Chapter Nine
1505 Words
Ryan's POV:
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
Zoey kept her eyes on me, waiting for an answer. Her fingers were still wrapped around the pen she had been using, but she had stopped writing. Around us, the community center continued moving without paying attention to the conversation at our table. Someone dragged a stack of chairs across the floor, a volunteer was arguing with Mrs. Dawson about the decorations, and the old heater near the windows rattled every few seconds.
I lowered my voice.
“I’m suggesting we stop trying to convince everyone that the rumor is false.”
Her expression changed immediately.
“That still doesn't answer my question.”
I leaned back in my chair and ran a hand over my jaw, trying to figure out how to say it without making it sound worse than it already did.
“We let them believe it.”
Zoey stared at me.
“You want us to pretend we’re together.”
I nodded.
She slowly put the pen down.
“You've officially lost it.”
“I probably should have explained it better.”
“There is no better way to explain that.”
Her arms folded across her chest, and she looked toward the stage before turning back to me. The irritation on her face was familiar, but there was something else underneath it. She was actually considering the idea, and I wasn't sure whether that made me feel relieved or more nervous.
“If we do this,” she said, “everyone will expect us to act like we're actually together.”
“Zoey, they already expect that.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
She picked up her phone and unlocked it, scrolling through the comments beneath the latest gossip post. Her thumb stopped over one comment, and her mouth tightened before she locked the screen again.
“Ryan, I can't pretend to date someone. Dating isn't a game to me. This isn't only about you anymore.”
“I know. It's not about me, Zoey. I thought about you too. You mentioned Olivia said people are questioning the committee because of the rumor.”
“But—?”
“You see? You need this also.”
Zoey dropped her phone onto the table.
“If this affects my scholarship recommendation, I can't afford to play around with it.”
That changed the way I looked at the situation.
I had been thinking about the rumor, the festival, and everyone watching us, but I hadn't forgotten what the scholarship meant to her. I knew how seriously she took school. I had seen it every time we worked together. She could argue about a festival schedule for twenty minutes, then spend another hour checking every detail because she refused to submit something she wasn't proud of.
“I wouldn't ask you to risk that.”
She looked at me.
“Then what are you asking me to do?”
“Give people something simple to believe. We don't have to tell them anything beyond what they already think.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“You've thought about this.”
“More than I wanted to.”
She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table.
“And what happens when they start asking when we got together?”
“We make up something.”
“When did you decide you were okay with lying?”
“I didn't.”
She studied my face for a moment.
“Then why are you so comfortable suggesting it?”
I almost answered immediately, but stopped myself.
Because I had spent the entire day watching people turn one ride home into something neither of us had said it was. Because every denial had only made them more interested. Because I didn't want Zoey's work destroyed by a rumor. Because, somewhere underneath all of that, the idea of standing beside her didn't bother me as much as it should have.
I wasn't going to tell her the last part.
“I just think it's worth trying,” I said.
Zoey looked down at the papers again.
“Worth trying,” she repeated, rubbing the edge of the schedule between her fingers. “That's a very convenient way to describe something that could make our lives ten times worse.”
“You have a better idea?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I gave her a small smile.
“That's what I thought.”
She pointed the pen at me.
“Don't get comfortable.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were.”
“I wasn't.”
“You're doing it again.”
I laughed, and she shook her head, but the tension between us eased enough for her to look at the idea differently.
Then she started writing.
I watched her for a second.
“What are you doing?”
“Making rules.”
“For pretending to date?”
“For surviving it.”
She wrote the first line and turned the notebook slightly away from me.
“What does that say?”
“Rule one.”
“I can see that.”
“Then stop asking.”
I leaned across the table before she could cover the page.
She moved the notebook out of reach.
“Ryan!”
“I was only looking.”
“You were trying to read it.”
“There's a difference?”
“Yes.”
She wrote again, then finally turned the notebook toward me.
'This ends when the festival ends.'
I nodded. I don't even know why I did.
“Fine.”
“Second rule. We don't use this to embarrass each other.”
“Agreed.”
“Third rule. We don't tell anyone it's fake.”
I frowned.
“Mason is going to know something is wrong.”
“He already thinks something is happening.”
“He's going to be unbearable.”
“He already is.”
I smiled.
She looked at me for a second longer than necessary before lowering her eyes to the notebook.
“Fourth rule,” she said, quieter this time. “We don't let this interfere with school.”
“That one's going to be difficult.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone at school is already watching us.”
She stopped writing.
Neither of us spoke for a few seconds.
Then the community center doors opened, and Mason walked in with his hockey bag over one shoulder.
He spotted me immediately.
“Coach is looking for you.”
I checked the time and swore under my breath.
“I forgot practice.”
Mason walked toward us, but his eyes moved to Zoey's notebook before she could close it.
“What are you two working on?”
Zoey shut the notebook.
“The festival.”
Mason looked at me.
“Why do I feel as though that's not the whole answer?”
“Because you're nosy.”
“I prefer observant.”
He dropped his bag beside the chair.
“You've got ten minutes before Coach loses his patience.”
“I'll be there.”
Mason nodded, then looked at Zoey.
“You coming?”
She glanced at me.
“I have to finish something.”
Mason shrugged.
“Fine. See you tomorrow.”
He walked away, but he looked back once before disappearing through the doors.
Zoey watched him leave.
“He knows.”
“i just think he suspects.”
“That's worse.”
I stood and picked up my hockey bag.
“We'll figure it out.”
She closed her notebook and slid it into her bag.
“You're very confident about that.”
“I have to be.”
She looked up at me.
“And when do we start?”
I stopped.
That was the question I hadn't expected her to ask so quickly. She surprises me every time.
“Tomorrow?”
She nodded slowly.
“Then tomorrow, we stop denying it.”
I looked at her, and for some reason, the words felt heavier than they should have.
“Tomorrow,” I agreed.
She walked toward the exit first, and I followed her outside.
The cold air hit us as soon as the doors closed behind us. Zoey stopped beside her car and turned toward me, her notebook pressed against her chest.
“Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
She looked at me for a second, then shook her head.
“You know what? Nothing. Forget it.”
She got into her car before I could ask what she had been about to say.
I watched her drive away, then reached into my pocket for my phone.
Mason had sent me a message.
“Coach canceled practice. He wants you at the rink early tomorrow.”
I typed back that I would be there, but before I could send it, another message appeared beneath his.
“Also, you might want to know who asked about Zoey today.”
I stared at the screen.
Mason was typing again.
Then the message disappeared.
‘Message deleted.’
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