It’s in the Contract

Chapter 1

One

It’s the first day of school, Monte Ville High. We can’t wait to see everyone!

TikTok caption by @CassidyandBrianMVH.

“Remind me why I do this with you again?” I groan.

“Because you love weight lifting!” Mom accentuates each word with a punch into the air. “And I just broke a personal record!”

I blearily pump out my warm-up jumping jacks. My eyelids droop, begging my body to go back to sleep. The clock on the wall reads 5:30 AM.

Mom picks up her dumbbells for another set of squats.

She grips a forty pound dumbbell in each hand, staring at the floor-to-ceiling mirror that makes up one wall of my mom’s personal exercise studio.

She squats down, and the muscles in her quads bulge.

Her arms holding the dumbbells at her side are toned and defined.

The lights in the workout studio are blinding, and the air smells like sweat and iron.

On the wall is an enormous rack of weights from fives to one hundreds.

The coating on the lighter sets of weights are peeling from so much use, whereas the one hundreds have a fine layer of dust. Various workout machines line the back wall—the bench press, the leg press, the chest press. A lot of presses.

Mom finishes her set and places the weights back on the rack. She turns to me and watches me jump. “Good form, Callie. But pick up the pace.”

Sweat is beaded on Mom’s forehead, and the underarms of her purple tank are dark despite the ceiling fans blowing overhead.

Her auburn hair is pulled into a low bun, but a few wisps are coming out around her face, sticking to her moist temples. Moist. Ewww. Her sometimes-brown-and-sometimes-green eyes shine from the exhilaration of conquering a challenge.

Even the blushing pink camellia tattoo on her shoulder is glistening.

“Good morning to you, too,” I say, but I increase the speed of my jacks.

About a minute passes, and I’m out of breath when Mom finally nods, and I stop.

“What are we working on today?” I tighten my high ponytail and check the clock on the wall.

“I’ve got twenty-five minutes before I need to shower and get ready. ”

Mom frowns. “For today we’ll make that work, but tomorrow could you get up earlier?”

Irritation flares in my stomach, but I hold in my sigh. I nod.

Mom scrolls through her phone to her workout playlist, and Sabotage by Beastie Boys blares over the sound system.

“Aren’t we going to wake up Dad?” I ask.

Mom smiles. “He’s welcome to join us. And he needs to get up soon for his flight to LA, anyway.”

She coaches me through the bench press, spotting me through every rep and adding extra weight with each set.

She makes me do push-ups until failure for a burnout.

By the time we’re finished, my chest muscles are quivering.

I follow her to the weight rack and do single-arm tricep presses and dips on the bench to finish.

Finally, I roll out my tie-dye yoga mat on the ground, sweaty and breathing hard but feeling good about how many reps I was able to eke out. I smile at Mom, but she’s checking her Fitbit.

“I guess that’s all we have time for today.” She rolls out her own yoga mat, a serene sky blue, and bends down for child’s pose.

I copy her, stretching out my tight muscles, and the rubbery smell of the mat fills my nose. A droplet of sweat rolls off my forehead and plops onto a blue spiral.

“Eat a high-protein breakfast,” Mom says, her voice muffled by the mat. She rolls onto her side, opening her arms into a twist, and I mimic her movements.

“I will, Mom.”

“There are protein shakes in the fridge, and I’ll make you some eggs while you’re in the shower.” Mom rolls onto her other side, and I follow. “I got you the sourdough bread that you like for toast, but only have one piece. And no butter. There are avocados on the counter you can use instead.”

It’s because she cares. I force my jaw to unclench. “Got it. What do you have going on today?”

Mom sits up and leans forward for a hamstring stretch, reaching a hand’s distance past her feet. I copy her, but I can barely reach the tips of my toes. My light brown hair is coming loose from the ponytail, and my bangs stick to the sweat on my temples.

“I have two new clients that I’m training this morning, and then I’ll teach a new kickboxing routine at Trim & Fit.” Mom’s eyes shine as she tells me about the songs she’s incorporated into her routine and how much she thinks the group ex members are going to love them. I smile and nod.

“Good luck at school, Cal,” Mom says, standing and reaching overhead for a stretch. “I hope it’s an amazing first day.”

“Thanks, Mom. That was a great workout.”

Mom’s eyes sparkle. “Maybe I’ll use it on one of my clients later.”

“Good idea.” I stand and turn toward the door, but Mom pulls me into a hug. She’s sweaty and warm, but I hug her back.

