The Quarterback Next Door novel · Chapter 2 of 24
Chapter 2: The Jar
The economics teacher pairs Demi and Cade for a mock-household project; she sets terms at her kitchen table until smoke rolls past the window.
By Monday, the video had four thousand views.
I knew because three different people showed it to me before first period.
One of them played it at full volume in the hallway, so I could enjoy Cade's voice saying "Quit making it weird" in surround sound.
I said "Great sound quality" and kept walking.
It was the only thing I could think of that didn't make me cry.
Economics was my last class of the morning, and the room was freezing, as always.
The teacher stood at the front holding a mason jar full of folded paper.
He was a tired man in a quarter-zip who had taught senior economics for twenty-six years and had stopped being surprised by anything.
"Household Project," he announced.
"You will be paired with a partner at random."
"For six weeks you will run a mock household together, with a budget, a lease, and one emergency expense I will choose."
"Final presentation is homecoming Friday."
"No trades, no pleading, and no, I do not care that you would rather work with your friend."
He started drawing slips.
I sat in the second row with my arms folded and prayed to every saint I could name.
Cade sat in the back with his hood up.
He wore his varsity jacket, and he'd been staring at his desk since the bell.
"Eastwick," the teacher read.
My stomach dropped.
"Hollander."
Behind me a boy whispered, "Oh, you have got to be kidding."
Somebody laughed.
I raised my hand before I could stop myself.
"Could I switch, sir?"
"No."
"I haven't even said why."
"I know why, Ms. Eastwick. All of Ohio knows why."
He did not say it meanly, which was somehow worse.
"The jar is the jar."
"It's the only fair method I have."
I sat back down and pressed my lips together.
When the bell rang, I packed my bag fast and was halfway to the door when Cade stepped in front of it.
He was a head taller than me.
He had a split lip from practice that I hadn't noticed on Friday.
"Demi."
"Hollander."
He flinched at the last name.
"Can we talk?"
"We can work," I said.
"Tonight, seven o'clock, my kitchen. Bring your own laptop and nothing else."
"I'll bring the snacks," he said, and tried to smile.
"No."
"No snacks. No jokes. No talking about anything that is not a budget."
"Those are the terms."
His jaw moved.
"Okay."
"Okay."
I walked past him, and my shoulder bumped his arm, and neither of us said sorry.
He came at seven on the dot.
Our houses stood so close that he could have walked over through the side yard in his socks, and he'd done it a thousand times without knocking.
Tonight he knocked.
My mom was already gone for her shift at the hospital, so the only witness was the clock over the stove.
Cade stood on the porch with a laptop under his arm and his old beagle sitting at his feet, wearing the face of a dog who knew he was in trouble by association.
"He wouldn't stay home," Cade said.
"He's your dog."
"He likes you better."
"Then he has no taste."
That almost got a smile out of him, and I hated how much I noticed.
We sat at opposite ends of the kitchen table.
I opened the spreadsheet the school had given us.
"We have a household income of fifty-two thousand dollars," I read.
"Two adults, one dog."
"We pay rent, utilities, groceries, insurance, and savings."
"Do we get the dog?"
"The jar assigned us a dog," I said.
"This teacher is a monster."
"He's a monster who likes dogs."
The beagle put his chin on my foot and sighed.
I let him.
For ten minutes we argued about the grocery budget, and for ten minutes it was almost normal.
Cade said two hundred a month was plenty for food.
I said he had never bought food in his life.
He said that was a lie, he bought gas station burritos every Sunday.
"That is not a food group," I said.
"It has beans."
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Then he put down his pen.
"Demi, about Friday."
"No."
"I just need to say something."
"We said no talking about anything that isn't a budget."
"I know, but please."
"Cade."
My voice came out sharper than I meant.
"You said it in front of four hundred people."
"You don't get to say sorry in my kitchen like it fixes that."
He looked down at his hands, and I noticed his knuckles were white.
"It wasn't what it looked like," he said quietly.
"Then what was it?"
He opened his mouth.
The beagle lifted his head off my foot.
His whole body went stiff, and he started to whine, a thin, strange sound I'd never heard from him.
Cade frowned at him.
Then I smelled it too, sharp and bitter, drifting in through the cracked window above the sink.
Smoke.
I stood up so fast the chair fell over.
Through the window, over the side yard, an orange glow was creeping up the wall of the Hollanders' garage.
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