Page 7 of The Comeback Pact

NoOne: But if you really want to watch Baywatch, maybe Jell-O?

McKennaK: Jell-O? Really?

NoOne: I don’t know what you watch it for, but I watch it for the boobs.

I snicker. Of course. What a guy thing to say.

McKennaK: And to you, boobs are Jell-O? I’m questioning this convo now.

NoOne: OK, what are boobs to you?

Hmm. I bite my lip as I stare down at my screen. My lunch tray is pushed to the side with a half-eaten chicken patty sandwich on it. The rest of the room is filled with other students talking and laughing, but my complete focus is on the conversation I’m having with a person I don’t even know. Over these past few months, I can say I’m certain he’s a guy. The boob comment aside, I’ve straight up asked him. Unless he’s catfishing me—which is possible, but meh—I like my chances.

Also, he has to go to Warner because he’s messaging me within the school’s app. What I don’t know is how he got a username that’s not his name. We’re all supposed to be first name, last name initial, but instead, his is NoOne. Definitely increases the mystery factor.

Honestly, it doesn’t matter because this texting relationship has been a nice distraction, and one I’ve desperately needed.

I grin as I come up with the perfect answer.

McKennaK: Whipped cream

He doesn’t respond for a while, and my stomach clenches. We’ve never taken our messages in this direction before. Little bubbles pop up, like he’s typing, but then they go away.

I tap my foot against the cafeteria tile, wishing I could unsend my response, but he’s obviously seen it. Out of the blue, a voice sings, “I… I just died in your arms tonight.” Gazing up, I find my new roommate with a clear plastic water bottle to her mouth, belting out those lyrics like she’s on stage in front of an enormous crowd. “It must’ve been some kind of kiss.”

She struts toward me, then sits, dramatically crossing her legs and lifting her chin in the air in an end pose that has me laughing.

After a brief pause, Sydney slides her gaze my way while still keeping her diva pose. “How was it?”

I open my mouth to tease her, but she’s already up and out of her seat before I can get anything out.

“Hold up,” she announces, pointer finger straight up in the air as she walks away. She moves about four tables down before spinning toward me again. Her black ponytail whips from one shoulder to the other, showing off her long, dangly earrings shimmering in the light. She has a shit-eating grin on her face, the bottle of water still clenched tightly in her fingers. Taking off, she runs the first few feet before dropping to her knees and sliding until she’s right next to me, all the while, her head tilted back as she sings into the bottle-turned-microphone, “I… I just died in your arms tonight.”

She pauses, not moving, and while I shake my head at her, more than a few people clap and someone even gives a high-pitched whistle. Before taking the seat across from me, she stands and bows, like she does this every day for her adoring fans. “Well?” she questions with a hopeful smile.

Jesus. What can I say about Sydney other than she’s a hell of a lot of fun? “The second take was definitely more dramatic. What year did that song come out?”

“Oh, come on. Are you trying to tell me you don’t know that song?” She takes a big gulp of water and then sets it down in front of her. “I need to be unique, and I feel like an oldie but goodie will help me stand out.”

Ever since I moved in with Sydney, she’s been obsessing over this year’s Lip Sync Contest. The winner performs at halftime during homecoming, but not just that, the boosters go all out. There’ll be a legit stage, a great sound system, pyrotechnics, lasers, whatever the winner wants to bring their show to life. It’s good fun and just another thing that sets Warner football apart from everyone else.

Ugh. I hate how everything at Warner University is centered around football.

My phone finallypingswith NoOne’s answer.

NoOne: Please tell me there’s a cherry involved.

My fingers itch to typedo you want a cherry to be involved?but that’s crazy. I don’t even know this guy.

I make myself put my phone away so I don’t say something I’ll end up regretting. However, as soon as I do, I feel the doctor’s note that had me so hyped this morning.

“Sorry,” I tell Sydney. “I’m just being a downer. Coach said I won’t be diving this year. She gave Laney a new partner. But don’t worry,” I say sarcastically. “They’re holding my scholarship for me as long as they can.” I stop there, hopefully giving Sydney the same implication Coach gave me.

What if I don’t have a scholarship next year?

“What?” Sydney exclaims. It rings so high and shrill that several people turn to look at us. She knows I don’t like attention being drawn to me, so she grimaces as an apology and leans forward like we’re co-conspirators. “That’s bullshit. The note,” she whisper-yells, referencing again what I thought was going to be a done deal.

“She said I can start practicing with them, but she thinks I’m out of shape and definitely won’t be ready in time to dive this season.”

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