“I love working out together,” Mom says.

I hesitate, just for a beat. “I love it too, Mom.”

She releases me, and I head upstairs to shower.

“What do you think, girl?” I ask my adorable pug, Butter. She snorts from the top of my pastel pink and yellow bedspread. Where she’s not supposed to be.

Butter’s short doggy hairs cling to the otherwise pristine blanket from when she climbed into bed with me sometime in the middle of the night. I blow out through my lips.

“Mom is going to be so mad at you,” I say, leaning forward to squeeze her smooshy cheeks. Butter looks up at me with her big brown eyes, her tongue lolling out. “You’re not supposed to get in bed with me.” I jerk my head at Butter’s doggy bed in the corner of the room. “You sleep there, you turd.”

I turn back to the mirror to double check my appearance. The light gray knit sweater dress looks great with my pale pink tights and ankle boots. I pair it with a chunky silver necklace and pink pearl earrings.

I check my phone on my bedside table. My heart sinks. Still no response from Noah.

“No big deal,” I say. “He probably went to bed early last night so he’ll be fresh for the first day of school and all ready to see me, right?”

I haven’t seen him this week, but that by itself isn’t too out of the norm. His family vacationed a lot this summer, and he had football camps in between. But through it all, we’ve kept up a near constant stream of texts. Until this week.

I finish my makeup and move on to my hair, curling it into beachy waves.

“Noah better get back to me soon if he wants to keep me as his girlfriend.” I release a curl and turn to my doggy.

“Get off, you little pill.” Butter complies, plopping more than hopping off the bed and waddling across the floor to her pile of blankets.

Her dark brown eyes peer over the edge of a ratty bear toy, watching my every move.

I mist my curtain bangs with hairspray so they stay out of my face and then take the time to replace each makeup item neatly. I stand and shake off the bedspread as best as I can, and dog hair flies into the air. I wave a hand in front of my face. It’s pointless. I’ll use my hand vacuum later.

I still make the bed and fold down the top blanket.

My room is spotless. Gray houndstooth patterned rugs cover the dark wood floor, and matching bedside tables bookend my bed.

The walls are bare except for a ticking clock and a canvas mural of an artsy pink flower that my mom picked out at a farmer’s market.

On the wall is a shelf full of cheer trophies.

There’s a tiny hole in the wall that mom hasn’t covered yet from where I once thumb-tacked a picture of me and my best friend, Suzy—both of us beaming at the camera, wearing matching shirts of our favorite band, BTS, while we were at their once-in-a-lifetime concert.

Mom took it down the day after I put it up and lectured me about damaging the wall.

Now for the two most important steps of my routine. I take out my bottle of nail polish remover from my dresser drawer and grab a cotton ball to rub off yesterday’s nail polish. The sharp smell of acetone fills the air, and Butter screws up her nose and sneezes.

“C’mon, girl. Aren’t you used to this by now?”

I apply a new coat of nail polish, forest green and white on alternating nails. On my pointer finger I use a nail stencil to paint the number twenty-two. It looks perfect.

I hold them out for Butter to inspect. “The colors clash with my outfit, but I want to surprise Noah and wear our school colors and his jersey number.”

Butter’s eyes are closed, and she’s snoring softly.

And now for most-important-thing part two. I study the two long lines of perfume bottles on top of my vanity. My friends tease me about the size of my collection, but I believe that there’s power in perfume and in choosing which scent to wear each day.

Finally, I hold up two options. “Which one, Butter? Lavender glow? Or rose crush?” Butter’s still snoring. “You’re no help.”

I look from one bottle to the next, the lavender scent a purple, round bottle with an old-fashioned puff sprayer that I adore. The rose is square, made of heavy glass, with a red and green striped print. “Lavender for serenity? Or rose for romance?”

I set down the lavender and spritz on the rose.

One light spray on my neck, one on my right wrist, then rub together with my left. The scent is heavenly, floral and rich. “Excellent choice,” I say to my sleeping dog. I lean over to give her a kiss on the head.

I pull out my phone and check my to-do list.

“Work out, check. Get ready for school, check,” I say, tapping the button to make each item disappear.

I smile, satisfied. The rest of the list is blank for now and will be filled in later with cheer practice, homework, and time with Noah.

But for now my final reminder is, “Knock ‘em dead.” My daily item that never gets checked off.

It’s going to be a great day.