Page 6 of Perfect on Paper

She sat heavy on the edge of the bed. “Bywho?”

“Finn Park’s friend. Alexander Brougham.”

“Him?”She gave me a wicked smile. “He’s a snack. He looks like Bill Skarsgård!”

I chose to ignore the fact that she’d compared Brougham to a horror movie clown as a compliment. “How, because he has puffy eyes? Not my thing.”

“Because he’s a guy, or because he’s not Brooke?”

“Because he’s not mytype.Why would it be because he’s a guy?”

“I dunno, just you usually go for girls.”

Okay, just because I’dhappenedto like a few girls in a row now did not mean I couldn’t like a guy. But I did not have the energy to go downthatrabbit hole right now, so I switched back to the topic at hand. “Anyway, he snuck up behind me today. Said he wanted to figure out who was in charge of the locker, so he could pay me to be hisdating coach.”

“Pay you?” Ainsley’s eyes lit up. Presumably as visions of MAC lipsticks, purchased with my sudden windfall, danced in her head.

“Well, yes. That andblackmailme. He basically said he’d tell everyone who I am if I didn’t say yes.”

“What? That asshole!”

“Right?”I threw my hands up, before hugging them to my chest. “And I bet he’d do it, too.”

“Well, let’s face it, even if he only told Finn, everyone in town would know about it by tomorrow.”

Even though Finn Park was a senior and a year younger that her, Ainsley knew him—and, by extension, his friendship choices—well. He’d been part of the Queer and QuestioningClub since Ainsley founded it in her junior year, the same year she started transitioning.

“So, what are you gonna do?” Ainsley asked.

“I told him I’d meet him after school tomorrow.”

“Is he at least paying you well?”

I told her, and Ainsley looked impressed. “That’s better than I get at the Crepe Shoppe!”

“Count yourself lucky your boss isn’t extorting you.”

We were interrupted by my phone vibrating in my pocket. It was a message from Brooke.

Have a new sample haul. I could

come around before dinner?

Everything inside me started flipping and tumbling like I’d knocked back a glass of live crickets.

“What does Brooke want?” Ainsley asked lightly.

I glanced up halfway through texting a response. “How did you know it was Brooke?”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Because only Brooke makes you go—” She punctuated the sentence with a gooey, exaggerated smile, complete with crossed eyes and a lopsided head tip.

I stared at her. “Wonderful. If I look like that around her, I can’t imagine why she hasn’t fallen for me yet.”

“My job is to give you the harsh truth,” Ainsley said. “I take it seriously.”

“You’re good at it. Very committed.”

“Thank you.”