My Fake Valentine

by Kellie McAllen

  Maybe I should get a tutor, but it can’t be just anybody. I don’t want rumors flying that I’m some kind of dummy. Better yet, maybe I can find somebody who’ll do the work for me so I don’t have to take any time away from practice.

  When the bell rings, I head to my English class and take a seat next to my bro, Jake, squeezing myself into one of those tiny chairs with the desk attached.

  “Yo, watch Miss Linley,” Jake whispers and points towards the teacher, a tiny, blonde woman in a short skirt and heels who’s probably only a couple years older than we are.

  She sets down her McDonald’s cup and her keys and starts fumbling around on her messy desk for her planner. When she lifts it out from under a pile of papers, a big, plastic cockroach falls out of it, bounces off her desk, and lands on her chair. Miss Linley shrieks and jumps about two feet off the ground and yanks the chair away from her desk, then she whacks at the roach with her planner, trying to push it onto the floor. When it falls off and lands upside down, not moving, she bends over and peers at it, standing as far away as she can.

  “Plastic,” she sneers and puts her hands of her hips when it finally dawns on her. “Who did this?” She glares out at us.

  Jake and I are barely holding it together, shoving our fists to our mouths to keep from cracking up, but pretty much everybody is laughing, so she doesn’t have a clue who did it. She huffs and picks up the fake bug with a tissue and drops it in the trash, squirming even though it’s just plastic.

  When she turns her back, Jake holds out a hand for a fist bump, and we knock knuckles. Jake’s a total jokester, which Miss Linley would know if she’d been a teacher here for more than like two minutes.

  “Dude, you are killing the rumor mill today. First I hear you dumped Chloe for the chick from the play last night, then I hear you got your ass kicked off the basketball team. What's going on with you?"

  I wave my hand in the air and sneer, talking loudly so everyone around us can hear me. “Chloe is a bitch, and I'm done with her. Theatre chicks save the drama for the stage, you know? The new vice principal is on my back to get my grades up, but I'm not off the team. Chloe is just being vindictive and spreading rumors."

  Since Jake is always down for a good prank, he won’t mind when he finds out the real story. I’ll tell him the truth later, and I know he’ll play along with me.

  "So what's this Mia like? She was pretty hot in the play last night. Is she rubbing your magic lamp?" He winks and wiggles his eyebrows at me with a leer.

  I shake my head and roll my eyes at him. "Dude, you're such an ass. That's my girlfriend you're talking about."

  I shift my eyes around the room and notice that half the class is watching us. Hopefully I’ve salvaged a little bit of my rep. I just need to have the same conversation a few more times in my other classes. Chloe may be the most popular girl in the school, but I'm not the first person she's turned on. It won't take much to convince other people that she's the one who’s lying.

  I do a pretty good job of spreading my version of the story that afternoon, and I’m feeling better about things until I head to my locker after class and see a bunch of people pointing and whispering at me.

  Mia is nearby at her locker. How did I never notice her before when her locker is like twenty feet away from mine? On a whim, I go up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, giving the people a show.

  She jumps and yelps and whirls around to scowl at me, hissing through clenched teeth. “What are you doing? Don’t scare me like that!”

  I back a way a bit but keep smiling and don’t let go of her, pretending everything is cool. “Just saying hi to my girlfriend,” I say out loud, then whisper, “You promised to play along, remember?”

  She whispers back, “No. No, I didn’t. I never agreed to anything. You just think you can get whatever you want because you’re…” She waves her hand around, and I chuckle.

  “You said that before. What exactly am I, Mia?” I goad her, hoping she’ll admit what she thinks of me. I’ve never done wrong by her, I never even knew who she was till yesterday, so there’s no reason for her not to like me. She’s just being a girl, playing hard to get.

  She narrows her eyes and glares at me. “A cocky, self-centered jerk.”

  I slap my hand to my chest and gasp, grinning. “Mia! How can you say that about me? We just met. You don’t even know me.”

