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“I’m always nice.” Her gaze drops to Jordan’s hand in mine, and her eyes go wide. “Are you two . . . ? What about the competition?”
“What about it? You know it was never real. Not to me.” I glance at Jordan for support, and he squeezes my hand. “As of today, I’m done. I officially quit.”
Frantic, Nicole grabs my other hand, attempting to tow me away from him. “No! Kennedy, you can’t quit!”
“The hell she can’t.” Jordan refuses to release his hold on me, and the two of them play tug-of-war with my arms.
“Hey! I need those!” I shout, and they both let go.
“You don’t understand,” Nicole shrieks, her eyes wild, like an animal caught in a trap. “This has gotten so much bigger than a simple competition. You’re an international role model now!”
“What are you talking about?” I toss up my hands. The last time Nicole acted this unhinged was . . . “Did Jeremy get you high again?”
Nicole rolls her eyes. “That was one time.”
“Then please enlighten me. Is this about Jordan? Because you might not like him, but I do—a lot. And nothing you say or do will change my mind.”
“It’s not about Keller.” She waves off the idea as if she hasn’t taken every opportunity to ridicule him since day one. “Not exactly.” She shoots him another glance and cocks her head. “Hey, what happened to the guy liner? Except for the green streaks, you almost look like a real boy today.”
Until she pointed it out, I hadn’t noticed Jordan not only ditched the faux-hawk, but the black eyeliner, too. I can’t decide if I miss it or not. Either way, no one should be allowed to be that sexy.
Jordan grins as if he senses where my thoughts are heading.
“Stop with the goo-goo eyes already!” Nicole stomps her foot like an angry toddler. “I need your full attention, Kennedy!”
For as long as I’ve known her, Nicole’s been high maintenance bordering on dramatic, but for some reason, she’s absolutely coming apart at the seams right now.
I motion for her to go on. “Tell me quickly. We already missed breakfast. I don’t want to be late to class.”
“Someone from Eve’s Orchid got wind of Kennedy Beaman’s Get Laid List and wrote a whole blog post about you,” she whispers in a rush. “They’re calling you the new modern feminist!”
“No!” My pulse jumps and my stomach plummets. “My mom reads Eve’s Orchid!”
Nicole barks out a laugh. “Everybody reads Eve’s Orchid.”
“Eve’s what?” Jordan darts his gaze between us.
Nicole’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead as she gapes at him. “Only the most important online source for modern feminism in America!”
“Why would they write about me?” A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I cling to Jordan’s arm for balance. Has the whole world gone mad? “I’m not remotely newsworthy.”
Nicole vibrates with excitement as she spews out the details so fast I can barely keep up. “Their socials followed the Get Laid List account and shared our posts to their two million–plus followers. Minutes after it went live, the post went viral, and their comment section blew up with people championing your cause. Eve’s founder, Laurel Maddox herself, DM’d our account—and get this—she wants to interview you. For the magazine!” Her smile stretches so wide her face nearly cracks in half. “She’ll devote an entire issue to you and the competition. She’s talking product endorsements, and, Kennedy, she’s offering a college scholarship!”
“A scholarship?” The word sends ripples up my spine. Before the list got out of hand, all I thought about was landing a scholarship. And now Eve’s Orchid is offering me one? “You’re joking?”
“I’m one hundred percent serious.” She pulls out her phone and opens the social media app. “Look at this.”
Before I can process the information in front of me, she quickly switches to her email. “And here’s the scholarship offer in black and white.”
My head swims from information overload, and I snatch the phone from her hand to read the email for myself. I reach the bottom and nearly scream at the signature. Laurel Maddox, editor in chief, Eve’s Orchid. “This can’t be real.”
“And yet it is.” Nicole grins ear to ear with uncharacteristic glee.
I hand back her phone. “And the offer’s legit?”
She nods. “I had my mom check it out before getting your hopes up. They’re supposed to be sending over a contract this afternoon.”
“A scholarship.” The word comes out like a prayer. I’m almost afraid to hope . . . to believe. I replay every stress-inducing moment from the past seven and a half months and imagine it all wiped away with the stroke of a pen.
