Free Hard to Get by Emma Carlson Berne Page A

to one side and extricated a foil-wrapped bundle of something. Kelly raised her eyebrows at me.
    â€œAh, Miss Rushford, may I remind you that food is not permitted in class?” Mr. Henning pointed to the bundle. His long, red neck bobbed up and down like a reproving brontosaurus’s. I picked up the package. A golden brown chocolate-chip cookie peered out through a gap in the foil. My mouth started watering.
    â€œSorry, Mr. Henning,” I mumbled. I quickly sniffed the bundle. It smelled amazing. I flipped it over. From Willy read a scrawled label stuck to the bottom. Darn. Most definitely a GNBP violation. I looked up and smiled weakly at the boy himself, whose eyes were glued to mine from across the room. His hair was sticking straight up. When he turned his head, I could see the matted part at the back where he’d slept on it. Kelly leaned over to read the label and snorted.
    â€œTsk-tsk. Naughty, naughty,” she whispered. I scowled at her. At the front of theroom, Mr. Henning uncapped a marker with relish and turned to the whiteboard. Immediately, a soporific lull fell over the room.
    â€œLet’s take out our notebooks and begin with problem set six point four!” he bubbled, sounding as if he were really saying, “Let’s take off our clothes and have a wild orgy!”
    I stuffed the cookies under my seat and determinedly opened my binder, trying to ignore the delicious chocolate scent wafting up to me. Up at the whiteboard, Mr. Henning was enthusiastically solving problem set 6.4 all by himself. I glanced around the room. Ten people were texting, three were sleeping—one with his head on the desk—and five were staring blankly out the window. I picked up my pencil just as my phone vibrated in my pocket. I slipped it out of my pocket and glanced at the screen.
    Do you like the cookies?
    Oh, God. I snuck a glance at Willy. He saw me and a sloppy grin spread over his face, which was an alarming shade of scarlet. I ducked my head. Across the aisle, Kelly was doodling curlicues and spirals in her notebook and humming a little tune.
    Me: Yeah, thanks.
    Hopefully, that would get rid of him.
    Willy: It’s my grandmother’s recipe. I asked her to make them especially for you. They’re hazelnut-dark-chocolate-raspberry.
    Did he have to tell me that? The aroma of chocolate was stronger than ever. In a minute, I was going to start drooling all over my problem set. I glanced down at the cookies. The edge of one was still sticking out. I could just break off one tiny piece. I was about to pass out from hunger anyway. As quietly as I could, I poked my fingers into the package, all the while keeping my eyes innocently on the whiteboard. The foil rustled. I froze and looked up. Kelly was staring at me fixedly. Across the room, Willy sat on the edge of his seat, apparently anticipating my first bite of Grandma’s Aphrodisiac Cookies.
    Suddenly, the realization of what I was about to do hit me. Day One of the GNBP and I was about to screw it up for a cookie. How could I do this? I summoned my resolve and, grabbing the cookies from under my seat, I reached back and tipped the whole package into the wastebasket standing against the wall behind me. Willy buried his face in his hands. Kelly staredat me a moment longer, then shrugged and returned to her doodling. I lay back in my seat, arms dangling, legs splayed out, heart hammering. At this rate, I wasn’t sure I was going to survive to see senior year.
    As I crossed the wide green lawn at lunchtime, I could see Becca and Kelly already sitting under our usual tree near the parking lot. I dropped my bag to the ground with a thud and sank down next to them. “Ohhh,” I moaned.
    â€œIs your arthritis bothering you again, Grandma?” Becca asked as she delicately ate cashews with the tips of her fingers.
    â€œGive me a break. Calc was a little rough.” I unwrapped my tuna sandwich and shoved half of it into my