  She purses her lips and cocks her head, smirking. “Everybody knows you, Austin. Let’s just say your reputation precedes you.”

  I grin and wonder exactly what kind of reputation she thinks I have. “So, if you know so much about me, do you know what the latest gossip is? I’ve been trying to do damage control all afternoon.”

  “Well, there’s a post on the school blog about you being kicked off the basketball team, so my guess is your efforts aren’t working too well.” That makes her smile at me.

  I gawk at her and whip out my phone, and my head explodes as I see the picture of me that dork took this morning under a headline that says, “Austin Meyers fouls out!”

  I slam my fist into a nearby locker and stomp away. Could this day get any worse?

  Chapter Six

  Mia

  How can I be so attracted to someone and still want to kick him in the groin every time I see him? I just don’t understand myself sometimes. Austin Meyers is the most self-centered, egotistical, annoying, gorgeous, magnetic, heartthrob, jerkface ever.

  He’s just a pretty face, I keep telling myself. And stunning abs, and killer biceps… Argh! I do not like him! He is not a nice person! Well, technically I don’t know that because I really don’t know him, but the way he treated me today, just assuming I wouldn’t mind him kissing me in front of everybody and pretending to be my boyfriend, was just so arrogant and unbelievable!

  The thing is, I didn’t really mind him kissing me; it was kind of amazing. But it was my first kiss! How dare he take that from me and make a joke out of it when it’s supposed to be special! I mean, it was a good kiss and all, but still. I wanted my first kiss to be with someone who likes me, someone I care about, not just some random hottie. Okay, so maybe that’s not really something to complain about. I’m sure most of the girls in our school would swoon if Austin Meyers walked up and kissed them, but it’s the principle of it.

  And the boyfriend thing — really? What kind of craziness is that? First of all, I’m blown away that anyone believed that. I mean, come on. He’s the most popular guy in school, and I’m… nobody. Except, last night I was somebody, for a minute, anyway, and it was kind of awesome. I felt pretty and talented and cool for once.

  The feeling wore off by this morning, and I woke up as my old self again, but I did get a lot of compliments today from people who’d never talked to me before, and that was… interesting. Then, with the whole Austin thing, I spent the rest of the afternoon feeling like everyone was staring at me, trying to figure out my story.

  I sigh as I climb in the back of the Town Car. I would sit in the front, but my mother insists it’s not proper. Like it’s the 1940’s or something. Our driver, Benjamin, drives me every day since I go to a charter school outside of our district. No school bus for me — thank God.

  “How was your day, Miss Mia?” He peeks at me through the rearview mirror. His eyes are still bright and shiny even though his face is getting wrinkly.

  “It was… interesting.” That’s about the best way to describe it. Benjamin is too proper to press for details, but I know he’s happy to talk if I want to.

  “Hey Benny?” I started calling him that as a joke years ago, and it just kind of stuck. He always grins when I say it, so I don’t think he minds. “Do you remember your first kiss?”

  He quirks an eyebrow at me in the mirror. “Yes, yes I do. It was Penny Peters and I was in 8th grade.”

  I pout a little. Here I am already in 11th grade and still haven’t had a real first kiss.

  “We dated for two weeks before that, and two days after. Then she broke u
p with me,” Benjamin explains, probably sensing my feelings, and I smirk.

  “You weren’t that good of a kisser?” I tease.

  “Probably not. I doubt she enjoyed it any more than I did.”

  “Oh yeah? What was it like?” I lean forward and rest my head on my arms against the back of the passenger seat.

  “I remember bumping noses and trying to stick my tongue in her mouth but not knowing what to do with it once it got there.”

  I crack up at that but then remember the way Austin’s tongue stroked the inside of my mouth and his lips took mine like he knew exactly what he was doing. The same tingles flash through my body again, and I squirm a little. I don’t want to admit how great it felt, but my stupid body is betraying me.

  “A guy kissed me today. He was just pretending, but it was my first kiss,” I admit.

  “Oh really? And how was it?” Benjamin raises his eyebrows.

