by Emily Lowry
“Couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he said.
“Because it’s football season?”
“Yeah, partly. I need to stay focused.”
“Because you’re driving me home?”
“That too.” He stood next to me and gestured to the party. “What do you see?”
“Teenagers getting ready to make stupid decisions.”
“And what does every teenager have?”
“A bad attitude.”
“No, that’s just you.” He grinned down at me.
I tried to glare at him, but my smile betrayed me.
“They have phones,” he said. “Cameras. I drink, get caught, maybe the coach has some words for me. I get drunk, do something stupid and it goes viral on Click? Kicked off the team. Scholarship opportunities? Gone.”
“Like any high school will get rid of their starting quarterback.”
“Coach Clarence would,” Chase replied. “He takes stuff like this seriously.”
“So, what about them?” I gestured to a cluster of players across the room.
“That’s why I wanted to read the article before you submitted it,” he said. “Can’t have you naming names and ruining lives, Abigail Murrow. But there are other reasons, too.”
Even though Chase seemed like he was different from the rest of the football guys, I’d assumed that deep down he was the same. He wanted to get drunk, play football, and break a few hearts on his way to a full scholarship. I’d expected that side of Chase to be on full display at a victory party. But, if anything, he was more reserved than I’d ever seen him. I felt bad for my earlier catty thoughts about the girls he was talking to.
“Every summer Evermore runs a training camp for kids who want to play football. I’ve helped coach at it every year since the start of high school. I know those kids, they know me. If they see pictures and videos of me getting trashed, what are they going to think?”
I looked up at this impossibly good-looking star quarterback, at a high school party with all of his friends, but standing with me in the corner, telling me things that were causing me to like him way more than I would have ever imagined.
Strictly business, I reminded myself. This relationship needed to stay strictly business. Anyway, standing with me at the party was part of the plan to catch the saboteur. Once we had figured out who was sabotaging Chase Jones, our pact, and probably friendship — if you could call it that — would be over.
While my brain got the idea, my heart wasn’t receiving the message.
16
Abby
One public appearance wearing Chase Jones’ football jacket and rumors flew. Some people said we were dating. They said it was serious. One rumor claimed that Chase had already given me a promise ring. I can’t deny that rumor made me feel smug for a few seconds.
But then other people had responded to these posts — anonymously, of course — saying that I was just following Chase around because I was writing a social feature for the Pinnacle. Others demanded to know my identity. They’d never seen this girl before. Who was she? A transfer student or something? They often followed up these comments with something like — a guy like Chase Jones wouldn’t be caught dead with a girl like her. A nobody.
Ouch.
I didn’t scare easily, but I still had feelings.
On Sunday morning, I shoved those feelings aside to get back to work on uncovering the problems with Chase’s previous relationships. I scrambled to find a decent outfit for my excursion, and I made a mental note to go shopping soon. Izzy would love an excuse for a girls’ shopping trip.
Sunday mornings on Main Street were a cacophony of chaos. It was the last weekend the Farmers’ Market would be open before shutting down for the winter. Hundreds of stalls sat in the middle of the brick path. Jewelry dangled from hooks and caught the morning sun. Girls approached with perfume bottles, and if you weren’t quick, they’d spray it on you and launch into a spiel about how it was made from 100% organically grown coconut oil and sustainably sourced vanilla. I did my best to avoid eye contact with, well, everyone.
On the far end of Main Street I found the place I was looking for: Red Rainbow Diner. A bright blue awning hung over the entry and the store window was painted with — you guessed it — a red rainbow. Inside, historic photos of the town hung from the light blue walls. Red Rainbow Diner was straight vintage, designed to look exactly like a diner from the 1950s. It was also the place to go for brunch on a weekend.
The smell of sizzling bacon and strong coffee washed over me. My stomach grumbled. Sadly, I wasn’t here to indulge. I had another purpose.
Savannah sat in a booth in the back corner, surrounded by other dancers. I’d discreetly started following the dance troupe’s social media account — using an anonymous account of my own — so I could monitor Savannah’s social life. And, more importantly, so I could stage accidental-on-purpose run-ins.
It didn’t take her long to notice me.
I pretended to look at the selection of freshly baked cinnamon buns as she waltzed over.
“I wish they didn’t have raisins,” she said. “I hate raisins.”
I felt a pang of sympathy. Her conversational openers were almost as bad as mine. “Me too. How are you?”
“Good,” she said.
I waited. As Chase’s most recent ex, there was no way she had not heard the news that he might be dating me — even if we weren’t official by Click’s standards.
“Are you waiting for someone?” she asked.
“Just grabbing and going,” I said. I grabbed two cinnamon buns. The second one was actually for Izzy, but I let Savannah draw her own assumptions.
“So, you and Chase?”
I shrugged, non-committal. “We’re just hanging out.”
“You should… never mind.”
My interest was piqued. “What?”
“It’s not important.”
“Tell me.”
