Chapter 1 – The Boyfriend Proposal

• I knew I was going to lose the scholarship before Duke King even opened his mouth.
• That was the worst part. I was sitting in Room 3B with my printed proposal in my hands, ten pages that I had stayed up three nights to finish, and I could already tell by the way Mrs. Albright was looking past me that it didn’t matter.
• The King’s Foundation Scholarship meeting happens every year in the same room. There are six judges. Two teachers, two alumni, one foundation representative, and Duke.
• Duke isn’t supposed to be a judge. He is the student council president. But his family donates to the foundation, his name is on the library wing, and when he walks into a room, the adults listen. So he gets a chair. He gets a vote. He gets to decide who deserves a future.
• I was third on the list.
• The first girl was Maya Chen. She is vice-president of the debate club, she runs a charity drive, and her Instagram has twenty thousand followers because her mom is a news anchor. The judges smiled the whole time she talked. Duke nodded like he approved.
• The second was Jonah Ellis. He plays lacrosse with Weston Carter. He didn’t even bring a proposal. He just talked about leadership and team spirit and how much he loves this school. The judges laughed at his jokes.
• Then it was my turn.
• “Emma Blackwood,” Mrs. Albright said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
• I stood up. My hands were sweating. I put my folder on the table and opened it.
• “My proposal is about expanding tutoring access for junior students,” I said. “Right now, the peer tutoring program is only available to students who can pay the extra fee. I want to make it free and run by volunteers. I have a list of fifteen students who already agreed to help. I also tracked last year’s grades and I think we can raise the average by at least—”
• “Sorry,” Duke said.
• He didn’t raise his hand. He just said it.
• “Sorry, Emma. Quick question.”
• Mrs. Albright looked at him. “Duke?”
• “How many students would this help, exactly?” he asked me.
• “About forty in the first semester,” I said. “Maybe more if we—”
• “And how many students do we have in this school?” he asked.
• I stared at him. “Six hundred.”
• “Right.” He leaned back in his chair. He was smiling. That easy, perfect smile that made everyone think he was being friendly when he was actually cutting you open. “So less than ten percent.”
• I felt my face get hot. “It’s a start. The point is to—”
• “Brilliant students aren’t necessarily influential students,” Duke said, turning to the judges. He said it casually, like he was just thinking out loud. “I think that’s important for the King’s Foundation. Leadership isn’t just about good grades. It’s about whether people actually follow you. Whether you can move a room.”
• The room went quiet.
• Mrs. Albright cleared her throat. “That’s a fair point, Duke.”
• Duke looked at me again. “Emma is probably the smartest person in our year. No one doubts that. But this scholarship is about leadership. About impact. If you can’t get more than fifteen volunteers, is it really leadership?”
• He said it so nicely that if you weren’t paying attention, you would think he was complimenting me.
• One of the alumni judges nodded. “Influence does matter.”
• I stood there with my ten pages in my hand. I had charts. I had signatures. I had a budget that I calculated myself. And none of it mattered because Duke had decided in ten seconds that I wasn’t influential enough.
• “Thank you, Emma,” Mrs. Albright said quickly. “We’ll consider your proposal.”
• I sat down. My legs were shaking. Maya Chen gave me a sympathetic look from across the table, but she didn’t say anything. No one ever says anything when Duke does this.
• After the meeting, I walked out into the hallway and leaned against the lockers. Students were passing by, laughing, talking about weekend plans. I could hear Jonah Ellis telling his friends that he thinks he nailed his interview.
• I hadn’t nailed anything. I had been told, in front of everyone who matters, that being smart isn’t enough.
• My family can’t afford full tuition next year. My mom didn’t say it directly, but I heard her on the phone with the bursar last month. The scholarship isn’t a bonus for me. It’s the reason I get to stay.
• And the judges want influence.
• I started walking without really thinking about where I was going. I ended up by the main staircase where the senior photos are hung. Every King’s scholar has their picture on that wall. All of them are smiling. All of them were popular.
• Weston Carter’s older brother is up there. Class of 2022.
• Weston was standing at the bottom of the stairs, talking to two guys from the basketball team. He was wearing his varsity jacket even though it was too warm inside. He always wears it. He has that kind of effortless thing where he doesn’t have to try to look good. People just look at him anyway.
• He laughed at something one of the guys said. Then he saw me.
• I don’t know what my face looked like. I was still holding my folder, my knuckles white.
• He said something to his friends and they walked away. He walked up a few steps toward me.
• “You okay?” he asked.
• Weston and I aren’t friends. We have been in the same class since sophomore year, but we have never really talked. He sits in the front, I sit near the window. He is invited to everything, I am invited to the library study sessions.
• “I’m fine,” I said.