  “It was… interesting.” It sounds like a cop out, but I really don’t know how else to explain it.

  Benny pops one eyebrow, and I know he wants me to explain myself. He has mastered the art of eyebrow communication after all these years of talking to me through the mirror.

  “He’s kind of a jerk. The guy.” Benny nods and waits, knowing there’s more.

  I sigh and lean back against my seat. “But he’s a pretty good kisser.”

  I can tell Benny is smiling by the way his eyes crinkle in the mirror, and I can’t help grinning a little myself.

  When we get home, I grab a snack and head to my room, intent on finishing my homework and vegging out the rest of the night, but I can’t very well do homework with greasy, potato chip fingers, so I pull out my phone while I snack.

  Huh. I have, like, a dozen new followers, which basically doubles my total. They’re probably just looking to see if I’ll post pictures of Austin. I wish I had one. Austin is serious eye candy. I groan when I see some of the dorky pictures I do have on there and delete some of the worst ones. I mow down half a bag of chips while I scroll through the pictures of my new followers, feeling jealous. Their profiles are full of bestie pics, duck-face selfies, and sexy squad poses at clubs, parties, and the beach. All I have are a few silly candids of me and Kerri and a couple pics of me with my brother and sister where I look completely out of place in their world. My profile name is Black Sheep, and that’s exactly what I am.

  I sigh and toss the phone on my bed then stretch out beside it, kicking the bag of chips to the floor. I lay there for a long time, wondering what it would be like to be popular, to get invited to parties where the dress code is “classy prostitute” and kiss a different boy at each one.

  Austin probably didn’t think twice about kissing me because kissing is no big deal if you do it all the time. I let my mind drift back to the soft, warm feel of his lips on mine and the way his tongue swooped in and owned my mouth. My stomach tightens and my body shivers as I remember the feel of his body pressed against mine, and I can still feel the tingles.

  As annoyed as I am at Austin, as much as I don’t want to like him, I’d still love to kiss him again. Even though it was only pretend, it still felt real to me. He already said he was going to kiss me a couple more times before he “broke up” with me, and my heart speeds up just imagining it.

  I wonder what it would be like to have a real boyfriend who kissed me all the time? Would it always feel like that — exciting and nerve-wracking and glorious all at the same time? Or would it get boring after a while? Even if it did, it would still be nice to have a guy to hold my hand and tell me I’m pretty and take me out on dates instead of spending every night at home or hanging out with Kerri. Valentine’s Day is coming up, and I wish I could be one of those girls who gets Candygrams and roses and hearts stuck to their locker. I sigh, knowing the odds of that happening this year are pretty much a gazillion to one. It’s less than a month away. — nowhere near enough time to make a real boyfriend, and there’s no way Austin will still be pretending to be my boyfriend by then.

  Maybe Kerri’s right, though. Maybe I should at least take advantage of this opportunity to step up my social game. If I’m going out with Austin, even if it’s pretend, people will expect me to go with him to parties and clubs. I might even get an extra kiss or two, since people will be watching us. Plus, if I make friends with some of the cool kids, maybe I could still hang out with them even after Austin “breaks up” with me. I don’t know if I can ever really fit it, but it would be nice to feel like it for once.

  But Kerri’s right about one thing for sure — I need to try a little harder. I ignore my backpack and head for my closet, looking for something better to wear to school tomorrow than my usual uniform of tee shirt and jeans. I usually ignore the fancy clothes my mom buys for me, but today I’m glad my closet is full of them. I find a couple nice tops and a pair of boots that will make my jeans look a little better, so I lay them out for tomorrow. Then I grab the makeup bag full of samples my mom has given me and my phone, and I open YouTube, determined to figure out what the heck I’m doing.

  If my plan is going to succeed, I need to look the part. If I can pull off Jasmine, looking like girlfriend material should be a cinch, right?

  Chapter Seven

  Austin

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were off the team?” Richard, aka “Pencil Dick” Evans digs his long, skinny fingers into the basketball then shoves it towards me.

