1: The Game Begins
1358 Words
⸻
High school isn’t where you fall in love. It’s where you learn how stupid you are when you think you have.
That’s what I was thinking as I stood in front of Margo’s locker, watching my ex-boyfriend, Jake, wrap his arm around her waist like she was his oxygen and he couldn’t breathe without her. She giggled too loudly, tossing her perfectly flat-ironed blonde hair over her shoulder like she hadn’t just stolen someone else’s boyfriend. Mine.
They looked like a cliché, like a cheap teen drama on a streaming app. She wore bubblegum lip gloss. He wore his usual smug grin.
And I was standing there like a ghost, watching the ruins of what I thought was love. Like an i***t.
“Hey, Kira,” someone muttered, brushing past me. I didn’t even register who it was. I just smiled mechanically and nodded, pretending I hadn’t just been watching the two of them like a stalker.
I was sixteen, alone, and completely invisible. Not in the poetic, mysterious-girl kind of way. Just… invisible. Even when I was with Jake, I was always just the girl he liked for a moment. Margo? She was the girl he wanted everyone to see him with.
It wasn’t even about Jake anymore. It was about me. About revenge.
“Fake it until he breaks,” I muttered to myself.
“What?”
I turned. Roman Vale stood behind me, a thick chemistry textbook tucked under one arm, earbuds dangling from his hoodie. His voice was low, like he hadn’t used it much recently. His eyes flicked down at me—gray, sharp, unreadable.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, adjusting the strap of my backpack.
Roman didn’t say anything else. He just stared at me for a second longer than normal. The kind of stare that made your stomach tighten but not in the butterflies way. More like you were standing too close to the edge of something deep.
He always looked like he was watching people from the shadows. A little taller than most guys at school, lean but muscular like he could pin someone without trying. His black hoodie fit just tight enough to show the outline of his build. The silver rings on his fingers glinted under the fluorescent hallway lights. And that hair—black, messy, fringe falling forward into his eyes like he was hiding behind it.
If mystery had a face, it was his.
“Roman,” I blurted before I could talk myself out of it.
He raised one eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“I… need a favor.”
That surprised him. I could tell because he didn’t say anything, just stood there, blinking at me like he didn’t expect I even knew his name.
“Okay,” he said slowly, drawing the word out like it was a trap. “What kind of favor?”
“I need… I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
There. I said it. Loudly. Clearly. My voice didn’t even shake.
He blinked again.
Then he laughed.
It wasn’t mean. But it wasn’t exactly warm either. It was short, rough, and like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You’re serious?” he asked, tilting his head.
I nodded.
“You want me to fake-date you?”
“Yes. For a week. Or two. Just until Jake—my ex—gets the message that I’m not dying over him. Just until he sees I’ve moved on.”
Roman tilted his head again, eyes narrowing slightly. “Let me guess. He dumped you for someone else?”
I hesitated. “Yes.”
“Popular girl?”
I nodded.
Roman shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. “And you think making him jealous is going to fix that?”
“No,” I said quickly. “I don’t want him back. I just want him to regret it. To see me. To feel what I felt.”
Roman didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, watching me. Not like he was judging me—but like he was cataloging everything. My body language. My tone. My neediness.
“Okay,” he finally said.
I blinked. “Okay?”
“I’ll do it. But if we’re going to do this, we do it my way.”
That made me pause. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not half-assing it. We’re going to act like a real couple. Everywhere. All the time. You want people to believe it, we give them a show.”
Something about the way he said “show” made a chill crawl down my spine. But I nodded. “Deal.”
He held out his hand. Long fingers. Silver rings. Painted black nails. I shook it.
His grip lingered.
“Starting now,” he said.
And then, in full view of everyone in the hallway, he leaned in and kissed my cheek. Not a soft, barely-there kiss either. His lips brushed my skin deliberately—slow and just a little too close to my mouth.
A few gasps. A whisper.
I didn’t breathe until he pulled back.
“You ready for this, sweetheart?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
But the truth was—I wasn’t.
⸻
Lunch was a battlefield, and Roman Vale was my secret weapon.
We walked into the cafeteria side by side. He didn’t let go of my hand. Jake noticed. So did Margo. She looked like she’d just bitten into something sour. Jake stiffened. Victory.
Roman pulled out my chair for me before sitting beside me, resting one hand on my thigh like it had always belonged there. His other hand absentmindedly played with the lollipop in his mouth.
“What flavor is that?” I asked, trying not to blush at how close he was.
“Cherry,” he said, voice low. “Want a taste?”
I blinked.
He smirked. “Relax. I’m just messing with you. Mostly.”
The boy had no boundaries.
I looked around. People were watching us. Whispering. And it hit me—Roman knew exactly what he was doing.
“You’re really leaning into this, huh?”
He glanced at me. “You asked for a boyfriend. This is how I play the role.”
There was something about the way he said “role.” Like it wasn’t a performance to him at all. Like he could slip into obsession as easily as slipping on his hoodie.
Jake walked by our table, his hand still casually around Margo’s waist. But he looked. He definitely looked.
Roman noticed. “Your ex has a staring problem.”
“He’s not my ex,” I muttered. “He’s a mistake.”
Roman smirked. “Better.”
⸻
The first text came that night.
Jake [10:44 PM]
So you moved on that fast, huh?
I stared at the screen, heart thudding.
Kira [10:45 PM]
Guess you weren’t that hard to get over.
No reply.
But I knew it got to him. Mission in progress.
The second text came from Roman.
Roman [11:02 PM]
You busy?
Kira [11:02 PM]
Not really.
Roman [11:03 PM]
Check your window.
I nearly dropped my phone.
My bedroom window looked out onto the side of the house, facing the woods behind our street. I walked over and peeked out.
Roman stood under the streetlamp. Hoodie on. Hands in pockets. Lollipop in his mouth again. Like some sort of bad omen disguised as a teen boy.
I opened the window. “What are you doing here?”
“Just making sure we’re convincing.”
“At midnight?”
He shrugged. “This is when it matters.”
“Are you always this intense?”
He looked up at me, shadows cutting across his face. “Only when I care.”
A pause.
“I’ll walk you to school tomorrow,” he said. “Real couples do that, right?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
He gave me a two-finger salute and walked off into the night.
What had I gotten myself into?
⸻
- Writer
