“Don’t worry, Katherine. I’m here to help.” I tried a new smile I had been practicing: bored pity. I had gotten feedback during our last evaluation that I could be a little overeager, especially with teenagers, which was a big target demographic. Get ’em while they’re young, KQ always says.

The new smile seemed to work, because I could feel Katherine move from fear to thirst.

“What can you do?” she asked.

“Well, let me see what we have here.”

I put my hands on the mailbox and closed my eyes. I could go a few ways with this one, but given her palpable insecurity, I figured I wouldn’t have to work too hard with the Lil’ Nibbler, and it was too nice a day out to work hard. I often lingered during my deals, another one of the points off during my evaluation.

“Oh wow,” I said, frowning. “You’re lucky I showed up.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, spiking the frozen butterfly down to the lawn.

“Oh God, it’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Aren’t there plenty of community colleges in this area? I bet your mom would love the opportunity to keep you home another couple of years. Think of all the bonding time during the commute!”

Katherine winced. She had freckles across her nose like someone blew all the punctuation off the page of a book.

“Listen,” I said, softening my boredom into pity. “If it’s what you really want, I can get you into Stanford.”

“Are you serious? How?”

“Actually, it’s pretty simple. You just need to sign something,” I said, pulling out my tablet.

“What is it?” she asked, but the stylus was already in her hand.

“Oh, nothing, just a basic agreement. I’ll hold up my end of the bargain right now, and then eventually, way, way down the line, when you’re old and have accomplished everything you and your mother have ever wanted for you, I’ll come find you and ask you for a tiny little favor.”

The favor, of course, was not a favor; it was a demand. And it wasn’t tiny; it was an eternity. She would know that if she read the terms and conditions. When people say dealing with legal contracts is a great introduction to Hell, they don’t know how right they are.

“And you promise I’ll get into Stanford?”

“And so much more. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I want to be a veterinarian.”

“Done,” I said.

“What? Just like that?”

“Well, you’ll have to try a little bit in school so it’s not suspicious, but yes, just like that.”

It was true. She would go to Stanford, and then the best vet school in the country, and she would be very successful. Here, at least.

She dragged the stylus along the document, skimming.