The Vow

through the lawn crowd. He says over his shoulder, “I just realized how much this summer is gonna rule with Annie working here. Unlimited free custard.”

“What, like you can’t afford to buy it?”

He shrugs. “Free is free. You don’t think she’ll hook us up?”

“No offense, but Annie’s not going to give you anything. Ever. Just in case you get the wrong idea. Again.”

He shrugs.

Bryce has made horrifically genuine passes at Annie at least once a year since seventh grade, but the rejection hasn’t seemed to damage his self-esteem. One attempt included plagiarized poetry on cologne-drenched paper.

He takes the steps two at a time. “But she’ll give you free custard, right? You can just ask for two spoons.”

“Wrong.”

He goes in. I follow and let the smell of waffle cone swallow me whole. It’s Mr. Twister’s sole redeeming quality.

A couple of months after we moved to the States, my parents took Sarina and me to Disney World. We ended up spending half the day doing It’s a Small World over and over—Sarina’s choice. She was mesmerized, but the eerie mechanical smiles and robotic swiveling heads screwed with my ten-year-old brain. I had nightmares for longer than I care to admit. I only have to walk into Mr. Twister, and it’s like I’m sitting in that mint-green boat staring into the eyes of creepy motorized marionettes all over again.

I don’t see Annie, which is good. I don’t want her to think I’m checking up on her—she hates that her parents are always doing that. She must be in the back, so we stand in line and make it to the front before I realize I’m screwed in the usual way. “I don’t have money,” I mumble but check my pockets anyway. Nothing. Clearly, I’m the one who should be getting a job, not Annie. If only my dad didn’t have other plans for my summer. Plans involving scientific slavery at his lab. Unpaid plans.

“No worries,” Bryce says.

My parents aren’t poor; in fact, my grandparents in Jordan are stinking rich, but there is no trickle-down effect in the Hussein financial plan, so I have no discretionary funds. Ironically, my parents fear what terrible shame I might bring on them if I had an extra twenty bucks every once in a while. But what they should fear is the terrible shame I might bring on them for shoplifting or selling drugs or plasma or semen or whatever else I have that can be traded for enough cash to buy a measly cup of frozen custard once in a while.

Bryce hands me five bucks.

“Thanks,” I say. “I’m not putting out at the end of this.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not my type either.”

I get a cone, and Bryce gets a Peanut Butter Hurricane. It’s bigger than his head. “Coach said more protein,” he says.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what he had in mind.”

We find a booth in the corner and watch the staff try to appease the never-ending line.

“How long has she been in there?” he asks, tunneling into the Hurricane with his plastic spoon.

“A while. I’m sure it’s a very thorough process. They’ve probably finished the obstacle course and are administering the polygraph right now.”

“Or one of those inkblot tests to weed out the crazies,” he says.

“Rorschach.”

“Ro-what? I don’t even know what language you’re speaking.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, there she is,” he says, pointing his spoon over my shoulder.

I turn, and at first I don’t see her, but then I do. She’s coming out of the back room behind some schmuck wearing the peach apron. Poor guy. No ruffles like the ones the girls have to wear, but still.

She’s smiling.

Then she looks at me, and I have to smile too. Because even though it’s still catastrophically stupid for her to walk in here and apply for her dead sister’s old job, I can’t not smile back at Annie.

Chapter 3

Annie

Smile for me,” I say.

“What makes you think I’m not smiling?”

He’s not. I can hear it through the phone. “Come on, Mo.”

“And why should I smile?” he asks. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s kind of funny. I mean, can you picture Bryce in some Grecian steam bath with a bunch of naked old men? Come on. That’s funny.”

“Not when he’s supposed to be at basketball camp with me. We’ve been planning this since last summer. Now I’m going to have to room with some loser who couldn’t manage to get a roommate.”

“Like yourself ?”

“I had a roommate. And if Bryce’s grandpa wasn’t such a manipulative old fart, I’d still have a roommate.”

“Spending a month in Greece is sort of a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” I say, not sure why I’m defending Bryce. He’s such an oaf. Harmless, but embarrassing, the way he keeps making me reject him and then coming back for more. It makes me feel like a jerk.

“Yeah, but he’s already spending July in Argentina at polo camp. How many once-in-a-lifetime things can a rich kid really enjoy in one summer? Never mind. I don’t care.”

He sounds very much like he cares. It’s been a full week since school let out, and Mo is still caring way too much about everything. The keyboard clicks in the background. “Are you on Facebook right now?” I ask.

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. I’m cycling the Danube.”

I pause. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Nationalgeographic.com. They strap a camera onto a bike and ride it down the Danube.”

“Oh, so you feel like you’re really there.”

“I am really there.”

“Of course.” National Geographic is Mo’s internet addiction of choice. It feeds his inner know-it-all.

“Pop quiz,” he says. “Name one of the four European capitals that the Danube passes through.”

“Lima.”

“Not funny.”

“Paris?”

“Annie, you’ve got to know this stuff if we’re going to win.”

Mo thinks we’re in training for The Amazing Race. His optimism would be sweet if it didn’t come along with pop quizzes on Asian currencies and African flags and other stuff I have no idea about. I’ve been informed we’re making our audition tape in February, as soon as he’s eighteen.

“You memorize the European capitals,” I say. “I’ll mentally prepare to eat the camel testicles.”

“Deal. You should check this Danube thing out, though. It’s kind of amazing.”

“I’m sure it is. Too bad I’m not in front of a computer, or I’d be all over that.”

“Where are you?”

“Driving. My mom sent me to the plant nursery, and now I’ve got a truckful of baby trees and cow