I MADE A DEAL WITH THE HOCKEY BOY

The thing about owing Cole Whitaker a favor was that you never knew when he was going to cash it in.

Nora Jensen had been hoping he'd forgotten.

It had been three months since the whole incident with the science lab, the fire extinguisher, and the very angry chemistry teacher. Three months since Cole had looked her dead in the eye and said, "You owe me one, Jensen," with that insufferable smirk of his.

Three glorious, blissfully uneventful months.

She should have known it was too good to last.

---

She was in the middle of eating a granola bar and definitely not eavesdropping when it happened.

To be fair, Cole was standing two lockers down from hers, speaking at full volume with absolutely zero regard for the concept of a private conversation. So really, the eavesdropping was his fault.

"Mom, I— no, I know what you said." He ran a hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was stressed. Nora had catalogued enough of Cole Whitaker's mannerisms against her will to write a field guide. *The Hockey Boy in His Natural Habitat.* "She's just — we've been really busy lately. With the season and everything."

A pause.

"Yes, Mom. I know dinner is on Saturday."

Another pause. Longer this time.

Cole's jaw tightened. "Fine. Yeah. I'll bring her."

He hung up and stood very still for a moment, staring at his phone like it had personally wronged him.

Nora turned back to her locker and stuffed her calculus textbook into her bag, hoping he hadn't noticed her.

"Jensen."

Of course.

She turned around slowly. Cole was leaning against the locker next to hers, arms crossed, looking at her with an expression she could only describe as calculating. He was still in his practice gear — shoulder pads off, but he had that slightly-disheveled, post-ice look that the entire junior class seemed to lose their minds over. Nora was, famously, immune.

She was mostly immune.

"Whitaker," she said pleasantly. "Didn't see you there."

"You were absolutely listening to that."

"I was eating a granola bar."

"And listening."

She zipped up her bag. "What do you want?"

He was quiet for a second, which was unusual. Cole Whitaker was never quiet. He was the kind of person who filled every room he walked into, loud and bright and completely impossible to ignore, the star center of Millbrook High's hockey team and the bane of Nora's organized, carefully planned existence.

"My mom," he started.

"I heard."

"Right." He exhaled. "Okay, so here's the thing."

"Cole."

"I may have told her I had a girlfriend."

Nora stared at him.

He at least had the decency to wince. "It was three weeks ago and she kept asking why I wasn't dating anyone and I panicked and—"

"You panicked?" Nora repeated. "You, Cole Whitaker, panicked? You once took a puck to the face during playoffs and kept playing."

"That's different. That's hockey." He shifted his weight. "This is my mom."

Nora pressed her fingers to her temple. She could feel the headache forming already, right behind her left eye, the same one she always got when Cole was involved.

"And now she wants to meet this imaginary girlfriend," she said slowly. "At dinner. On Saturday."

"My grandma's going to be there too."

"Oh, fantastic."

"And my aunt Linda."

"Cole—"

"And possibly my cousin Derek, who is the worst person alive, but that's a separate issue—"

"Cole."

He stopped. Looked at her. And there it was, that thing he almost never showed, tucked under all the swagger and the smirking and the *Cole-ness* of him. Something almost like desperation.

"You owe me one," he said quietly. "And I know that's a terrible thing to ask. I know that. But I need someone who can hold a conversation and not embarrass me, and you're literally the smartest person I know, and—"

"Flattery," Nora said, "is not going to work."

"Is there anything that would work?"

She thought about it for exactly one second.

"You do my calc homework for two weeks."

"I'm failing calc."

"Then I guess you're in trouble." She slung her bag over her shoulder. "Three weeks. And you owe me one after this."

Cole blinked. Then something shifted in his expression, relief, mostly, and something else she didn't want to examine too closely.

"Yeah," he said. "Okay. Deal."

"We need ground rules," Nora said, already walking. "I'm not holding your hand."

"Noted."

"I'm not looking at you like I like you."

"...Rude, but noted."

"And if your cousin Derek is actually the worst person alive, I reserve the right to leave early."

Cole fell into step beside her, annoyingly easy and comfortable, like they walked down hallways together every day. "You're really good at this whole negotiation thing."

"I'm good at everything," Nora said. "That's why you asked me."

She didn't look at him. She didn't need to. She could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "Yeah. That's exactly why."

Nora Jensen had been hoping Cole Whitaker forgot he was owed a favor.

She was really starting to wish she'd been right.