by Alex Light
I never go around kissing strangers. I didn’t really go around kissing anyone.
I could feel Jenny watching us the entire time but when I turned around, she was gone, halfway down the hallway.
I turned back to Becca. “So,” I began. “You okay?”
She coughed. Her eyes seemed to land on every spot in the hallway except for my face. “Yeah,” she said.
I leaned against the locker, trying to not laugh. “You know, that kiss wasn’t half bad.”
At that, her eyes finally landed on mine. Her cheeks turned red. The color was swallowing up her freckles. She picked up her bag off the floor, holding a book in the crook of her arm.
“I need to get to third period,” she said.
“It’s second period.”
“That’s what I said.”
She took off down the hall. If she walked any faster, she’d be sprinting.
Not the best reaction to a first kiss, for the girl to run away from you.
The sun was still high in the sky when school let out. I met Jeff, my closest friend on the team, at my car and we drove back to my house. My parents weren’t home. My dad had taken the day off work to go to some event with my mom. They were always going to events, waving checks around and making a name for themselves in our small town. My dad’s money was part of the reason our football team was the best in the state. It bought us new gear every few months and kept the field in perfect shape.
My dad was proud of our team. More proud of me. He played football in high school too. Team captain. His talent earned him a full scholarship to Ohio State, but then my mom got pregnant with me during senior year. My dad gave up football to stay home with her and raise me. That’s why this team meant so much to him, and to me. I was continuing the dream he never had the chance to live out.
My mom loved all the perks marriage gave her. The social standing. The money. The clothes her friends envied and the celebrity status her last name carried. My parents never thought they’d be so wealthy after getting pregnant at eighteen. But my dad went back to college after I was born and got a degree in finance. Now he’s the CFO of United Suites, a hotel chain throughout the country. He travels a lot for work. My mom doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t complain. The money’s enough to keep everyone happy, even when he’s gone for weeks. He always comes back for my football games, though. He’s never missed one.
Jeff and I were in the backyard, throwing the football back and forth. “There’s no off time if you want to be the best” was what my dad always said. It replayed in my head like a mantra every day, reminding me not to let him down. I was repeating it when Jeff threw the football. I jumped for it and missed.
“You’ve had a girlfriend for a day and it’s already ruining your game!” he called. Looked like the news traveled fast around school.
I picked up the ball and threw it back. A perfect spiral. “Still better than yours!” It slammed into his chest and he fell backward on the grass, laughing. I jogged over and tossed him a water bottle.
“When did that start?” he asked.
“What?”
“Your”—he waved his hand around—“relationship.”
“Oh. End of summer.” The words came out quickly. I hadn’t even decided if I was going to go along with this relationship yet. Girlfriends weren’t my thing. Neither was high school drama.
“And you didn’t think to tell me or the team?”
I shrugged. “You know how people talk at school. I don’t want my relationship being gossiped about.”
“Everyone is already talking about you,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, for carrying the team to finals,” I teased, slapping his shoulder. “Not for who I date.”
Truth was, I’d never dated in high school. There were girls, crushes here and there, but it never turned into anything more. I was always so focused on football, keeping my head in the game to make my parents proud, that I never had time for dating. I wasn’t into the whole one-night thing like the other guys on the team. I wanted the kind of love my parents had—real love—but I wasn’t in any rush to find it.
The gate opened then and my parents walked into the backyard, hand in hand, looking way too dressed up to be standing beside Jeff and me, drenched in sweat. My mom’s heels were sinking into the grass with every step.
“Dad!” I grabbed the football and jumped up. “We were just taking a quick break. Wanna join?”
He slapped my shoulder. My mom was smiling, gazing between the two of us.
“Next time,” he said.
“Your dad has to pack, Brett. He’s leaving tonight for New York,” said Mom.
“But the first game of the season is on Friday. You can’t miss it.” I hated sounding like a whiny five-year-old, but my dad never missed a game.
