I handed Brougham the notebook, and he scanned the steps I’d written down for Stage One. When he looked back up, he’d set his jaw in determination. “You know, Phillips? I can work with this.” He blew out a breath. “When should I text her?”

I locked eyes with him and grinned, the excitement of it all hitting me. I’d get to see how my advice worked in real time. And I might just be able to bring love back into Brougham’s frozen, emotionless life. “Tonight. Do it tonight.”

SIX

Character Analysis:

Alexander Brougham

Thinks he wants a relationship, but is actually terrified of opening up, because he has godawful parents.

Scratch that, that’s an awful thing to say. His relationship with his parents is strained, and this affected his views on the stability of relationships. Says he adored Winona, but went silent on her for a month despite describing the relationship as good.

Is a commitment-phobe!

Therapy needed?

Pretty eyes, I guess. We can work with that.

A knock on the door an hour after Brougham left made me swing around to see Mom, still in her clothes from school. Her sunflower dress had splatters of blue goop on it—presumably from one of the day’s experiments—and her hair was frizzy and coming out of its bun, but overall, she still looked awesome.

Mom had always shunned the clothes available in the plus-size section of most stores. Her philosophy was just because a woman was fat, it didn’t mean she had to dress in clothes designed to make her blend into the background. If society wanted her to take up less space, Mom made a habit of taking up extra to spite it. So she got most of her clothes online, in a style best described as loud. Everything she owned came in vibrant prints and popping colors, from A-line dresses covered in cupcakes to peplum tops in a red and orange zigzag pattern to knee-high boots in raspberry pink.

“Still working, huh?” she asked. Because she had no idea about my whole locker venture, she figured whenever I was hunched over a notebook or papers or a Word document, I was studiously making my way through the week’s assignments. I was more than happy to encourage this misconception.

“Yup,” I said. “I had a friend over after school so I’ll be going for a while yet.”

“A ‘friend’?”

I saw her point. The only “friend” I usually brought over was Brooke, and I’d never referred to her so distantly in my life. Brooke was Brooke. Brougham was a friend. And that was being extremely generous. “Yeah. Alexander Brougham?”

Mom blinked in surprise. “He’s in my class.”

“My condolences.”

She folded her arms. Oh god, here it came. “And is he perhaps someone you hope to be more than friends with?”

“I’d pay good money to avoid Alexander Brougham ever seeing me like that.”