#TheBoyfriendDare

by Vargas, Yesenia

  * * *

  My phone buzzed.

  Ian: Where are you?

  Lena: Outside.

  It wasn’t long before Ian found me. He was lucky I hadn’t just left without another word.

  I just wanted to get out of there. Just be with my friends, more than anything.

  Let this day end.

  Ian walked toward me. Tori and Harper leaned against Tori’s car several feet away. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

  I scoffed. “Am I okay? Where’d you go? Getting drinks doesn’t take twenty minutes!”

  He blinked back at me. “I’m sorry, Lena. I didn’t meant to,” he began. “Some of the guys grabbed me, like literally picked me up and grabbed me, and wouldn’t let me go until I played their stupid game.”

  His face, his voice, told me he was telling the truth, but I was still fuming.

  “What happened?” he asked, coming in close. “Are you alright?”

  I bit my lip then looked up at him. “Bethany happened.”

  Ian froze, didn’t say anything.

  “She told me you two still talk. Is that true?” I said, my eyes narrowing.

  Ian glanced away. That’s when I knew. “Just a couple times,” he said, his voice hardly audible.

  I couldn’t believe this. “You have got to be kidding me,” I said, laughing for some weird reason. “I’m pretending to be your happy girlfriend, and all this time, you’ve been talking to her.” I began walking away, but then I spun around and looked at him again. I shook my head.

  He tried to come in close, but I raised my hand. “Don’t.”

  “Lena,” he begged. “I promise nothing is going on. I wouldn’t do that. You can’t think that I would do that, do you?”

  I met his gaze, and he waited for an answer.

  I left without another word, hopping into Tori’s car and wishing I’d never come to this party.

  That I’d never agreed to this stupid dare.

  * * *

  To make matters worse, it rained all day Saturday.

  Not a light shower, where you could pull on a thick hoodie and go outside to kick the ball around without getting too wet.

  No, it was the kind of rain that drenched you within a couple minutes.

  The drops of water hit my window pane, and I sighed.

  I couldn’t even shoot the ball around the yard today to get my mind off of Ian and the party last night.

  It was torture.

  Maybe the #BFFs and I could hang out, watch a movie, or something.

  Maybe even hit the mall together.

  It beat staying home all day for sure.

  I picked up my phone to text them, but then I saw a message from Ian.

  I shook my head and breathed in through my nose.

  I was not ready to talk to him.

  But his words were right there.

  Ian: Hey, I’m sorry again about last night. And whatever Bethany said to you. Can we talk about it, please?

  Then another message.

  Ian: I can’t stand that you’re mad at me. Let me fix this?

  Ugh. How could a few words stringed together like that completely melt me?

  Because they were written by Ian, that’s why.

  I groaned out loud and fell back on my bed.

  What he did to me? It wasn’t fair.

  Opening his message, I typed out a message, thinking carefully about what I wanted to say.

  Thinking because I did not like what had happened yesterday. Didn’t like the pain, the hurt, during the argument with Ian. Or hearing Bethany and the smug sound of her voice.

  There was a reason I’d only kissed boys for fun. I couldn’t handle the drama. Even physical pain I could handle, the sprain of an ankle, a bad bruise on my thigh. But not this.

  I liked keeping things fun. Easy.

  Lena: I’m listening.

  Three dots appeared on my screen, and I wondered just how Ian was going to fix this. The truth was I didn’t like being mad at him, but I also wanted it to end. And not happen again.

  Maybe it was time to end this dare once and for all. Then we could go back to what we had before. An awesome friendship. None of these complications.

  As much as I would miss the cute and cheesy boyfriend/girlfriend stuff.

  Ian: I think maybe the more time that goes on, the more I realize that maybe Bethany isn’t right for me.

  I read that message again, wondering exactly what he meant.

  That he was getting over her? That he had feelings for someone else?

  Gah. He couldn’t have been more specific?

  Ian: You mean a lot to me. Let me make it up to you?

  I typed out a new message.

  Lena: How?

  Ian: Pick you up tonight? At 7?

  Oh gosh.

  Why did he need to pick me up?

  Was this just going to make everything worse?

  Part of me wanted to call this whole thing off right now.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

  So instead, I said…

  Lena: Okay.

  Thirteen

  A few minutes later, I made my way to the laundry room to dig around for my favorite jeans. It’d go perfect with my new shoulder cut-out top.

  I saw Dad watching TV on the couch, realizing this was a good time to ask them if I could hang out with Ian.

  By the sounds of banging pots and pans in the kitchen, my mom was nearby too. And it sounded like she was getting ready to make dinner.

  She walked over. “Lena, oh good. I could use some help over here.”

  I gave her my best smile. “Actually, I was wondering if I could go out tonight?” I turned to Dad. He was the final decision maker around here.

  His eyes left the TV and met mine. “A donde y con quien?” he asked gruffly in Spanish.

  Maybe I hadn’t thought this through. I could have just lied and said I wanted to hang out and eat dinner with the soccer team or with my friends, but I also hated lying to my dad. I sighed. “With Ian? Just to eat. Public places only. Promise.”