Savannah tossed her red hair back. She looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to us. They weren’t — everyone was too busy shoving delicious food into their mouths. “Look… I’m only telling this because you seem nice. Innocent.”
I narrowed my eyes at her word choice, even though I realized she didn’t mean it as an insult. She seemed like a genuinely kind person. “You need to be careful with Chase.”
“He seems harmless to me.” I counted out change for my cinnamon buns and waited for her to elaborate.
“He’s not what he seems like.” She insisted, crossing her arms.
“Okay.” I said.
“It’s just…”
Yes! She would talk. It was time to go in for the kill.
I gave her a friendly smile. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I do. But you can’t just say things. Give me something I can go off of. What did he do that was so bad?”
“He cheated.”
WHAT? I fumbled with my cinnamon buns and they fell to the floor. I quickly picked them up, grateful that they were covered in plastic wrap. Chase Jones CHEATED? That seemed so unlike the boy I was starting to know. Even though we were only in a fake relationship I hadn’t seen him flirt with any other girls. Talk to them — yes. Many of them, in fact. But he always seemed so kind, so genuine.
“Are you sure?” There was a slight tremble in my voice.
“Yes. Look, we never did the official boyfriend-girlfriend label or anything, but after we were dating for about two weeks, he told me he didn’t want to see anyone else. That he liked me, liked where it was going. He said he wouldn’t see anyone else and asked me if I wouldn’t either.”
She stopped suddenly, looking aghast, like she’d said too much.
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“Promise?” she asked. “This is strictly off the record.”
“I know.” I smiled. I would never pull this nice girl through the mud for a story. “So how did you find out? Did he confess or something?”
“Someone sent me a picture
on Click.”
Through Click, you could anonymously send photos to other users with short captions. Best of all, the photos disappeared in ten seconds and you couldn’t take a screenshot. It was the perfect way to start fires without getting burnt. So typically Evermore.
“A picture of…?”
“Chase. Kissing another girl.” Savannah lowered her voice. “I got it on the first day of school. It came through with a caption. Look what you missed last week.” She sighed. “We’d only been going out for a couple weeks. But he’d promised — no one else. Then I see that? It hurt. So, I broke up with him.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”
“No one does. I don’t even think he knows that I saw it.” She smiled. “Just… be careful, okay? Sometimes the sweetest boys are the most dangerous.”
Sometimes they were indeed.
17
Chase
Abby’s replies to my texts throughout the week were short, and when I asked her if she wanted to do something, she always seemed busy. On the weekend, she didn’t text me at all. I tried not to think about it too much. She wasn’t much of a texter — she said she preferred to talk face to face. You couldn’t account for tone or body language over a text.
By Monday morning, I hadn’t received a single text since last Friday, when she wished me luck before a game. That had me concerned. And, if I’m being honest, a little disappointed.
Strictly business, Chase, I reminded myself, and so I didn’t text her either.
I was growing fond of Abby. I liked having her around. Would she want to be friends with me when all of this was over? Probably not. She seemed so removed from school and all of its activities, like she was above it all. How would we stay friends when our worlds would never collide again?
The prospect bothered me. And it bothered me that it bothered me.
The teacher finished drawing out a math equation on the whiteboard as the bell rang. Before we left, she reminded us we would have a quiz on quadrilateral equations at the end of the week. Fun. I’d have to find time after practice to cram with Dylan. When he wasn’t bowling over linebackers, he was killing it in math class. Dylan, unlike me, didn’t have too much trouble keeping his grades up during football season. I teetered on the line constantly, barely maintaining the C average I needed to keep playing every Friday night. Sometimes I wondered if teachers gave me C’s when I didn’t even earn them.
As promised in her last text on Friday, Abby was waiting for me outside of math class. Her expression was impassive as usual, her green eyes searching my every movement for… something. That was one thing that made Abby different from other girls I dated. I could never tell what she was thinking.
“How was your weekend, fake girlfriend?” I asked, keeping my voice low. I smiled at her, hoping she would do the same back.
She didn’t. “It was interesting.”
“Something you need to talk about?”
“Not here.”
We walked to the quad in relative silence. I tried to drag something out of her, but she only gifted me with one-word answers. We found a bench that was relatively secluded and sat.
Abby faced me and immediately dropped a bomb. “You need to tell me the truth, Chase Jones. Did you cheat on Savannah?”
Did I WHAT?
I must have looked completely appalled, because for the first time that day, a ghost of a smile appeared on her lips.
“I will swear on my life that I did not.” I looked her dead in the eye.
“You’re not lying to me, are you?”
Never. Even if I wanted to lie to her, I couldn’t. “I promise. Cross my heart, hope to die.”
Finally, she gave me a full, sincere smile.
It was almost too bright and too comforting. I had to look away before I blushed. “I swear. We weren’t official, but I told her I didn’t want to see anyone else. And I didn’t.”
“I believe you.” Abby’s smile faded and her professional demeanor returned. “Unfortunately, Savannah thinks otherwise.”
Now I was completely confused.
