bet is over.”

“I can’t wait around for the outcome,” he said. “You’ll just have to let me know how it turns out.”

“What do you mean you can’t stick around? You’ve been positively following me around for two weeks, and now you’re not going to stick it out for the next—” I looked back at my watch—“fourteen minutes and fifty-two seconds?”

*“I’ve got errands to run. Cassidy and I are doubling with Elise and Tyson, so Tyson and I have to pick up our tuxes. But I’ll see you tomorrow night. You can rub it in then.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure why his answer stung. “Well, why don’t you just concede the bet now then? You know you’re a loser.”

His mouth dropped open. “I’m a what?”

“That wasn’t an insult, just a prediction on the outcome of our bet.”

He shook his head. “Samantha, you’re such a cheater.”

“Tell it to the lobster,” I said, and walked away.

CHAPTER 13

On Saturday I took off work so I could help the rest of the decorating committee turn the PHS cafeteria into a ballroom with ambience. We brought in silk trees and set up a fountain in the corner. We intertwined angel hair and ribbons along the railings. I personally tacked up twinkle lights from one end of the room to the other. I even had my dad come in and help me wire them across the ceiling so they’d look like stars.

At six o’clock Josh picked me up for dinner. He stood in my living room, looking like he’d just stepped off a billboard advertising gorgeous men, and pinned a corsage of pink roses on my dress. Then I fumbled to pin the boutonniere on his lapel without impaling him while my parents took at least a dozen pictures to memorialize the event.

Finally, we left the photo shoot and went to dinner at Basilos. While we ate, I learned Josh was studying premed at college. Very impressive. He’d actually be able to afford that villa in Spain.

He asked me about school, and it’s funny because every once in a while I wanted to complain about the teachers or some of the kids that went to PHS, but I didn’t. I just couldn’t bring myself to. It was like the last two weeks of never insulting anyone had rubbed off on me, and it still felt unnatural to say anything bad about anyone. I was afraid Logan would jump out from somewhere, point a finger at me, and scream, “Aha!”

Logan. He would laugh if he knew what he had done to me with his silly bet. And he’d laugh if he knew I was sitting here with my prom date thinking of him. I’m sure wherever he and Cassidy were, he wasn’t thinking about me.