Fake Dating My Childhood Friend To Get Back With His Ex

Chapter 2

The day started off normally, it's the first day of school, after all, so there were only attendance and orientation classes. The halls were filled with freshmen clutching their printed schedules as if it were life or death, their eyes wide with the kind of terror that only a new school can bring. The sophomores and juniors stood in their usual clutches, their laughter too loud and their poses too practiced. And the seniors basked in the superiority of the buildings they would call their own for the next twelve minutes, even if it was only their fourth walk through the halls.

I maneuvered through the crowds, my vintage black denim jacket shielding me from the throngs of people. My black converse shoes, old and worn from years of running around, carried me through the sea of people. I kept my gaze low, my brown hair cascading around my face in loose waves as I wore my wired earphones, though I wasn't listening to anything.

The fluorescent lights buzzed above us, casting that unflattering light that made everyone look sick. Some things never changed. The cinder block walls were the same depressing shade of beige that had probably crushed teen spirit for the last forty years, and the floor was the same speckled linoleum that reeked of its cleaning.

I found my locker, the exact one I had since freshman year, and started spinning the combination. Senior year. Two words that everyone kept tossing around like they were some kind of profound statement because walking into these same halls for the fourth time in a row was like an accomplishment instead of just existing.

"Ellie!" I turned around at the sound of my name, a bright smile forming on my lips even before I saw them.

Courtney Samuel was walking towards me her flowy white peasant blouse floating as she walked. Long brown hair was pulled back in a delicate braid that ran around her head like a crown and gold bangles clinked along her wrists as her brown suede ankle boots clicked against the floor. She was Pinterest material, a walking model with soft earth tones and delicate jewelry. And she was the only person here who I could tolerate.

"Hey, Court," I greeted, hugging her one-armed in a quick side hug. "You look like you just stepped out of Coachella."

She laughed tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as we leaned against the lockers beside one another. "You look like you just came out of a downtown indie film. We're both very on brand this morning." She scanned the crowded hallway her brown eyes searching. "So, how was your last first day of high school so far?"

“I've been here fifteen minutes," I replied dryly. "So far, I've been bumped into four times, watched two freshmen have complete meltdowns, and seen three couples making out like they're being shipped off to war. So, you know, standard first day."

Courtney wrinkled her nose. "Speaking of couples making out, did you happen to see-"

"Weston and Jessica?" I interrupted rolling my eyes. "I didn't just see them at school. I was even unfortunate enough to witness their entire performance last night from my bedroom window."

Courtney's eyes went wide her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh my god. You have a front row seat to that disaster?"

"The best seat in the house," I said confirming it as I slammed my locker shut. "I'm thinking of charging admission or investing in some black out curtains. Maybe both, for good measure."

She shook her head. "I still can't believe you guys were, like, best friends. What happened to him?"

"He discovered football and popularity," I shrugged trying to be nonchalant about it. "It's the classic werewolf switch. It's like the full moon, except instead it happened randomly during summer. One day he's building LEGOs and the next he's doing protein shakes and bench presses."

Courtney gave me a knowing look. She'd heard this rant before, probably a hundred times, but she never told me to get over it or tell myself to accept it. That's why I loved her.

"Well," she said, linking her arm through mine as we walked towards our first class. "at least we have AP Lit together this year and we're graduating in nine months. Then we can leave all of these people behind and go somewhere where no one knows about the time you threw up on the bus in kindergarten."

I groaned "You're never going to let me forget that are you? It’s like my legacy now."

"Never," she said cheerfully. "It's my job as your best friend to remember all your most embarrassing moments."

We pushed through the double doors into the senior hallway, marginally less hectic than the main one. Here the lockers were decorated in stickers and pictures of the past years, here people walked with a swagger, and here the hierarchy was established.

I could see him before he saw me, Weston leaning against his locker, posing like he was for a magazine shoot. Dark brown hair was artfully tousled, chiseled jaw just right, and he wore a fitted gray t-shirt that showcased the muscles from the years of hard work. A jacket hung casually form his fingers as Jessica Alverez pressed against his side. Her blonde hair was perfectly curled and her cheer leading uniform was already on as if she had just walked out of an afternoon pep rally or practice or whatever cheerleaders did.

She laughed at something he said, her head thrown back her hand resting on his chest all very dramatic. Like they knew everyone was watching and they wanted to make sure they put on a spectacle.

I looked away quickly, focusing on the scuffed toes of my boots. "Don't look now," I muttered to Courtney, "but the quarterback and the cheer captain are currently filming the sequel to last night's horror show."

Of course, Courtney had looked the second I did. "Oh, they're not even pretending to have any shame are they?" She squeezed my arm. "Just ignore them, we're better than this."

"Are we?" I asked. "Because I'm pretty sure I'm about to spend an entire year watching them make out in the hallways, and that feels like a punishment I definitely don't deserve."

"Hey." Courtney stopped walking, turning to face me. Her brown eyes were serious all pretense of fun gone. "Senior year's going to be different. We're going to make it different. We're going to ace our classes, take amazing photos, apply to the best colleges and get the hell out of this town. And next year, when we're somewhere amazing, we're not even going to remember what Weston Pierce's face looks like."

I wanted to believe her. I really did. "Promise?"

She held up her pinky. "Promise. Now come on, let's go find our seats before all the good ones are taken."

We walked into AP Lit together, and I let my mind wander with the idea of a life that had me not defined by this town, this school, these people. A life that let me be Amelie Kelly, photographer, artist, someone who mattered outside of the stifling walls of suburbia.

But first, I had to survive senior year. One excruciating day at a time.