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.