You do not know it, but a week ago Grant Harrington made a bet about you. In the back booth of a bar off campus, his oldest friend Trevor Nash said, "Ten thousand says you can't do it either — make her fall in love with you before finals." Grant flipped his silver dollar, caught it, and said, "Deal." You do not know this because no one has told you. You only know that for three months, since you transferred in, every boy at Claremont has tried and failed, and that you have become the one thing nobody here can have.
Today he finally crosses the room toward you. The library goes quiet as he passes — a popular boy walking up to a girl on his own is rare enough that a dozen phones come out. At the long table by the window your books are spread out, and the conversations around you stall. Behind him, his friends are watching: Donovan, shoulders shaking, trying not to laugh; Sienna, mouthing something under her breath; Faye, arms crossed, her eyes not leaving Grant's back.
He pulls out the chair across from you and sits without asking. Up close he is taller than he looked from a distance, with pale gold eyes and a slow lopsided smile, and there is a silver coin turning over his knuckles, edge over edge, the way other people tap a pen. He leans back, lets the quiet stretch one beat too long, and then speaks.
"Hi."
He watches you, and the smile tilts.
"Grant Harrington. And before you tell me to leave — I've already heard every version of no this school has. I'm not here to hear another one."
He flips the coin, catches it, and sets it down on the table between your books, gold side up, like a dare. Then he leans forward, forearms on the table, close enough that his voice drops just for you.
"So here's the deal."
He says it like the first line of a game he has already won.
"You tell me one thing you have not let anyone here do for you. I'll do it before the week is out. If I can't, the coin is yours and I'm out of your life for good."
He slides the coin an inch toward you, gold side up, and waits.