by Emily Lowry
The field was lightly dusted with white — the grounds crew tried to keep it mostly clear for the players to practice, but right now there was a fresh sheet of snow blanketing the grass.
“You couldn’t pick somewhere warmer to meet, hey?” I asked, shivering.
“Not for this.” He dusted off a spot on the bleachers next to him. “You’ll want to be sitting for this.”
Was that good or bad?
I sat next to him. My heart felt heavy. I braced myself for the knockout blow.
He squinted against the wind. “I hoped it would be nicer out for this. I wanted to make it so you’d remember.”
“Remember what?”
“Here.” He gave me a small remote with a silver switch.
“And this is?”
He grinned. “Flick the switch.”
“I don’t know what you have up your sleeve, Chase Jones.” My curiosity easily got the better of me. I flipped the switch.
My name appeared beneath the snow, lit in blue, green, red, and gold. Christmas lights. One by one, colorful letters came to life. When they were finished, a message glowed across the football field:
Abigail Murrow, will you be my Christmas Crush?
My jaw dropped right through the bleachers and a thousand butterflies escaped my stomach. The lights danced, the snow sparkling with a rainbow of colors. Despite the cold, I never wanted the moment to end. I felt a twinge of sadness. How could something so spectacular be fake?
“You did it,” I whispered.
“Is that an answer?”
What was I supposed to say? Technically, our checklist meant he only had to invite me to the Christmas Crush. He didn’t have to take me. Was he just completing the last step? If he was, I owed him the right answer. It took two to make a fake relationship work.
“Yes,” I said. My voice was so soft I thought it was lost in the wind.
Chase put his arm around me.
“This is amazing,” I said.
“I had some help from Dylan and Jordyn. Took a lot of work to set up the lights. And before I forget, there’s this.” He pulled a roll of paper out of his jacket and gave it to me.
I slid the elastic off.
It was a copy of the Pinnacle.
No, it was different.
The headline read: Abby and Chase Crush Christmas. There was a small article attached along with a picture of us at the Costume Crawl.
My heart soared. He had gone to all this trouble for me?
“Something to remember me by,” Chase said.
Something to remember him by… past tense. Remember. As in, when he’s gone. When this is over. When real life returns.
My heart hit the ground with a thump.
My phone buzzed. It was another anonymous message from Click. I didn’t want to check it. Not yet… I just wanted one more moment.
As the lights danced across the field, I rested my head on Chase’s shoulder and pretended our relationship would never end.
33
Chase
We came into the state quarterfinals as heavy favorites. After an ugly back-and-forth affair in the snow, we emerged victorious, but we paid a heavy price. Dylan dislocated his shoulder on a run late in the fourth quarter. Adam caught the go-ahead touchdown, but landed awkwardly and was now limping around on crutches with a high ankle sprain. They were both done for the season.
I set my helmet on the bench beside me. There were streaks of yellow on the black from where the paint had scuffed from a linebacker’s helmet during back-to-back sacks. Rock music blared through the locker room.
I shut my eyes, my head throbbing. My body felt like I’d ran full speed into a concrete wall. I had so many injuries I couldn’t pick one to focus on, they all just blurred together. Still wearing my equipment, I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket. It was hard to curl my fingers — I’d slammed my hand into someone’s helmet while making a pass under pressure. Were they broken? Sprained? Bruised?
I didn’t know. The only thing I knew was that, as low energy as I was, I was looking forward to seeing Abby after the game. As our fake relationship drew to a close, things were getting awkward between us. The friendly banter that I enjoyed so much felt forced and I couldn’t figure out why. Though she denied it, she was keeping her distance. Before, she would welcome me into her home. But now it felt like I was left out in the cold and dark, staring through the window at the warmth inside.
I felt like I was losing her. And this time I didn’t feel like I could blame some anonymous saboteur. This time it felt like it was my fault. But I didn’t know what I’d done.
I unlocked my phone.
Chase: Did you stick around?
Abby: Close game. You okay? Looked rough down there.
Chase: Just a flesh wound.
Now what? Did I invite her out? I wanted to see her. Even if it was just as a friend. I always wanted her around, always wanted her laughing. But I didn’t want to put too much pressure on her. I closed my eyes. I would gladly take another dozen bone-crushing hits if they would jiggle loose the part of my brain that could understand girls. I settled for a neutral tone.
Chase: Some guys and I are going to hit Main Street to celebrate, hitting up the diner. You want to come?
I changed out of my equipment and took a quick shower — made even more difficult by my inability to close my swollen fist around the shampoo bottle. When I was finished, I had a text from Abby waiting for me.
Abby: It’s okay, you’ve done your part. And don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair soon. Just have to figure out what Madison is up to!
I locked my phone without replying to her. What was I going to do, beg her to come? Hardly.
I got dressed slowly, wincing at the pain throbbing through my hand.
I’d done my part? What exactly was that supposed to mean? Was she referring to the checklist? Was our relationship officially over now that we no longer had events that she needed me for?
