“You stood me up,” Brett said, stealing one of my grapes.
“I don’t like eating inside.” I placed the bookmark on the page and looked up. “And I really don’t want to eat at the jock table, Brett.”
“Oh.” His eyebrows drew together. “I didn’t even think of that. Give me a second.”
Before I could ask why, he was running away, back through the cafeteria doors. A moment later he burst through them, holding a tray of food in one hand and his backpack in the other, this huge smile on his face.
“I’m not letting you eat out here alone,” he said, taking a seat. “We have an image to uphold, sweetie.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Sweetie?”
“No? You don’t like it? What about babe? Baby?”
I laughed, swatting his hand away when he reached for another grape. “First rule is nicknames are not allowed.”
Brett nodded. “Becca it is. What are the other rules?”
“No PDA,” I said.
He pouted. “Was the kiss really that bad?”
“I don’t like the staring.”
“We’ll come back to that,” he said. “You need to come to my football games every Friday.”
“Every Friday? What about every other Friday?”
“Every Friday,” he repeated. “Nonnegotiable. And I want you in the stands screaming my name. Remind me to give you my spare jersey.”
“Then I’m not eating lunch inside the cafeteria.”
“Oh, I already knew that much,” he said, taking a bite of his hamburger. “I agree to relocate to this table. What about some kissing? Hand holding? No one’s gonna believe we’re dating if there’s three feet of space between us at all times.”
I tried to play it cool. My face was saying, “Yeah, I kiss boys for fun all the time. Done it loads. Experienced kisser? That’s me, nice to meet you,” while my insides were that black-and-white static sound televisions make when the channel doesn’t work.
“Fine. Lessen the space and minimal touching. Got it.”
Brett grinned. “The best part.”
I rolled my eyes.
“We need to have the same story about how this started,” I said.
“We probably should have discussed this yesterday.”
“I was too busy running away from you,” I half joked.
Brett laughed. “Back to this story; what are you thinking?”
It took a second for my brain to sift through every romance book I’ve read and piece together a situation that could work. “We met at the beginning of summer break,” I said. “I was in the park reading and you were playing football.”
“And I was obviously shirtless,” he added.
“Obviously.”
“Then you fell madly in love with me—” he said, ducking when I threw a grape at his head. Then I froze because I had just thrown a grape at Brett’s head. But he was grinning, so I don’t think he felt weird about it. “Nice throw. So, one glance at you with your nose buried in a book and my heart was a goner? And we kept our relationship a secret because you didn’t want all the attention once school started?”
I nodded, absent-mindedly toying with the pages of my book. “Then I guess that’s how our love story began,” I said.
“Now we just need to see how it ends.”
I only then noticed how long Brett’s eyelashes were. They grazed his cheeks every time he blinked, long enough to cause a windstorm of their own. Blink. Blink. Blink. They kept batting as we stared at each other. He had this goofy cartoon smile on his face.
The sun disappeared after that, hiding behind a cloud. He looked different out of the sunlight. It felt like the perfect time to ask the question that had been weighing on me all day. “Why are you doing this?” I finally asked. “You know most girls and plenty of guys in this school would date you. Like, real dating. So why me? Why fake it?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, resting his elbows on the table and planting his chin on top, “but I think your answer has something to do with what you said in English class yesterday, about how dangerous love is.”
I shrugged. “My parents had a weird divorce. What’s your excuse?”
“The opposite. My parents have this perfect marriage—”
“So it seems.”
“See? Everyone knows about it. It’s like some citywide Cinderella story or something. My dad always gives me these talks on how I should date in high school, play the field like he never could.”
“Why couldn’t he?”
“My mom got pregnant with me when she was a senior. My dad gave up football, his scholarship—everything for her. For me. It’s like he wants me to continue living from where he left off. You know?”
I nodded, thinking about my mom’s persistence that I date and find the love she lost. “Yeah,” I said. “I really do.”
“But I’m not interested in dating in high school,” Brett continued. “I’ve got good grades and a good thing going with football. I have my parents and that’s enough for me. I always wanted to leave settling down for after college. But my dad doesn’t see it like that.”
“So a fake girlfriend is just what you need. Keeps your dad happy and takes the pressure off you.”
“Kind of makes me sound like a dick,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “In a way, it’s like we’re mutually using each other. And we can just be friends along the way.”
Brett pointed at my sandwich. “You gonna finish that?” I pushed the tray across the table to him. “Thanks. So what’s up with you and Jenny? That argument was intense.”
I explained the odd, unspoken tension we’d had since freshman year. Then Brett said, “That kiss must’ve really pissed her off.”
“I think so.”
Brett finished the sandwich, brushed his hands on his T-shirt, then reached across the table. “So we’ll pretend to be dating for a few months, then have a mutual breakup, and part as friends. Deal?” he asked.
For once, I tried not to overthink this. I shook his hand. “Deal.”
Brett grinned. “Great,” he said, then pointed back to the book between us. “So, if this were one of your books, who would we be?”
“That depends,” I said. “What kind of book is it? A romance? Mystery? Fairy tale?”
“Fairy tale,” Brett said very seriously.
“I’m guessing you want to be the prince?”
“Only if you’re the princess.”
I left school that day with a smile on my face. I wasn’t the best actress—I nearly failed sophomore drama class—but, together, we could pull this off. Brett seemed to be nailing the fake-boyfriend role already. I was starting to think he’s one of those people who’s naturally good at everything.
After last period, Brett met me at my locker and offered to drive me home. I refused, saying I wanted to walk. My mind was nearly reaching overdrive, and I needed a few minutes to be alone and think the day over. This was only day one and I was overwhelmed. Why couldn’t I just stick to reading romance books? Why did my life have to become one? Luckily, like my romance novels, this was all fake. And there was no danger in that.