• “You don’t look fine,” he said.
• “I just came from the scholarship interview.”
• “Oh.” His expression changed. He knows what those interviews are like. Everyone does. “How did it go?”
• “Duke told them I’m not influential,” I said. The words came out before I could stop them. “He said brilliant students aren’t necessarily influential students.”
• Weston winced. “He said that?”
• “In front of everyone.”
• Weston looked down the hallway toward Room 3B. The judges were coming out. Duke was in the middle, laughing with Mrs. Albright.
• “He does that,” Weston said quietly.
• “I know he does that,” I said. “That’s why I need your help.”
• He looked back at me. “My help?”
• I took a breath. This was the stupid part. This was the part I had been thinking about for two weeks but had never said out loud because it sounded crazy.
• “I want to make a deal,” I said.
• Weston raised an eyebrow. “A deal.”
• “Three months,” I said. “You and I pretend to date for three months. Until the scholarship decision is announced.”
• He stared at me.
• Then he laughed. Not meanly, but like he thought I was joking.
• “You’re serious,” he said when I didn’t laugh.
• “I’m completely serious.”
• “Emma—”
• “Listen,” I said. I opened my folder and pretended to look at my notes so I wouldn’t have to look at his face. “You are the most popular boy in school. Everyone likes you. If I’m seen with you, people will notice me. The judges will notice me. It’s not about being smart, it’s about being seen. You can give me that.”
• “And what do I get?” he asked.
• “Better publicity.”
• “I have publicity.”
• “You have Duke,” I said.
• That made him stop.
• Everyone knows Weston and Duke are supposed to be best friends. They grew up together, their families know each other, they are on student council together. But lately, people have been whispering. That Duke is controlling. That Weston is tired of being his sidekick.
• “I know you want distance from him,” I said. “If you date me, you have an excuse. You can’t be at his beck and call if you have a girlfriend. And I’m not in his circle, so it makes you look independent. The teachers will like that. The sponsors for the athletic banquet will like that.”
• Weston crossed his arms. “You thought a lot about this.”
• “I had to.”
• He was quiet for a long time. Students were still walking past us. A couple of girls looked over and stared, then whispered to each other when they saw us talking.
• “Three months?” he said.
• “Three months,” I said. “We set rules. We write them down. No feelings, no jealousy, no real dates unless we have to be seen. No kissing unless absolutely necessary. No telling anyone it’s fake. And we break up right after the scholarship decision, clean and simple.”
• “No feelings,” he repeated.
• “No feelings,” I said firmly.
• He looked at my folder, then at me. “What makes you think I would agree to something like this?”
• “Because you hate that he gets to decide who matters,” I said. “And I saw your face when I told you what he said in there. You know it’s wrong.”
• Weston didn’t answer right away. He leaned against the railing. For a second, he looked tired. Not the perfect, charming Weston everyone sees at assemblies, but someone younger.
• “My dad said the foundation likes students who have a stable image,” he said finally. “A girlfriend makes me look stable. Less of a party guy.”
• “So that’s a yes?”
• “That’s a maybe,” he said. “If we do this, we need actual rules. Written. And we both sign it.”
• “I already drafted it,” I said. I pulled out the last page of my folder. At the bottom, under my tutoring proposal, I had typed a separate document. CONTRACT – 90 DAYS.
• Weston’s eyes widened. “You are scary, you know that?”
• “I am desperate,” I said. “There is a difference.”
• He took the paper from me and read it. His mouth twitched.
• “No kissing unless absolutely necessary,” he read out loud. “What’s absolutely necessary?”
• “Like if we are at a school event and people expect it.”
• “So never,” he said.
• “Hopefully never,” I said.
• He kept reading. “No telling anyone. No breaking the agreement before the scholarship decision.”
• “Yes.”
• He folded the paper in half. “I need to think about it.”
• “How long?”
• “Till tomorrow,” he said. “Meet me at the library after last period. Back table.”
• He started to walk away, then stopped.
• “Emma,” he said.
• “What?”
• “If we do this, you have to actually talk to me in the hallways. Not just walk past me like I don’t exist.”
• “I don’t walk past you like you don’t exist,” I said.
• “You literally did yesterday.”
• “I was late to chemistry.”
• He smiled a little. “See you tomorrow. Fake girlfriend.”
• He walked off before I could correct him.
• I stood there at the staircase, holding my folder, watching him go. My heart was beating so fast I thought people could hear it.
• Behind me, I heard Duke’s voice. He was still in the hallway with the judges, laughing.
• I looked down at the folded contract in my hand. One half was sticking out from Weston’s pocket where he had put it.
• For the first time since the meeting, I felt like I had a chance.
• I just needed Weston Carter to say yes.