Page 52 of Minnie: Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

I remember that day like it was yesterday. The two of us were up in my treehouse, a box of crayons between us, when Minnie told me we needed a contract to make sure we were friends forever.

“Nothing is official unless there’s a contract involved,” she’d said, or some bullshit like that.

Next thing I knew we’d drafted it, swearing that she’d be mine and I’d be hers. Forever. And then, the next day, she was gone.

I tap the paper through the plastic bag. “That’s your blood and mine right there.”

Minnie still sounds bored. “Is it?”

“Minerva Montgomery and Daniel Stravinsky…” I start to read.

“Are dead.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re Damien Starr and I’m Minnie Alexander.” She shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Minerva and Daniel were kids who stopped talking years ago. They’re gone.”

“Changing your name doesn’t change who you are,” I snap.

Except I’m wrong. Damien Starr is a confident rock star who’s found fame and fortune. Daniel Stravinsky was a wimpy boy who was head over heels in love with his best friend.

And I’m not the only one who’s changed…

Minerva Montgomery was filled with joyful energy. Everything about her was loud, from her laughter, to her huge smile, to the way she reacted to the smallest surprise. She loved nature, and would race after any animal she met just to have a chat.

I loved watching her in those moments, arms flapping like bird wings, or butt wiggling like a dog’s tail. And I thought she’d always be there for me. I thought it would be the two of us until the end.

But instead, she turned into Minnie Alexander, a spoiled witch who only cares about herself. And she changed long before her name did.

Minnie rolls her eyes. “Can I go now? I’ve got places to be, you know.”

“After you agree to marry me.”

“Yeah, not happening.” Mini examines her pink fingernails, and I have the urge to grab a loofah or nail file or whatever it is people use to remove nail polish on them and scrub the polish off. I’d ask my band mates what they use… if we were still talking… but we’re not, and Minnie had better marry me so I can get them back.

How the fuck am I going to pull this off?

I hate her guts. I hate her nails. I hate her shoes. I hate her skin-tight dress, even if it does hug her curves and makes me want to run my hands… fucking hell in a handbasket that masquerades as a fancy-ass pink purse that reminds me of the one her mother used to lug around. I fucking hate this new and un-improved Minnie so much, I’m not sure I’ll be able to force out my vows, even if I have no choice.

Her only redeeming quality is that she’s hot as hell, but her attitude manages to douse any arousal I feel faster than the ice baths the band and I did for our Mer Me Hard music video.

But I’d rather be married to the annoying as hell woman in front of me than the one waiting for me if I don’t, so I press on. “I’ll pay you.”

Because if there’s something a spoiled socialite like Minnie would appreciate, it’s cold hard cash.

Once again, I make the mistake of expecting a reaction. I don’t get one.

Minnie would make one hell of a poker player, I’ll give her that. Maybe she can school a poker player or three any time she likes, and that’s why she’s not the least bit interested in the money I have on offer.

Or maybe it’s because her parents are loaded, and already pay for all the designer clothes her little heart desires…

I already know she doesn’t need her fucking job at the cafe. She just wants an excuse to be near her precious Julian.

But there must be something she can’t put on Daddy’s credit card. Something her parents don’t approve of. And I’m here to deliver.

Only she bursts that bubble real quick. “I don’t need your money.”

I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms in front of my chest. “Ah, so that’s why you work minimum wage.”