Chapter Eight And We Have a Deal
After Sadie leaves, I make a chart outlining all the pros and cons of my plan, and seeing it all on a spreadsheet makes it clear: This is a surefire way to get Mom and Jason to send me home. In fact, I’d put money on me being back in Toronto by Monday, if Noah agrees.
When I get to CROP the next day, Noah is the only other kid there.
Lainey hands us a weeding tool and fresh paper bags and sends us out while she waits for the rest of the kids to show up.
Noah and I walk far from the picnic tables, to near the gazebo or bandstand or whatever it is, and I start pulling up weeds while he bags them.
He’s kind of quiet this morning—not the giggly, punny guy he was yesterday.
I watch him carefully, admiring how well he’s doing his job.
He’s just putting weeds into a paper bag, but he’s not simply dumping them in.
Instead he’s carefully placing each weed in, then tapping the bag on the ground to settle the contents.
I’m surprised at the conscientious, systematic way he’s working.
I don’t know very much about Noah except that he’s funny, flirty, kind, and a hard worker.
It makes no sense to me that so many people in this town think he’s trouble.
But there’s one major thing that I’d like to know. And maybe it’s a thing I should find out before I ask to spend even more time with him this summer.
“Hey, Noah,” I say as I spear the next weed. “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but I’m curious… how did you get into CROP?”
He turns to me, his dark brows knitted together. “Um, I walked? I don’t live very far from here.”
It takes a second for me to make sense of his answer, before I laugh. At the sound, Noah’s expression relaxes and he smiles back at me. “No, I mean, Lainey said everyone has a reason for being here. What’s yours?”
“Court-ordered community service.”
I smile. “Same as me. What’s yours for?”
His smile drops a little and he stares at me for a while, like he doesn’t know if he should answer.
Which is fair. There’s literally no reason for him to trust me.
I’m asking him these questions because I need to know exactly what kind of “criminal” I’m about to ask on a date.
Even if it’s a fake one. I don’t want to go out with someone violent.
Or someone who hurt someone in another way.
“Trespassing,” he says.
I can’t help it, I laugh, which makes him give me an even more suspicious look. “I’m laughing because that’s exactly why I’m here too,” I say. I give him a short version of what happened on my very first date.
His face softens and he chuckles at my story.
“So,” I say, giving him my most persuasive smile. “Remember yesterday when you told me that you’ve never been to the country club? And you’d want to see people’s faces if you ever went?”
He bends to pick up the weed I just pulled out. “Yeah.”
“Would you really want to?”
He shakes his head. “Like, to work? Nah. A buddy of mine was a waiter there last summer. He said the customers are seriously demanding. He barely made any tips. I’ll never understand why rich people are so cheap.”
I frown. Is Jason like that? Mom always tips well because she waited tables in college; she’d never marry a bad tipper. Right?
I’m getting away from the topic. “I don’t mean for work. I mean…” I exhale and shake out the disorganized thoughts in my head. Why am I so nervous? “You said that you would, like, go out with me to piss off my parents. Does that offer stand if it’s not a real date?”
Noah freezes, a tuft of weeds in his hand and a confused expression on his face.
“I’m asking you to pretend to date me.”
He blinks. “Pretend?”
“I mean, nothing against you, but, um, I’m just not ready to actually date anyone right now because of my terrible first date.
” I take a deep breath. This is ridiculous.
Why did I ever think this was a good idea?
“But my parents are having this party at the country club on the weekend, and they said I could bring someone. Mom would be annoyed if I brought a guy because… because never mind why, but…” I pause. “It wouldn’t be a real date. Just a—”
“A piss off your folks date?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.
I nod, my heart beating heavily in my chest. I’ve insulted him.
I’ve implied that he’s not good enough for the country club.
“I mean, I do actually want you to come… as my friend, because I’ll barely know anyone, and we’re friends, right?
But we’d let others think it’s a date. My stepfather is kind of important in this town, and”—I sigh, my shoulders slumping—“I want my mom and stepfather to send me back to Toronto.”
“And if you date someone like me, you think they will send you back?”
I can’t read his expression at all. I look down and shrug.
“I don’t know. Probably. But I don’t mean that you’re not good enough for the club or for me, or anything like that.
I’m not the country club type either.” I exhale.
“But they want to turn me into the country club type.” I bite my lip to stop myself from saying something else dumb.
I’ve probably lost the closest thing I have to a friend at CROP.
“Who’s your stepfather?” Noah asks.
“Jason. Jason LeClair. His father owns LeClair Industries, and Jason works there and is a city councilor, too.”
Noah blinks, then lets out a long puff of air. He doesn’t exactly look surprised.
“I’ll make it up to you,” I say quickly. “I mean, I can do all the weeding for the rest of the week alone, and next week I’ll—”
He shakes his head, his face transforming into a slow smile. “You don’t need to do anything for me, Noorani. I’ll do it.”
“Seriously?” I ask.
“Seriously.” His smile is huge, but there’s a tigerlike glint to it, mischievous and dangerous. “It would be my absolute pleasure to be your pretend date for Jason LeClair’s country club party.”
I grin. He said yes. Noah Jacobs and I are going to the country club together.