The Summer We Pretend

Chapter 6: Our First Fake Date

Maya had a theory.

Apparently, fake relationships needed practice.

I disagreed.

"Practice for what?" I asked.

She sat across from me at the coffee shop, arms crossed.

"For looking like we're actually dating."

"We already look like we're dating."

"No."

"People believe us."

"People believe us because I'm good at lying."

I put a hand over my heart.

"That hurt."

"You'll survive."

She slid her phone across the table.

On the screen was a text from my father.

Richard:

Dinner Sunday. Bring Maya.

I looked at Maya.

"That's not a date."

"I know."

"So?"

"So we need a date before Sunday."

I blinked.

"A practice date?"

"Exactly."

I stared at her.

She stared back.

Then I smiled.

"You just asked me out."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Don't make this weird."

"Too late."

"I'm serious, Ethan."

"So am I."

She sighed.

"Fine. One fake date."

I leaned back.

"Where are we going?"

She thought for a moment.

"Somewhere normal."

"Define normal."

"Not expensive."

"Okay."

"Not fancy."

"Fine."

"Not somewhere your father might see us."

"Very specific."

"Your father is everywhere."

"He's not."

"He followed me on Instagram."

"Fair point."

She grabbed her coffee.

"Saturday. Seven."

I smiled.

"It's a date."

She pointed at me.

"Fake date."

"Right."

Saturday night came faster than I expected.

I picked Maya up at seven.

She walked out of her house wearing jeans, a white shirt, and a light jacket.

Simple.

Nothing dramatic.

And somehow, she looked better than she had at the restaurant.

I rolled down the window.

"Wow."

She stopped.

"What?"

I realized I was staring.

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I was thinking."

She smiled.

"About?"

"You."

She opened the passenger door.

"Very original."

"Thank you."

"I wasn't complimenting you."

"I know."

She got in.

And I smiled the entire time we drove.

Our first stop was a small street market.

There were food trucks, music, lights hanging between buildings, and people walking everywhere.

Maya looked around.

"This is more like it."

"You approve?"

"Maybe."

We walked from one food truck to another.

She ordered tacos.

I ordered fries.

She stole half of mine.

"You have your own."

"I wanted yours."

"That's theft."

"Boyfriends share."

I looked at her.

She realized what she'd said.

"Fake boyfriends," she corrected.

"Of course."

She took another fry.

I let her.

We played one of those ridiculous carnival games where you throw balls at targets.

I missed.

Twice.

Maya laughed so hard she had to hold onto my arm.

"You said you were good at this."

"I am."

"You missed every target."

"I was distracted."

"By what?"

"You."

She stopped laughing.

I smiled.

She pushed my shoulder.

"You're impossible."

"Yet somehow, you're still here."

She looked at me for a second.

Then quietly said,

"Yeah."

I don't know why that one word felt different.

Later, we found a bench overlooking the city.

The noise of the market was behind us.

For the first time that night, neither of us was talking.

Maya looked at the lights.

"Do you ever think about leaving?"

"Leaving what?"

"Everything."

I looked at her.

"Sometimes."

"Where would you go?"

"Somewhere nobody knows me."

She smiled faintly.

"That sounds nice."

"Where would you go?"

She thought about it.

"New York."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because it's loud."

I laughed.

"That's your reason?"

She nodded.

"Everyone there is too busy trying to survive to care who you are."

I looked at her.

"You'd like that?"

"I think so."

"Why?"

She shrugged.

"Here, everybody knows everybody. Everybody has an opinion."

"About you?"

"About everyone."

She looked down at her hands.

"My mom used to say small towns make small lives."

"She actually said that?"

"No."

I laughed.

Maya smiled.

"Okay. Maybe I made that up."

"You should write it down."

"Maybe I will."

She looked at me.

"And you?"

"What?"

"If you could go anywhere, where would you go?"

I thought about it.

"I don't know."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"You're the guy who always has an answer."

"Not to everything."

She studied me.

Then she nodded.

"Okay."

"What?"

"Nothing."

She looked back at the city.

And somehow, I felt like she understood something about me that I hadn't said.

The night should have ended there.

It didn't.

On the way back to the car, we passed a photo booth.

Maya stopped.

"No."

I shook my head.

"Absolutely not."

"Come on."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because those pictures will exist forever."

"That's the point."

"You want photographic evidence of this?"

"Evidence that we're dating."

"Fake dating."

She smiled.

"Exactly."

Five minutes later, we were inside.

The first picture was normal.

The second was Maya making a ridiculous face.

The third was me pretending to kiss her cheek.

The fourth—

The machine flashed before either of us could move.

We were standing close.

Too close.

Her hand was on my chest.

My arm was around her waist.

And we were looking at each other.

Neither of us was smiling.

The picture printed.

Maya took it.

She stared at it.

"So..."

"Yeah."

"That looks real."

I looked at the picture.

She was right.

It looked real.

Maybe too real.

She folded it and put it into her purse.

"I'll keep it."

I looked at her.

"Why?"

She shrugged.

"For the contract."

"Right."

"Evidence."

"Of course."

We both knew that wasn't the real reason.

Neither of us said it.

When I dropped her off, she didn't immediately get out.

She looked at me.

"Tonight was fun."

"Yeah."

"Even though it was fake."

"Especially because it was fake."

She smiled.

"Goodnight, Ethan."

"Goodnight."

She opened the door.

Then stopped.

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

"Don't overthink the picture."

I looked at her.

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I won't."

She smiled.

"Good."

She got out.

I watched her walk toward the house.

Before she reached the door, she turned around.

I waved.

She waved back.

Then she disappeared inside.

I sat there for another minute.

The car was quiet.

I looked at the empty passenger seat.

Then at the photo booth receipt still sitting in the cup holder.

I laughed quietly.

This was supposed to be simple.

A contract.

A few dinners.

Some hand-holding.

Five hundred dollars.

And a lie.

So why did it suddenly feel like I had something to lose?

I started the car.

And for the first time since this whole thing began, I wished Rule Number One didn't exist.