Between Us

Chapter 4 — She Knows

The thing about pretending to date someone famous is that everyone suddenly has opinions about your life.

By Friday morning, I had received fourteen unsaved numbers in my contact list, three girls had introduced themselves to me in the bathroom like we were friends, and my roommate Denise had sat up in bed at 7am to ask me — with the energy of someone who had been holding it in all night — "Are you actually dating Zane Carter?"

I had told her it was complicated.

She had screamed into her pillow for a full ten seconds.

I envied her ability to express herself so freely.

Zane and I had developed a routine by that point — which felt strange to admit after less than a week, but there it was. He'd fall into step beside me on the way to BIO 215 every morning, we'd sit together, he'd occasionally lean over to point something out in my notes, and to anyone watching it looked effortless.

It was not effortless.

Every time he leaned close I had to consciously remind myself that this was a transaction. Tutoring for pretending. Nothing more, nothing less.

My brain understood this perfectly.

My pulse had not received the memo.

Keira found me alone on Friday afternoon.

I was sitting outside the science block eating a meat pie and reading ahead for next week's lecture when her shadow fell across my page. I looked up slowly.

She was even more intimidating up close. Tall, polished, the kind of girl who looked like she'd never had a bad photo taken in her life. She was smiling but it didn't reach her eyes.

"You're Ava," she said. Not a question.

"Last time I checked." I closed my book slowly.

She sat down beside me without being invited, which told me everything I needed to know about how this conversation was going to go.

"I just want to talk," she said, in the tone people use when they definitely want more than just talking. "Girl to girl."

"Okay."

She folded her hands in her lap. "How long have you and Zane been a thing?"

I took a bite of my meat pie and chewed slowly, mostly to buy myself time. "A few weeks," I said.

"Because I've never seen you together before this week."

"We kept it quiet."

She smiled tightly. "Zane doesn't do quiet."

She had a point. I kept my face neutral. "There's a lot you don't know about Zane."

Something flickered in her eyes — annoyance, maybe, or something sharper. She looked at me for a long moment, like she was trying to find the c***k in my story.

I looked back at her steadily.

I'd sat through enough difficult practical vivas to know how to hold eye contact under pressure.

"He'll get bored," she said finally. Softly, almost gently, like she was doing me a favour. "He always does. And when he does—" she stood up, smoothing her skirt, "—don't say nobody warned you."

She walked away without waiting for a response.

I sat there for a second, meat pie halfway to my mouth.

Then I took out my phone and typed to Zane:

Your ex just threatened me with a meat pie in hand. You owe me.

His reply came in less than a minute.

She threatened you or you threatened her?

I stared at the message.

Why does that matter?

Because knowing you, it could genuinely go either way.

I locked my phone before I could smile at that.

He found me after his last lecture, falling into step beside me on the path back to the hostels like we'd agreed to meet, which we hadn't.

"She talked to you," he said. Not a question either — he'd clearly already heard.

"She did."

"What did she say?"

"That you get bored easily and I should prepare myself for heartbreak." I kept walking. "Very dramatic. I almost applauded."

He was quiet for a moment. "She's not entirely wrong. About the getting bored part."

I glanced at him. He was looking ahead, jaw slightly set.

"I'm not actually your girlfriend," I reminded him. "So it doesn't matter."

"I know." A pause. "I just didn't want you to think—" He stopped. Started again. "I'm not trying to mess with your head. This is what you agreed to. Nothing more."

It was the second time in a week he'd said something honest when he didn't have to.

It was starting to become a pattern.

"I know what I agreed to," I said quietly.

We walked the rest of the way in silence — but it was a comfortable silence, the kind that didn't need filling.

Which was somehow more unsettling than anything Keira had said.