“Liar,” I mutter as I take a seat at his desk, and he just shrugs, which is extra annoying because there is no way Salem has actually ever tolerated someone’s presence (and vice versa) long enough to make out with them, let alone to this soundtrack. I can’t even physically imagine him kissing someone. Like, where would he put his hands? Everywhere seems too gentle and intimate for someone who uses pocket knives as fidget spinners and listens to metal loud enough to wake the dead, though I admit he is pretty dexterous with a basketball, and— Wait, why am I imagining Salem’s lips and hands exploring anyone, anyway?

I take a sanity-preserving bite of cookie before continuing my thought. “Anyway, only listening to old music makes you seem like you’re not open to new things and experiences. There’s something so dreary about acting like nothing new can be cool. You don’t wanna be that guy.”

“I am absolutely happy to be that guy.”

“Hey, you asked for my help,” I can’t resist reminding him, even though he’s clearly been sorry about that fact every single minute of every single day since.

“Stick with providing sustenance.” He swallows down the last chocolatey bite. “I might need to join Baking Club.”

Okay, that might be even harder to picture than—

Nope, still harder to picture Salem with his tongue in a girl’s mouth.

Again, not picturing Salem with his tongue in a girl’s mouth.

What was I here to talk about again?

Oh right. Me.

“Anyway, no thanks to you, I locked in a talent-show idea I think you’re going to like very much.” At least if Isabel wears the kind of outfit she’s planning to. “But it’s kind of cheesy and I need you to help me make it cool.”

“I’m really starting to think there’s not one thing I could do to make you cool. Where did you even get the idea that being in the talent show was somehow a badass thing to do?”

“I had a different initial vision,” I admit, “but it went off the rails kind of quickly when I was talking to Isabel. Who, by the way, will be my partner for this, so you may actually want to be nice to me.”

“You know you entirely invented my interest in her, right?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay. Like you don’t literally improve your posture in her presence.”

“It’s instinct!”

“I’ll bet it is. Anyway, you’re supposed to want to help me, the way I want to help you. I’m starting to think I’ve gotten the rotten end of this deal.”

“You?” He snorts. “I’m the one who has my phone going off fifty times a day with reminders to brush my teeth or call home.”

“Yeah, and your breath smells better and your mom is happier!”