“My flight lands Friday morning. I’ll be there.”
I smiled, breathing again, and watched them walk back inside. I never cared for the money or the status. I loved my parents and our family. The rest was a bonus.
Jeff was looking up at me oddly.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. I should go. My mom needs me home to babysit before she leaves for the night shift.”
I nodded, throwing him the keys to my car. “Take it.”
“Brett—”
“Take it,” I insisted. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow before school.”
He smiled, spinning the keys around his finger. “Thanks, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I headed back inside. My mom was in the kitchen, cutting up carrots and something green and leafy. She tossed it all in the blender, poured it into a cup, and slid it across the counter.
“Thanks.” I drank all of it, trying not to breathe in the smell. “You look different.”
She fluffed out her hair. “I dyed it a shade darker this morning. Your father thought it would look nice.”
I nodded, unquestioning.
“We’re leaving for the airport in an hour if you want to come.”
I did . . . but I needed some time to think over what happened today in the hall. I shook my head. “Tell me when you’re leaving so I can say bye to Dad.”
My mom nodded, then walked around the counter and wrapped me in her arms. She was tiny, barely five feet tall. My dad always said her personality was bigger than her. I never really understood that, though. She wasn’t very talkative, unless they were around other people. My mom was quiet. Even her smiles seemed to hide secrets.
“Everything okay, Mom?”
“Everything is great. Go study.”
I headed upstairs, grabbed my laptop, and searched for Becca’s online profile. It came up instantly and I sent her a friend request. She had under one hundred friends. Okaaaay. All her interests were book-related—bookstores, authors, fan accounts. Her display picture was her and a girl with brown hair smiling together in a kitchen. They were baking, with flour and frosting on their faces. I kept scrolling. Senior at Eastwood High School, Crestmont, Georgia, USA. I scrolled some more; there were hardly any posts. There! Four months ago, someone asked for her cell number for a group project. I typed it into my phone and hit save. I told myself it wasn’t really creepy, since we’d already kissed. Right?
I was staring at my phone, contemplating calling her, when my bedroom door opened and my dad walked in. “We’re about to leave,” he said, walking to the edge of my bed. “Are you talking to a girl?”
I put my phone down. “No. No girl.”
“You know,” he said, sitting down, “your mother and I met when we were your age. Everyone told us we wouldn’t beat the odds, getting married so young, but look at us. We’re here. We’ve got you, a great life, and enough money to give you a good future.”
I smiled. “I know, Dad.” He always went off like this, talking about the past. If there was one thing my parents were proud of aside from me, it was their money. Their well-earned lifestyle, as they liked to call it.
“Playing college ball is
going to be your priority once you graduate, Brett. Right now, in high school? This is your prime. You need to get out there. I love your mom, but I think we both have regrets about high school and what we missed out on.”
I was confused and a little uncomfortable. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, you’ll have the time to settle down when you’re older. You should be dating now, playing ball. You’ve never brought a girl home. . . .” My father’s voice trailed off, waiting for me to correct him. He was right. I never had.
“Are you dating anyone right now?” he continued. “Any girl you’re interested in?”
The problem with having a dad you idolized was that you never wanted to let him down. Every test I aced, touchdown I scored—my dad bragged about all of them. My accomplishments were his accomplishments. What he couldn’t do in high school was what he expected me to do in high school. So when he asked if there was a girl, saying yes technically wouldn’t be a lie. . . .
I grabbed my phone and pulled up Becca’s profile again.
“Her name’s Becca,” I said, showing him the screen. He took his glasses off and squinted his eyes against the light.
He slapped my shoulder. “When do we get to meet her?”
“When you get back from your trip,” I said.
My dad said he was proud of me before he left, rolling his suitcase behind him. I fell back on my bed and groaned. Within a five-minute conversation I’d manage to dig this shallow, fake-girlfriend-sized hole into a full-out grave. There was only one thing to do now: fully commit.