  I rocked back and forth on my tip toes, waiting for an answer.

  My dad stood up, and I wondered why he felt the need to walk over. My mom’s hands rested on her hips, her expression a little uneasy.

  Suddenly, I felt cornered.

  Dad sounded more serious than ever, which was saying something. “Cuentame de este muchacho,” he said. “Is he your boyfriend, then?”

  I held my hands behind my back. “Um, yeah,” I said, realizing I should say it like I meant it, not like a question. “He is.”

  Dad grunted again, sitting down at the kitchen table.

  That’s when Mom stepped in. “And who is this muchacho, Lena? We don’t know anything about him. We need to meet him.”

  “Mom,” I groaned. “He’s nice. Really. And you don’t need to meet him.”

  I loved my parents, but sometimes they didn’t understand that America wasn’t like Mexico. Boyfriends weren’t introduced until well after the first date.

  It didn’t help that he wasn’t even really my boyfriend. If anything, Ian was just my boy friend. Big space in between those two words.

  “I say we do,” she repeated.

  Dad grunted in agreement. “Le dices que pase.” He turned the volume up on the TV.

  So that was settled then. Ian would have to come in and officially meet the parents.

  If only he knew what he had gotten himself into.

  * * *

  At seven o’clock sharp, the doorbell rang.

  I raced to the front door and opened it.

  Ian stood there with what looked like a small box of chocolates in his hands. His eyes swept down, taking in my amazing outfit for a nanosecond before he recovered.

  I smiled. “Well, hello there.”

  Ian didn’t look so bad himself. He cleaned up nice. I’d been worried about overdressing for whatever this was, but Ian rocked a navy blue dress shirt and khakis that
looked like they were made for his strong shoulders, thin torso, and long yet muscular legs.

  He cleared his throat, and I remembered to move my eyes back to his face. He smiled, except it looked kind of like a grimace. “Uh, hi. You look great. I mean, uh, can I come in?” he said.

  Giggling, I stepped aside. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

  He exhaled. “I did not think asking you out to dinner would mean needing to talk to your parents,” he said quietly.

  “Not regretting our decision to take me out, now are we?” I teased.

  “Not at all,” he said. For some reason, those three words had my stomach doing all kinds of aerobics inside me.

  Meanwhile, Ian seemed nervous. In fact, I’d never seen him this nervous, not before or during any soccer game. “Sure. My parents are already waiting.”

  I led him to the couch. My parents sat at a right angle to us on the love seat. Ian immediately greeted them and shook my dad’s hand, then my mom’s, handing her the chocolates.

  My dad mumbled back a response. My mom gave him her best English. Was it me, or did she look a little flustered? Probably the chocolates.

  Ian sat down, and the interrogation began.

  My eyes traveled back and forth between Ian and Dad.

  Ian looked a little clammy, but he held his own, an anxious but genuine smile on the whole time.

  Mom asked him about his parents (Lisa and Jared), what they did for a living (accountant and nurse), about where he was from (Georgia, but his great great grandparents had immigrated from Germany), and about a dozen other things.

  Finally, I stepped in. “Dad, we need to get going or every place to eat is going to close.”

  Dad nodded and stood up. Ian did the same, and my mom and I followed suit. He held out his hand, and Ian took it. “Have her back by ten thirty.”

  That was all he said, but it was like he was communicating so much more.

  Have my daughter back by ten thirty.

  Don’t hurt her.

  I’ve got my eye on you.

  I’m not sure I trust you.

  Ian looked him dead in the eye. “Yes, sir.”

  Ten minutes later, we were on the road in Ian’s car.

  I glanced at him. His focus was on the road. Or maybe he was still recovering from the trauma he’d just gone through. “Are you okay? Sorry again about all that. My parents are really old-fashioned. Where we come from, just asking a girl out is practically like proposing.”

  He coughed, sputtering and pounding his chest. In about two seconds, the car ended up on the side of the road. Ian put it in park.

  “Whoa,” I said, holding on to the door. Ian gasped a little for air, and for some reason, I started laughing. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  But he was laughing too. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I just—that was intense back there. I wasn’t sure I’d make it out alive.”

  We laughed for a full minute before Ian got back on the road.

  I smiled, glad he was more relaxed. “So where are we going?”

  We came to a stop light, and Ian met my gaze. “I know we’re technically just friends and all, but then I thought…why not go on our first date?”

  Fourteen

  I’d never been on a date before, real or fake.

  Suddenly, it felt like my life had become one of those romantic movies, the ones where the guys are completely unrealistically romantic along with the girl’s always perfect make-up and hair. Even when she woke up.

  When Ian led me into a nice restaurant, opening the door for me, my mouth literally dropped.

  This was definitely not a place where you ordered a burger and curly fries. Drinks came in fancy glasses, not an obscenely large styrofoam cup with a straw.

  I could have pinched myself. I’d never been in a place like this. But I also didn’t dare seeing if this was real or a dream. What if it all went away?

  Ian pushed in my chair for me and then sat across the table.