  I catch the ball before it pummels my chest. “You wish. I know you’re gunning for my spot, but don’t believe everything you hear in the girls’ bathroom, Dick.” I slam the ball back towards him and grab the next one coming at me, my sneakers squeaking as I pivot.

  The rest of basketball practice is like that, with one teammate or another trying to find out what’s going on and me coming up with creative ways to answer their questions without actually telling them anything.

  Finally, when Coach tells us to take five, one guy decides to go straight to the top. “Hey Coach, I heard Austin can’t play cuz he’s on probation. What gives?” Eric waves a thick arm at me then wipes his sweaty head with the bottom of his shirt.

  “If Austin’s spot goes up for grabs, I’ll let you know about it,” Coach says but then gives me a look of pity that’s pretty obvious.

  Crap. I guess I should be glad he let me practice today, but I really need to get this fixed before it screws up everything.

  I know it’s a long shot, but I go up to him after practice, anyway. “Coach, did you get a chance to talk to Dillard yet?”

  “And when exactly would I have had time to do that? During my afternoon siesta? I teach classes, too, you know.” He takes a bite of a granola bar and chews it like it’s made of rubber.

  “I know, sorry. I’m just nervous. I want the team to do well, you know? And I don’t think Pencil Dick is going to make a good replacement.” I roll my eyes, and Coach chuckles, spewing out tiny chunks of granola.

  Finally, he swallows. “You think I don’t know that? This is my team, too, and I know we can’t do it without you, that’s why I let you practice today. I’ll talk to Dillard tomorrow morning, just as soon as I figure out who the hell he is and where to find him.”

  That’s the best I can hope for, so I head home, not bothering to change out of my practice clothes. I don’t want to face the guys in the locker room. My phone is already blowing up with text messages, but at least the guys on the team can vouch that I was still allowed to practice.

  It’s too cold outside for the shorts I’m wearing, and the wind sneaks into my Jeep around the edges of the canvas top, so I crank the heat and the radio, trying to fill my head with something else. I stop for some fast food on the way since I skipped lunch and try to self-medicate with greasy fries and a cheeseburger.

  My kid sister is playing her saxophone when I get home, and the squeaks echo through the whole house. I crash in my room and throw on some big headphones, pulling out the extra credit assignments my teachers gave me. I start with a math w
orksheet, but I have no idea how to even start, and the algebra problems swirl together into a jumble of random numbers and letters the longer I stare at the paper.

  I grab my math book and flip through the pages, trying to remember the order of operations. What was that mnemonic they taught us? “Please Forgive My Aunt Sally,” or something like that, I think. I look at the first problem again. The P is for parentheses, right? I look at the stuff inside the parentheses, but even that is way too confusing. What does the F stand for? Fractions? There’s a fraction inside the first set of parentheses; I guess I should convert that to a decimal or something. But I can’t remember how to do that, either. Argh! I hate algebra!

  Sophie’s saxophone sounds like a cat being ran over by a car, and even with my door closed and headphones on I can still hear her. God, she’s terrible at that. I scrub my hands over my face then slam them on the desk, scrunching up the worksheet.

  I stomp down the hall to Sophie’s room, intending to yell at her to shut up, but I cool off as soon as I fling her door open and see her sitting there in her purple explosion of a bedroom, looking adorable, with that giant instrument between her knees and her red cheeks puffed out as she blows her lungs out. She’s like a miniature, girl version of me, and I have a feeling she’s gonna be a heartbreaker when she gets older, but for now, she’s just a geeky little sister. I love her like crazy, though.

  “Hey Austin!” She pulls the horn away and grins at me. “How do I sound? I’m getting better, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, absolutely.” I smile back at her. I guess she might be a tiny bit better than she was the first day she brought that thing home and started torturing it.

  “Did you do your homework already?” I see a stack of books sticking out of her backpack, including a math book, and for a minute I wonder if I should ask her to help me. She’s only in 5th grade, but she probably knows how to do the fraction thing. I’m too embarrassed to admit how bad I am at math, though.