Page 55 of Forever is the Sweetest Con
Natasha announces that the POPPs who haven’t been chosen—that is, all of them, except for Sid—will be leaving immediately. I give Jesse a stiff hug, trying to ignore Alessandra, who is sobbing against Kei’s chest.
Once they’re gone, though, it’s like they were never here. We do ourchores, and then Gabby announces that there’s no afternoon challenge, so we head to the beach for an impromptu party. The sun pours down, casting a honeyed glow on the scene. The rosé is flowing, the mood is high, and with the POPPs out of the picture, electricity crackles between all the couples.
I’m lying on a blanket, letting the sun crisp my skin, when Harmony greets me with a freshly filled glass of rosé.
“If Gabby asks, you didn’t get it from me, okay?” I peer over Harmony’s shoulder to see Gabby pacing back and forth, talking on her phone in a hushed tone, looking comically suspicious. “She went off when I asked if we could get another bottle.”
“What’s with her?” I wrap my hand around my mic to muffle my complaint. I know I shouldn’t let my guard down, but I just can’t resist. “She was acting so sus when I was talking to McFarland.”
“Girl needs to get laid.” She leans in, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Do you think she’s getting dicked down by Tyler?”
“Oh my god, stop.”
“Do you think he keeps his skinny jeans on?”
“Harmony, no!” I cover my eyes, as if that will erase the mental image.
“Oohh, Tyler,” she moans, rolling her hips, running her hands down her ribs, “gimme that D, Tyler.”
We collapse into one another, laughing, and speak of the freaking devil, Tyler appears at the entrance of the beach path. We immediately stifle our laughter.
“Hey everyone, say goodbye to Mr. McFarland.”
The Silver Fox catches my eye and winks. He waves goodbye to the group, and we all wave back as they turn to head up the path.
As soon as they turn their backs, we start laughing again, the image of Tyler pounding into Gabby with his skinny jeans around his ankles proves too much to handle.
“Hey, check it out.” Harmony points toward the fire pit, where someone has planted a guitar in Kei’s hands. He smiles at me as he starts to strum some chords.
I breathe in the moment. The sky is streaked with pink and orange. Kei’s clear, warm voice rings out, and all of the people around the campfire—these random strangers I now call my friends—their faces are soft and bright with contentment.
Has anything ever been this easy?
We’re just finishing an epic rendition of “American Pie” when a familiar sound rings out from the direction of the camp.
“Was that the bell?” Trina says. We look at one another, questioning, but no one speaks. We wait and listen. And then, this time there is no mistaking it.
“Lord help me if this is another surprise,” Sue-Ellen mutters, as we make our way up the path to the flagpole. Kei squeezes my hand. If we got through the POPPs, we can get through anything.
There is no one at the flagpole to greet us. In fact, there is no one anywhere—no camera crew milling around, no Natasha, no Tyler or Gabby. But there is something on the ground, leaning against the base of the flagpole.
Isa jogs over and picks it up. It’s an oversized old-fashioned Air Mail envelope, with blue and red stripes around the edges.
“It’s for you,” he says, handing it to Kei.
He takes it, and then holds it out for me to see. On the front, in scrawling cursive, it says “Cleo and Kei.”
“Open it!” Trina cries, clapping.
Kei pulls out an oversized card. It has a drawing of a tree, with heart-shaped ornaments dangling from its branches, and what appears to be a pair of lovebirds nesting in it. Written in the same scrawling cursive are the words “You’re invited.”
He opens the card to find the handwritten message. “Cleo and Kei,” he reads aloud. “America has been voting, and they have declared you as the couple ‘Most Likely to Last’ at Camp Couple-Up.” I gasp and turn to Kei. His face is lit up. “You are invited to celebrate your win at the Treehouse!” I scream, and all the girls join me, even though no one knows what the Treehouse is.
Kei continues. “The Treehouse is the only place in all of Camp Couple-Up where there are no cameras, no microphones, and no other people. You will have a night of complete privacy.” At this, the boys start whooping and clapping Kei on the back. “The Treehouse opens in thirty minutes. Do you accept the invitation?”
Kei picks me up and swings me around. “Yes!” he’s saying, laughing. His eyes meet mine. “Yes?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I say, aiming to match his enthusiasm. But the truth is, I’m terrified. A night alone with Kei. No cameras. Free to do and say whatever we want. It feels dangerous.