“The day Savannah broke up with you, someone sent her a picture through Click. It was of you and another girl, and you were kissing. Savannah said the same as you, that you weren’t like official or anything, but…”
If I liked a girl and saw a photo of her with another dude, I’d be choked. Savannah was sensitive, too. It must have hurt her bad. I wanted to say something to her, to apologize for getting her involved in my crazy life, but somehow, I thought that would make things worse. “Did she show you the picture?”
“Click deletes pictures.”
That stupid app.
“She said it was with you and a girl she didn’t recognize. It was from behind, and the caption said it was from the week before. You could only see the back of her head, but your face was turned towards her. You were on Main Street.”
Wait. Main Street? The week before she dumped me?
“It wasn’t me,” I said.
Abby looked at me curiously. “How do you know?”
“I wasn’t in town.”
“Where were you?”
“Colorado State runs a summer camp for players all over the state right before school starts back. I go every year. I was staying in the dorms with a bunch of other dudes. And they supervised us hard. Strict curfews or they kicked you out of camp. Something to do with NCAA regulations, probably.”
“Interesting.” Abby grinned in the cute way she always did when she was unravelling something in her mind. “Well, Mr. Quarterback, I think we can safely say that someone is definitely trying to sabotage your relationships.”
“Madison,” I said immediately.
“She’s the most likely culprit, but we don’t have any hard evidence. And if you don’t have any evidence, Savannah will not believe you. And she’s definitely not going to give you another shot.”
Why would I want another shot at Savannah?
Oh.
Right.
I was supposed to still have a crush on her and not be developing —
No, Chase. Strictly. Business.
“So, what’s our next move?” I asked. I figured I’d let her take the lead. The more time I spent with Abby, the more intelligent I realized she was. Smarter than me for sure.
“To go to the cafeteria.”
I couldn’t quite connect the dots, but I trusted her lead. We crossed the quad and arrived at Evermore’s main building, which housed most of the regular classes and the cafeteria. We stood at the entrance to the cafeteria.
“Are you ready?” she asked, a mischievous grin on her face.
“Ready for what?”
“To be my official fake boyfriend.” She grabbed my hand and practically pulled it around her shoulder.
A light went on in my brain.
“Let’s do this.” We stepped into the cafeteria, and I tightened my grip around her. She fit perfectly under my arm. Abby nuzzled into my chest as we walked. My heart skipped a beat at her closeness, before I shook myself off and remembered she was acting. Remembered we were acting.
And so I played the part. If anyone had doubts about us being together before, this would squish all of them dead. I dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Her hair smelled like coconuts.
She looked up at me, flushed. Oops, maybe too far.
I tried to silently communicate “sorry” with my eyes, but she was stepping away from me.
She took both my hands and squeezed them. Man, she was good at this acting stuff.
“I’ll see you later,” she said. For a moment, it looked like she would kiss my cheek. But at the last second, she backed away and instead brushed off my jacket and adjusted my collar. Her cheeks were pink.
“Bye,” I replied, and I stood there, still for a moment, watching her as she walked away.
Abigail Murrow, I hope you’re as brave as you say you are, because I’m sure you just started the three-week countdown.
18
>
Abby
Don’t tell anyone, but I’d never, ever been on a date before. Dates were something that happened to other people. It’s not like I hadn’t thought about what a date would be like though.
I imagined a cute boy picking me up and taking me to a burger joint, where we’d split a chocolate milkshake — which I would regret because I wanted a whole milkshake to myself. He’d make small talk as he dropped me off, and then he’d walk me to my door. We would stand there, sort of awkwardly, as he stumbled over his words trying to figure out whether to kiss me. Eventually, he would, and it would be perfect.
Nowhere in my fantasies did I imagine that the date would start with me wanting to throw up.
I paced a hole in the floor of my bedroom, my stomach flipping like a carnival ride.
What was wrong with me? I should be calm and collected. I’d spent the entire day preparing. First, Izzy and I had gone shopping and spent some long overdue girl time together. With Izzy’s help, I found the perfect date outfit for the cool, October weather: a deep grey sweater dress, tights and black ankle boots. Next, I went home, washed my hair, and roped Katie into curling it for me. She grudgingly obliged after I promised to do her laundry for the next month. It ended up being fun styling hair with my little sister.
I tried out my new mascara wand, careful not to stab myself in the eye, and added lip gloss. Cherry Kiss — as if I would kiss anyone on a fake date.
How did girls do all of this every morning before school? It was so much work!
I sent a picture of my finished look to Izzy, and she sent a smiley face and a thumbs up back. Izzy’s highest form of approval.
And then I almost texted Chase to call the entire thing off.
Why was I so nervous?
WHY?
This was a fake date.
With a fake boyfriend.
That I had insisted on. My idea, not his.
Apparently, it was also a marvelous time for an anxiety attack. I practiced taking deep breaths through my nose, then exhaling through my mouth. It calmed me down a little, but my hands were still trembling.