  My eyes scanned the silverware, the multiple forks and spoons. “Okay, where did you learn to push in a girl’s chair, and are you sure we should even be here?”

  This place screamed $20 salad, and I did not want to have Ian go broke trying to make it up to me.

  He grabbed his napkin, unfolded it, and put it on his lap.

  I did the same, hoping I didn’t look like a complete phony. My family definitely didn’t go to the types of restaurants with cloth napkins.

  He smiled. “My family comes here a couple times a year on special occasions. Sometimes my dad brings my mom on their date nights. It’s their favorite.”

  I imagined a tiny five-year-old Ian being taught how to put a napkin on his lap and which fork to use when.

  Definitely not something I’d been taught.

  For my family, even a special occasion meant heading over to the local taco place, where you sat at a well-worn diner-style table with slightly ripped booths. But all of that didn’t matter because the homemade salsa and agua de horchata were to die for. And we could talk and laugh as loudly as we wanted.

  Dorothy, we weren’t in Kansas anymore.

  I glanced around, realizing I was the only person wearing jeans. “Um, Ian. Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, we can go somewhere else.”

  Ian’s voice was low and quiet. “You don’t like it?” he asked.

  I grimaced, not sure how to explain what I meant. “I guess I don’t want you going broke buying me dinner?” I tried. “I just didn’t expect to go somewhere super fancy.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I didn’t just benchpress weights over the summer. I also did some yard work for a few people. May as well spend some of it on someone. And as for this place being fancy, true. But their food is also pretty amazing. Way better than a burger and fries.”

  That had me grinning. “Okay, then.” I picked up the menu beside me. “What should I try?”

  Even with the fancy silverware and uptight waiter, dinner was great. The steak practically melted in my mouth.

  More than that, it felt special. And the dessert we shared afterward—a thick slice of strawberry cheesecake—perfectly topped off the entire experience.

  I wondered if Ian had ever brought Bethany here. Or if I was the only girl he’d brought to such a special place. If so, what did that mean? Was he just being nice? Trying to make things up to me?

  All burning questions I wanted to ask him right that second, but I also didn’t want to spoil the evening with the mention of Bethany or what had happened between us.

  After dinner, we still had time before I had to be back home but not enough to go watch a movie.

  So Ian pulled into our local park. It was dark already so we couldn’t take a walk.

  I wondered if he just wanted to sit on one of the benches for a few minutes, watch the dying buzz of downtown not too far away. Luckily, it was only slightly chilly out. But warmer than it had been at practice all week.

  Ian led me to the bench, and as we sat down, I couldn’t help but shiver a little.

  He shrugged off his jacket. “Here,” he said.

  I’m sure it was a meaningless thing for him to do, but it left me speechless. “Thanks,” I managed.

  His leg kind of touched mine, and I wondered if he noticed too.

  But he seemed too focused on the sky.

  I looked up with him. “What is it?” I asked.

  Had his jaw always been so perfectly chiseled or had there been something in the cheesecake?

  And why did he smell so good? I’d noticed his cologne a little before, but now, being this close to him, it was impossible to miss.

  Ian turned to me, our faces just as close as when we sat together on the bus sometimes, listening to music together. But for some reason, this moment felt different.

  Was it just me?

  “This was always one of my favorite things to do growing up. Still is, I guess,” he said, glancing back up at the stars.

  “Yeah?” I asked with a smile.
<
br />   His eyes stayed up there, scanning the twinkling blanket of darkness above us. All of a sudden, I felt tiny. Miniscule. Like I wanted to scoot in even closer to Ian.

  “Have you ever been on a plane?” he asked, turning to me again.

  I shook my head. “We travel to Mexico every summer, but we always make it a road trip. Have you?”

  He nodded. “A couple times. It’s awesome, being that high, literally in the clouds and then above them.”

  I tried to picture what he meant, but of course, it was impossible. “It sounds really cool, even if I’m not sure about being squeezed in next to someone for hours.”

  “Unless you’re just rich and can buy your own jet or something,” he said with a small laugh.

  I laughed too. “Now that I can get behind. First class all the way.”

  Ian pulled out his phone, putting his other arm around me. “Hey, you want to get a picture?”

  And document this moment forever? “Uh, yeah,” I replied happily.

  I flashed my pearly whites wide while Ian went for more of a handsome grin. Goodness, was he becoming hotter by the minute, or was it just me?

  He opened up the picture on his phone, turning it my way. “What do you think?”

  “Perfect,” I said. loving how cute we looked together.

  “I think so too,” he said. “Just what we need for Instagram.”

  Within a minute, it was posted and gaining likes, but as much as I loved that picture of us, all I could think about was whether he had posted it to keep up the charade that was our fake relationship or because the moment had been real.

  And more importantly: which of the two was I hoping for?

  * * *

  Ian and I hung out more than ever. He picked me up in the mornings. We walked together to class. Went through the lunch line, talking the whole time. Then he’d drop me back off at home again.

  It was weird seeing him all the time, hanging out with him constantly. It felt different than before.

  And also, I found myself missing him during those times when he wasn’t around.