I tried to fight away the thoughts that gnawed at my mind. Maybe I was wrong to let my feelings get involved in all of this. For Abby, this was just strictly business. I don’t know why I had to keep reminding myself of this fact.
I was the last person to leave the locker room.
34
Abby
I drove home from the game in near silence, snow falling gently outside the comfortable confines of my car window. The only sounds were the steady scrape of my wipers streaking across the window and Izzy's chattering teeth as she tried to make conversation.
She turned up the heat and rubbed her fingers near the fan. "You don't know it was from him."
I'd lost count of how many times we'd had this conversation since the anonymous blast from Click. "It was his writing," I said. "I'd recognize it anywhere."
"But you don't KNOW. How long did you have the picture for?"
"Long enough," I snapped. Izzy was doing everything in her power to cheer me up, but it wasn't happening.
After leaving the bleachers with Chase a few days before, I had returned to the safety and solitude of my car and opened the message from Click. I expected another photoshopped picture of him locking lips with another girl. What I had actually received from the saboteur was a love letter Chase wrote to Savannah.
That one was a punch to the gut. Chase’s handwriting was easily recognizable, and in the background, I saw big bay windows that overlooked the mountains. It was snowing outside when the picture was taken. And the only place in school that had windows like that was the dance studio in the Fine Arts Building.
Possibly against my better judgement, I hadn’t been able to tell Chase about the second Click message. I was too scared it was real. I had no idea where the lines overlapped between reality and our sham of a relationship anymore, and I was tired.
"Her name wasn't even on the letter." Izzy persisted.
"There was a giant S at the top," I said. "It was found in the dance studio. And his name was on it. It literally said 'Love, Chase' at th
e bottom."
"But surely this could be like the time someone sent a picture of him with Savannah. Then it turned out he was with Jordyn all morning."
But was he?
I didn't want to doubt him. I didn't want to doubt Jordyn. But during the Costume Crawl I'd seen the way he looked at Savannah. Like she was perfect. He'd even used the word 'perfect' in his letter to her. Three times, in fact. More than he'd ever said it to me. More than he ever would say it to me.
And the worst part?
As much as I wanted to be angry, I couldn't find the energy. We started our fake relationship with the explicit goal of uncovering the saboteur so that he could explain things to Savannah and be with her. He'd never lied about that. It was even in our contract. What was I supposed to say? He'd held up his end of the bargain. Now I had to hold up mine. I wasn't his girlfriend, not really, but I could still be a friend.
We arrived back at my house. Dad had forgotten to leave the porch light on, so my home was dark and dead.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe it's another fake," I said, not really believing it. There was no doubt in my mind the message had come from the saboteur. But I highly doubted anyone was that good at forging Chase's writing to fool me… what it seemed is that Madison had found a real piece of evidence for once, and she was using it to her advantage. Add in how Chase had looked at Savannah at the Costume Crawl, how perfect she was, and how perfect I wasn't? It was clear what was happening.
"But if it's a fake, we still need to figure out how Madison's connected." I hadn't come clean to Izzy about my fake relationship — that was the kind of thing you kept even from your best friend. But I needed her to work with me.
"What time did you receive the Click?"
"Around 5:45."
"So, let's find out what Madison was doing at 5:45." Izzy scrolled through a dozen of different social media profiles set up by the Queen Bee of Evermore.
"What do you think you're going to find?"
"A post around the same time. If we find a post, that means she had her phone. If she had her phone, she could've sent the Click." Izzy scrunched her face. "Wait."
"What?"
"Look."
It was a live video from a cheerleading competition, held the same day Chase asked me to the Christmas Crush. All of the cheerleaders were there, with Madison proudly on top of the pyramid, her dazzling eyes flashing triumphantly.
"And?"
"Check out the clock."
In the background of the video, there was a clock on the gym wall. In big red numbers it said 5:43. The video was over five minutes long.
"I don't know who sent you that Click," Izzy said, "but Madison didn't have her phone, and you can't pre-schedule blasts."
"That doesn't mean she's not behind it. She could have had someone send it on her behalf."
"Maybe," Izzy said. She sounded skeptical. "But Madison's pretty much only friends with other cheerleaders. And they're all prancing around with her."
She was right, but I wasn't convinced.
Madison was the saboteur.
I was sure of it.
35
Abby
Madison was behind everything. It made perfect sense. The jaded ex-girlfriend wanted to stop her former boyfriend from being happy. It was such a cliché, but sometimes clichés were clichés for a reason. If I’d learned anything from my years of studying investigative journalists, it was that nine times out of ten, they found the truth in the most obvious answer. However, just because you knew something was true didn’t mean you could go around making false accusations and stirring up drama.
No, we had to set a trap and catch Madison in the act.
But how?
“Steal her phone,” Izzy suggested. We were meandering along the Riverwalk. It was just below freezing and snow clung to the banks. The patios were empty, furniture moved inside for the year, and the only sound was the gurgling of icy river water.
