Noah’s eyebrows drift upward during this speech.
I continue. “Furthermore, you shall not approach me in public places or seek me out for purposes outside the scope of your wish. At the time of the fulfillment of your wish, all contact between us will immediately and irrevocably be terminated.”
Normally that last part is a tiny bit sad, but I relish it now. And then I add a clause especially for him. “At which time you will also destroy your list of previous clients, the illicit recording of any conversations between us, and any other evidence of past, present, or future dealings that you hold with or without my knowledge. Do you agree?”
He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, holding the back of his neck. I’m pretty sure I detect an undercurrent of scoffing as he says quite seriously, “So basically, we pretend we don’t know each other, I never tell anyone about this, and once I get Holly back, we never talk again.”
“Correct.”
He smile-grimaces like you would if your detention got shortened by fifteen minutes, like, This sucks 25 percent less than before. “Fine by me. I literally cannot wait to never speak to you again.”
“It’s so mutual.” I’m about to get to work on his room when he jams his fist into the space between us. His pinkie pops up. I narrow my eyes at it. “What’s with the finger?”
“Pinkie swear.” His voice modulates into a lawyerly formality. He’s mocking me. “The pinkie swear is the only universally acknowledged method of making a verbal contract such as this one legally and morally binding to both parties.”
I roll my eyes. He jiggles his pinkie. With an exhale of contempt, I hook my finger around his for a brief second. It’s not nearly as repellent as expected. His skin isn’t clammy or sweaty or oily or scaly. In fact, if this digit were attached to someone else’s hand, I might even admit that my little finger seems to fit perfectly into the crook of his larger one. As it is, I snap my hand back the instant we make contact and huff, “Now shut up. I’m working.”
I stare at him hard, willing myself to glimpse… something. If I knew his destiny, this whole thing would be much less onerous. I visually bore into his forehead, trying to drag a glimpse out of him. Absolutely nothing happens.
“This is really awkward.” Noah clears his throat. “What are you—”
“Nothing.” I look away. “It’s a fairy godmother thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
Giving up on the glimpse, I take in his bedroom. Star Trek posters cover most of the wall space. On his dresser is a detailed model of a spaceship inside a Plexiglas box—its placard reads “NCC-1701 USS Enterprise.” Next to it are vintage action figures in aging boxes.
A photo stuck to the mirror draws my eye. It’s of Noah and Holly in a kitchen. She’s holding a plate of intricately frosted cookies and smiling bigger than I’ve ever seen her smile in real life. He’s pretending he’s about to steal a cookie. They both have frosting in their hair and on their faces. Remorse for meddling with their relationship tries to creep in on me, but I tamp it down. No mercy for blackmailers.
I turn away from the desk.
There’s a bookcase stuffed with paperbacks. The flip phone I saw him with the day he first texted me lies on top of a Nintendo Switch on top of a laptop next to an Xbox.
The whole room seems like it has been cleaned for my benefit. There is a thin line of dust around the edges of things, like they were wiped down in a hurry. And there are vacuum lines in the carpet.
I turn ninety degrees. His bed is against one wall—a twin with a dark blue bedspread and a stuffed bear wearing a Star Trek uniform. There’s a pair of well-loved hiking boots on the floor next to the bed.
I take a deep breath and blow my lips out. “Obviously I’m the first girl who’s been up here.”
Noah stands near the door with his arms crossed. “Do you have a point, or are you just always mean for no reason?”
I shrug. “I figured, since you and Holly were so close, you two would have spent some quality time in here, but… obviously not.”
He lifts and recrosses his arms. “Or maybe she likes me for who I am and we did.”
“But you didn’t.” I turn to look him straight in the eye.
He holds my gaze for two and a half seconds. Then he shifts his weight and looks away. “No. We didn’t.”
Ha. I knew it. I move toward the dresser with a satisfied smirk and open the first drawer I come to. “Okay. Let’s get started.”
The drawer is full of socks and underwear. Nasty, I know. But a surgeon doesn’t flinch when he cuts you open. I pull them out one by one and throw them on the floor with only the most cursory of glances. Mostly I’m doing it to be mean. None of my other Cindies have been subjected to such humiliation, but none of my other Cindies blackmailed and pepper sprayed me either.
Noah goes, “Hey… uh… wha?… come on…”
That’s right. Feel my wrath, Evil Cindy. In thirty-six seconds, there are two pairs of boxer-briefs and one pair of socks left in the drawer. I move on to the next—T-shirts.
I hold them up one at a time and add them to the reject pile behind me. “No. No. No.” I survey a shirt with cartoon versions of the Star Trek characters. I wrinkle my nose.
From behind me Noah says, “That’s vintage.”
“Ugh. Hell no.” I chuck it.
Next comes one that says… TO BOLDLY GO WHERE NO MAN HAS GONE BEFORE. I shake my head. “Nooooo.” I toss it over my shoulder.
Noah says, “Hey!”
I open the next drawer—shorts and pants. I throw out everything except one pair of jeans. “Dude, so many drawstrings. Are you in some kind of button-hating cult?”
Instead of responding, Noah demands, “Could you just hang on a minute?”
I whirl around. “What?”
“What the heck do you think you’re doing to my stuff?”
“This is phase one of a desperately needed wardrobe fix. As per our contract.”
Noah scoops some of his T-shirts off the floor and haphazardly shoves them back into the drawer. “No thanks.”
I snatch them back out. “What did you think a fairy godmother would do for you? You said you want Holly to fall in love with you. You blackmailed me into helping you. So this is it. This is me helping you.”
He wrenches the T-shirts from my arms and says through clenched teeth, “Let’s get this straight right now. I want Holly to fall in love with the real me. I’m not going to let you screw with me like you did with the others. I’m not changing my clothes or my interests or the way I talk. Got it?”
For a moment I am too stunned to formulate a response. Only because of years of practice do I manage a pseudocalm “Yeah. I get it. Cool. I mean, you do you. But…” I can’t keep the irritation out of my voice as I slowly explain. “At some point you’re going to have to choose between this guy”—I thrust my arm out to point at the action figure box on the dresser—“and Holly.”
His eyes flick toward the action figure. Then he looks down at himself and shrugs like he doesn’t see the problem. “She liked me before.”
“Yeah. BEFORE. Before she was dating KADE freaking KASSAB. Okay? He’s your competition now.”