Fake Dating My Best Friend's Younger Brother

3. Mistake

“Stop crying. We need to get back to class.” Alice keeps wiping at my face, but I can tell I still look pathetic. My reflection in her eyes confirms it—puffy, red, broken.

“Asher fell out of love with me,” I whisper, the words burning as they leave my mouth.

“Catherine, you have to stop, okay? Asher isn’t the end of the world.” Her tone sharpens. “You’ll only make things worse if people see you moping. He made his choice. Respect yourself.”

She pulls me into her chest, but it feels suffocating—like hugging the truth I don’t want to face. I pull away.

“Maybe she’s manipulating him,” I insist weakly. “Asher loves me and I love him. We have a love story—”

“Stop it, Catherine.” Alice’s voice slices through my words. “Asher and Jennifer were parading through the school like lovers. The sooner you accept that he doesn’t want you anymore, the better.”

She tosses the tissue into my hand and storms out, leaving me standing there with tears I can’t seem to stop.

Is it that easy to forget someone?

Someone who’s been your whole world for three years?

Someone who never gave you a reason to doubt him—who made you believe in every promise, every smile, every kiss.

By the time I step out, classes have already started. My makeup is ruined, but I don’t care. Eyes follow me as I walk in. I ignore the whispers, the pity, and sit beside Alice. She spares me a single glance before turning back to the board.

The rest of the morning drags painfully. Jennifer’s smug glances sting more than I want to admit. Every laugh, every whisper feels aimed at me. When the bell for break finally rings, I grab my bag and leave for the cafeteria.

Same scene, same whispers. People part like I’m contagious. I roll my eyes and head for our usual spot where the cheer squad is already gathered.

“Hi, Cat,” a few of them say.

“Hi, guys.” My voice is flat, but I try to sound normal.

“Would you still lead practice today, or do you want to rest?” Georgia asks softly. “We can manage if you need a moment.”

“I’m okay,” I lie.

“What do you want to eat?” Micah, our co-captain, asks.

“Just a drink. That’s all.”

Georgia suddenly gasps. “Oh, my God…”

“What is—” I follow her gaze toward the cafeteria entrance.

And there he is.

Asher.

Kneeling.

With a bouquet of flowers.

In front of her.

Jennifer.

The sound around me dulls, like I’ve slipped underwater. The bouquet catches my eye—white roses with nine red ones in the middle. My stomach twists.

I almost laugh. Of course. Jennifer doesn’t even know what that means. The nine roses were my idea—one red for every letter in my name. He couldn’t even think of something new.

I grab my bag and stand. I don’t care about the stares or the whispers.

Behind me, Jennifer’s voice rings out—mocking, gleeful.

“I’ll be your girlfriend, Asher Davies!”

The cafeteria erupts in cheers, claps, laughter.

But I’m already gone.

I push through the door and back into the hall, tears spilling before I can stop them.

“I won’t cry for him,” I whisper to myself. “He can go to hell for all I care.”

But when I reach the empty classroom and rest my head on the desk, the tears fall anyway.

Class begins again, and I manage to sit through it somehow. When the bell rings, I head straight to cheer practice. My chest still feels heavy, but I force my steps steady toward the bleachers—our usual spot.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Zoe,” I greet our cheer coach as she sets down some boxes. The girls are in the locker room changing, and I grab my own uniform, ready to escape into something I can control.

But Mrs. Zoe walks closer, expression unreadable.

“Catherine, the vice principal asked me to talk to you,” she says. “We’re revoking your position as cheer captain.”

My heart stumbles. “What do you mean revoking my position? I—”

“Your grades are slipping,” she cuts in gently. “It seems cheerleading has been taking most of your time. Until you improve, you’re off the team. Turn in your uniform and badge by the end of the day.”

I just stand there as she walks off. The world feels like it’s shrinking.

Then someone starts clapping behind me. Slow. Mocking.

I turn—and there she is. Jennifer. In our uniform.

“What is going on?” I demand, turning back to Mrs. Zoe. “We’re not supposed to recruit anyone till our class graduates!”

Mrs. Zoe sighs. “Jennifer will be stepping in as cheer captain until your grades improve.”

My jaw tightens. “How long has this been decided? She already has her uniform sewn!”

“Don’t make a scene, Catherine,” Mrs. Zoe says quietly. “Go back to class.”

I grab my things, but I don’t go back. I walk straight out of the school.

Since when did everything feel so unfair? Why is this new girl everywhere in my life? First she barges into cheer tryouts, then into Asher’s arms—and now this? My own spot, handed to her on a silver platter.

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Grades slipping,” I mutter. “Like they haven’t always been slipping.”

Now it suddenly matters?

I slam the door when I get home, toss my bag on the couch, and march straight to Dad’s liquor cabinet. The glass burns against my fingers, the liquid harsher still. But at least it dulls the noise.

My phone won’t stop vibrating—Alice’s name flashing on the cracked screen.

I squint to read her text:

Are you okay? You can crash at my place if you need to.

I swallow another shot. The pain doesn’t fade—it just melts into numbness.

Maybe that’s enough.

I order a ride to Alice’s house. The world tilts when I stand, but I make it into the cab, pressing my forehead against the cool window until the car stops.

When I reach her door, I pound the bell. “Alice… Alice!” I slur, sliding down the wall.

The lock clicks, and I push myself upright—but the person at the door isn’t Alice.

He’s taller. Broad shoulders. Sharp jaw.

“You’re not Alice…” I mumble, trying to focus. “I need Alice…”

“She went out,” the deep voice says. “Call her if—”

I stumble forward, and his hands catch my waist, steady and firm against my skin.

“Ooh… your hands are strong,” I murmur, blinking up at him. His face blurs, but his lips are clear—too clear. I tug him closer.

“You’re drunk, Catherine,” he says, voice low, almost strained. “You’ll regret this tomorrow.”

“I don’t regret things,” I whisper.

And then everything fades.