I grabbed my phone and texted Becca’s number. Hey, it’s your boyfriend, I typed. Need a ride to school tomorrow? For fake-dating purposes, I added last minute. Then a plain smiley face. No wink. Too creepy.
She responded instantly.
Brett? she wrote back.
How many fake boyfriends do you have? I typed back, laughing.
Very funny.
I asked about the ride again, then for her address. She agreed, writing back the address for an apartment building and to meet her on the street. I told her I’d see her tomorrow, and that we’d work out the details of . . . whatever this was.
An hour later, my mom was back from the airport. She stopped by my room to say good night, then headed to bed. I heard the sound of the television playing and the water running. Weird. I listened closer, called her name a few times. She didn’t answer. When the water stopped some time later, I went to check on her. She was lying in bed sleeping, dozens of tissues bunched up on the empty side of the bed. My dad’s side. She cried sometimes when he left. I figured it was because she missed him while he was gone. The next morning, she was always better.
I grabbed a garbage can from the bathroom, cleaned up the tissues, turned off the TV, then headed back to bed. I needed to get some sleep. Something told me tomorrow would be crazy.
Becca
I STAYED UP LATE WRITING in my notebook. It was 1:00 a.m.; my eyes were strained and I couldn’t stop yawning. My mom had fallen asleep hours ago. I could hear her snoring through the wall. The reason for my sudden lack of sleep was a full-page pro-con list for continuing on with this fake relationship. “When in doubt, list it out” was my go-to motto. At least in my head.
PROS: Brett’s cute (obvious? Yes. Superficial? Very), Mom will finally lay off about me being single, Jenny’s snarky comments cease (sounds better than saying it’s a revenge scheme), will gain secondhand popularity! (just kidding), maybe finally attend a football game?
CONS: Brett’s cute, like, too cute (what do I say to him? What do we have in common?), Mom will also be waaaaay too invested in this relationship (note: keep this a secret from Mom), Jenny is scary, popularity means being social, I know nothing about football.
Clearly, I was tied between the two.
When the clock showed it was nearly two, I decided to sleep on it. I’d see how I was feeling the next morning, talk it over with Brett, and we could decide together. I mean, he was as much a part of this as I was. I already had no idea why he kissed me today; I ran away too quickly to ask. What did he plan on getting out of this relationship anyway?
I wished I could shut my brain off.
I shut my eyes instead. This could be tomorrow’s problem.
The next morning my stomach was in knots. And those knots were tied into another set of knots. Now that my frenzied excitement from that kiss had faded, I was stuck staring straight into reality: that I had gotten myself into a fake relationship with Brett Wells. No pro-con list could save me now.
I texted my best friend, Cassie, an SOS, then got ready for school. One look in the mirror told me staying up late had not been a good idea (hello, eye bags), and my hair was sticking up in every direction, like a flock of birds had built a nest in there while I slept. Overall, not a good start to my day.
The morning got slightly better when I walked into a kitchen covered in cupcakes. The counter, the table, and even the stovetop—all cupcakes. The frosting dripped off the edges, leaving sugary globs everywhere. There was a pink note with my name scrawled on it in the middle of the table. I plucked it up and licked the frosting off my finger. A cupcake for my cupcake. Have a great day at school. Love, Mom. I smiled at the note my mom left. It was how every morning started since my father left. There had been hundreds of these notes now.
At first, my mother’s baking was horrible. Like, inedible levels of horror. She made frosting from salt instead of sugar. Her pancakes could dent a wall if you threw one hard enough. But she didn’t stop. I think baking was her therapy. It was all she did after he left. Like she had to be strong for me, so she bottled up all the pain, and the only way she could release it was by mixing flour and eggs into a bowl and whisking all her sadness away. That first summer, she’d drive us to the bookstore and fill her bag with books about cakes, cookies, cupcakes, and everything sweet. Once she got home, she’d flip to a page at random and spend the rest of the night baking.