“Even if I got my hands on her phone, it’d be locked. She could just use Find My Device and brick it before we found anything. Or she could trace it to my house. Think about how that would look on Click — Chase Jones’s new girlfriend steals his ex-girlfriend’s phone.” I shuddered at the thought. To say the last few days had been difficult was putting it mildly. I felt like Chase was getting impatient. He kept asking questions about the saboteur, questions I couldn’t answer. He wanted this all to be over so he could get together with Savannah. He never said that, of course. When I asked about Savannah, he was dismissive just to protect my feelings.
Did he know I had feelings for him?
Real feelings?
I sipped my hot chocolate. It was rich and sweet. “How can we lure Madison into the open? She’s so careful. It feels like she’s always a step ahead. Maybe we can find out who sent the Click blast when she was busy during her cheer competition.”
Izzy shook her head. “Could have been anyone. If it wasn’t one of Madison’s friends, then it was someone she blackmailed. There’s not a person in Evermore who will turn on Madison. Not for either of us.”
She was right.
“What about Click?” I asked. “Maybe they have a way of tracking who’s sending messages to who.”
“Not a chance,” Izzy replied. She finished her hot chocolate. “Click’s built on being anonymous. The whole point of that stupid app is that you can’t track anything. Unless she makes a mistake and signs into her own account to send blasts — and given she’s the queen of Click, that seems unlikely — there’s no way to track anything.”
I sighed. That stupid app was becoming the bane of my existence. It made gossip too easy to spread. Too hard to stop. I briefly considered trying to fight fire with fire and blasting Madison’s account with pictures of me and Chase, but dismissed the thought. I was not starting an online turf war over a boy I was fake dating. Besides, Chase had seen enough of Click for a lifetime.
I brushed snow off a railing and leaned over it, watching the dark river water foam and churn. It felt like Madison was unbeatable.
“There’s no way to prove it’s her,” I said.
Izzy put her arm around me. “No, not while you two are together. You’ll just have to stand—”
“Wait,” I said.
“What?”
“Madison wants Chase to be single. That’s why she keeps trying to sabotage his relationships. So why does she want him to be single?”
“Because she’s a b—”
“Because,” I said, cutting Izzy off, “she probably still loves Chase. She wants to be with him. But she won’t make a move while he’s in a relationship. She thinks if she ends enough of his relationships, he’ll come crawling back to her.”
Izzy looked doubtful. “I don’t think Madison really cares if he’s in a relationship or not.”
“As a person? No,” I agreed. “But as someone who’s trying to cultivate a very specific appearance? If she steals Chase away, she looks like the villain. But if Chase comes back to her on his own, then she’s the sweet hero who takes in the stray puppy.”
Concern flickered across Izzy’s face. “Abs, you’re scaring me a bit. This doesn’t make sense. Chase has been single before and Madison didn’t make a move. This doesn’t add up.”
I dismissed my friend’s concern. “It doesn’t matter. If Chase is single, odds are whoever’s been trying to sabotage our relationship will make a move. We just have to…”
Izzy finished my sentence for me. “You’d have to break up.”
Break up. The words hung in the surrounding air, colder than the freezing river. My chest hurt. Was this really the only way? Was I wrong? What if Izzy was right? What if we broke up and Madison didn’t make a move? Then I’d be left without Chase and without proof that Madison was the saboteur.
“Seriously, Abs, are you okay?” Izzy looked frightened. “Think about what you’re saying. You’re going to stage a fake break up with your boyfriend to lure some mystery saboteur out into the open — which might not even hap
pen. It just… it doesn’t seem like it will work. I think a lot of people will get hurt.”
“I’m open to better suggestions,” I said softly. What Izzy didn’t know was that it would be a real break up with my fake boyfriend, not the other way round.
“At least you need to talk to Chase first,” she said.
I agreed. Even if my plan didn’t work, even if the saboteur didn’t show themselves, at least Chase would have the chance to restart things with the girl he really wanted.
As much as the thought hurt my heart, I knew it was the right thing to do. I had to talk to my fake boyfriend about our real break up.
36
Chase
I read the text from Abby again.
And again.
Four simple words:
We need to talk.
How could four words provoke so much dread? We weren’t even — technically — in an actual relationship. So why was I dreading our next meeting so much?
I sat in my Jeep in the school parking lot. Cars pulled in and out, their tires splashing through November slush. Ads blared from the radio, one of them advertising a music festival next June.
Finally, after an eternity of waiting, I saw Abby trudge across the parking lot. She smiled sadly as she climbed in the passenger seat, her breath fogging the window.
“I got your text,” I said dumbly. I didn’t know what else to say.
“Thanks for meeting me.” Her tone was kind but formal. The tone coach used when he was benching you for the rest of the game. The tone someone used when you were being replaced.
I smiled weakly. “It’s that bad, huh?”
“I think we can lure Madison out,” she replied.
“That sounds like good news.”
“It is. If we can find proof, then we can both move on.” She didn’t look at me as she said this, instead turning and staring out the window at the dismal grey afternoon.