Fake girlfriend. Am I insane? We didn’t even go over what that entails, or what the rules are, like when I’m supposed to start playing a role and if we have to act like a couple.
Back in that classroom, I put on every ounce of bravery, but in reality I’m so far from okay with all of this.
By some miracle, I haven’t broken down yet. Once he left, I swiped my eyes and went to AP Chemistry, apologizing to the teacher for arriving so late.
Sighing, I pick at the carrots sitting between Maisy and I on the table in the cafeteria. My stomach gives a feeble protest. I’m not hungry for anything else. My insides are too twisted in anxious knots.
My best friend is so good at picking up on my moods. As soon as we met up at the stairwell by the library to walk to lunch, she launched into a story about falling down a YouTube hole of yoga videos last night.
Maisy Landry is a junior in the grade below me, but we’ve been close friends since the first day of camp when we were in middle school. It was a miracle to find out we lived in the same town. She looks like a stunning model with long tan lean legs, highlighted light brown hair, and warm hazel eyes. She’s the kindest person I know. Her inner beauty makes her outer beauty shine even brighter. I’ve always loved her confident and laid back nature.
Right now I’m thankful she lets me retreat inside my head, unsure if I manage the occasional hum to show her I’m paying attention. I’m totally not listening, like a crappy friend.
“Are you okay today, girl?” Maisy asks, putting a hand on mine after her story ends. “We can move to the courtyard if you want. I can pull up a meditation flow playlist on my phone. It’ll be great, we’ll zen out before next period. Think we can get away with a nap, too?” She laughs, the sound light and airy, then crunches into a carrot. “My mom would freak if she found out I stopped being her perfect ideal of a goody-goody for, like, five minutes to cut class. I’m missing out on a teenage rite of passage.”
My reaction is delayed, but when her words register, I sit up straight. Rolling my lips between my teeth, I widen my eyes and nod at Maisy. “I’m okay. We’re already here, we might as well stay. Tomorrow we should do that, though.”
“Yes.” Maisy drags the word out with a languid smile and wiggles her fingers at me. It gets me to smile. “All right, there’s my girl. Want me to make us an appointment at the goat yoga studio this weekend? We haven’t been in so long. We need to release our negative energy so we can soak in all the good vibes. And with that look on your face, we need to call in the big guns. Baby goats.”
“Okay.” I smile at her and take another carrot when she nudges the container toward me.
Maisy winks and a little of my worries ebb away for a minute. She’s always had a calming effect, ever since she found me crying in the woods, lost on a hike, and guided me back to the campground.
A round of laughter sounds behind me. I hear Connor’s voice, but I won’t turn around. I won’t.
The curiosity wins out and I peek over my shoulder.
Connor is at his usual table with the most popular students—Devlin Murphy, guys from the soccer team, pretty girls from the dance and cheer squads. He’s holding court over his kingdom, talking with his hands, a big grin on his face. His eyes found me once, at the beginning of lunch when I walked in with Maisy. I haven’t been able to look his way since, purposely putting my back to their table.
He didn’t acknowledge me other than a quick look, so I guess I don’t have to put on an act as his girlfriend today.
Blackmail, lies, and secrets. These are Connor’s bargaining chips. It’s how he and Devlin rule the school. They keep us all in line through strategy with no room for remorse.
Now I’m the latest victim.
My phone sits on the table in front of me, turned over so I can see the cupcake PopSocket on the back. I’m too afraid to scroll through my message history with Wyatt—who isn’t even flipping Wyatt, as it turns out. If I look, it will only taint every thrilling memory of the last few weeks. I’ll see the depth of how Connor manipulated me, the hot and sometimes sweet morning and evening messages twisted and poisoned by the truth.
How could I have gotten the number wrong?
It’s a question I’ve been asking myself on repeat since the encounter with him.
Never in a million years would I ever want to be with Connor Bishop the way I thought I was progressing my relationship with Wyatt, upgrading from fling-adjacent to bonafide boyfriend and girlfriend status.
Goes to show me, assuming without ever talking about it. I’m so fucking naïve, playing right into Connor’s cruel hands. My throat hurts, tight with emotion when I swallow.
I fight the urge to bury my face in my arms. It’s pointless to hide from the truth—that my bully and my neighbor is the same guy I’ve been fantasizing about and having phone sex with. Well, text sex. But still. Lots of sexy stuff has gone down between us.
“Oh my god,” I mumble in horror when it occurs to me I know what his dick looks like. I’ve seen him come.
This time I give in and cover my flaming hot face.
My hands burn with the urge to knead something to calm my breathing. I wonder if I can spend the rest of the lunch period in the culinary classroom to bake something before my next class starts. I’m in the mood for bread. Maybe Mrs. Horne will let me hide out there for a while.
It would be the first time I’ve ever skipped a class, but I think the circumstances justify a break before I crumble under the emotional pressure weighing on my shoulders, stabbing at my heart with fresh reminders.
“Oh great,” Maisy says in a flat tone, grabbing my attention.
Usually she’s hard to ruffle, so it takes a lot to draw a reaction like that from her. Her gaze is locked on the doors and I swing around to see what’s got her twisted up.