Eventually her skills improved. She became good enough to open her own bakery in town. Her friend and business partner, Cara, handled the business and my mom handled the baking. Her sadness was baked into cupcakes and served in pink-and-silver wrappers.
The front door slammed open and Cassie whipped into the kitchen like a hurricane, wearing her pastel-pink Hart’s Cupcakes uniform polo. Surprisingly, Cara agreed to use our last name for the business. The first person employed was Cassie, her daughter. I helped out during the summer when school was out. Being a year older and having already graduated, Cassie was working full-time. She was in it more for the free dessert than the money.
“Cupcakes this morning!” she yelled, grabbing one in each hand and taking a bite. “Can you believe it’s been two years and I’m not sick of these yet?
“So,” she said, licking frosting off her finger, “you sent an SOS. What happened?”
I explained the whole Brett situation. I told her about English class, Jenny, the kiss, and my hasty getaway. By the time I finished, Cassie was speechless.
In two years of being friends, I’d never seen her speechless.
“Wow,” she finally said. “You need to tell your mom. She’s going to freak.”
“My mom doesn’t need to know her daughter’s first boyfriend is fake,” I said. It was a bit embarrassing.
“Then leave out the whole fake part. It’ll be nice to have someone, don’t you think? Like, to be with at school? You’ve been a hermit ever since I graduated last year.”
“Not a hermit,” I added.
“A hermit,” she repeated. “The only person you hang out with is me and those books.”
“Then doesn’t that make you a hermit too?”
Cassie shrugged, unwrapping her second cupcake. “You may have a point. You’re a hermit by choice, though. It’s different. You choose to isolate yourself from other people. I, on the other hand, don’t choose to. People, for some reason, don’t like me.”
“Maybe it’s because you barge into their apartment
and eat all their food.”
When she smiled, there was chocolate stuck between her front teeth. “Definitely not that.” Cassie stood up, washed her hands, then followed me into the hallway.
“Maybe it was the speech you gave at graduation?” I asked, watching the smile stretch across her face.
“You mean when I told my entire class I hated them?”
“That’s the one.”
“My dad always said to go out with a bang.” We both laughed. It was too ridiculous not to. Our moms always said we were an odd pairing. I tried hard to go unnoticed while Cassie went out of her way to stand out. But when we met two years ago when the bakery opened, we clicked.
“Today’s going to be weird. Read any books on fake dating?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I wish.”
My phone buzzed. Cassie squealed. Goodbye, three years of living life under the high school radar. I had mastered the art in sophomore year: eat lunch alone, always have headphones or a book on hand, don’t make eye contact longer than one second, place your bag on empty chairs to avoid people sitting beside you—the list went on. I was a pro. And all that ended today.
Now there were butterflies living on the knots in my stomach.
“Is it him?” Cassie yelled, staring at my phone.
It was. The message said: Here.
The butterflies multiplied.
“He’s here,” I repeated. Cassie’s hands were on my back, pushing me out the door and into the hall.
“Have fun,” she said. “Text me hourly updates and the names of any student that gives you a hard time.”
“Why? So you can fight them with your noodle arms?”
“Violence is not my weapon of choice, dear Becca. Cupcakes are.” I raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes students stop by Hart’s Cupcakes after class. I’ll admit, it’s another reason I don’t enjoy working there, but now it’ll prove useful. So send me some names and I’ll spit in their frosting.”
“You’re disgusting.”
Cassie blew me a kiss, yelled, “Have fun with your boyfriend!” then shut the door to my apartment in my own face. I made a mental note to tell my mom to change the locks—or ask her why Cassie even had a key—and stepped into the elevator. My heart lurched into my throat. Not so much from the elevator ride, but rather because of the boy waiting for me downstairs, whose hand I’d have to hold and face I’d have to kiss to sell some lie I never should have even told.